could you do Jude or jobe x reader who is really anxious and them just comforting her and being really sweet
req^^
i’ll always find you
jude bellingham x reader
you decide to go get jude a snack after his match while he does media but while coming back you find yourself lost with your phone dead
taglist (tw): fem!reader, established relationship, jude bellingham x fem!reader, anxiety, getting lost, crying, panic, comfort, protective jude, fluff, lots of hugs, reassurance, happy ending.
the final whistle had barely stopped echoing around the stadium before jude was looking for you. the second your eyes met, his face softened into that familiar smile that never failed to calm you.
he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead.
“i’ve got media, sweetheart,” he murmured. “give me 40 minutes, yeah? just wait in the family lounge.”
you nodded with a small smile. “okay.”
“don’t go wandering off.”
you laughed quietly. “i won’t.”
he smiled, giving your hand one last squeeze.“i’ll come and get you as soon as i’m done.”
“have fun!.”
with one last grin, he disappeared down the tunnel alongside the rest of the team.
the family lounge was warm and comfortable, with a few partners and relatives chatting amongst themselves while highlights from the match played quietly on one of the televisions.
you sat patiently for a while, smiling whenever jude appeared on the screen.
fifteen minutes passed before your eyes drifted towards the refreshments table. it had already been cleared away and he’d probably be starving after playing a full ninety minutes. you remembered passing a small hospitality café on the way into the stadium.
maybe i could get him something. the thought made you smile. he was always doing thoughtful things for you. bringing you flowers just because, surprising you with your favourite snacks, making sure you had everything you needed so this was something small you could do for him.
you slipped out of the lounge, quietly telling yourself you’d only be gone for a few minutes.
the café wasn’t hard to find.
after a minute of looking through the shelves, you picked up a bottle of water, a crossiant and his favourite chocolate bar.
the cashier smiled as they handed over the small paper bag. “thank you.”
holding the bag carefully, you turned around with a smile. he’ll like this.
you retraced your steps (or at least, you thought you did.)
after a minute, you frowned. this corridor didn’t look familiar. maybe you’d taken a wrong turn. you doubled back and tried another hallway and that one split into two more.
your smile slowly faded. “…huh.”
you glanced around. the crowds had almost completely disappeared now that the match had finished so most of the corridors were quiet.
you turned another corner and still nothing looked familiar. your heartbeat picked up.
it’s okay.
i’ll figure it out.
you kept walking except every hallway looked exactly the same. the paper bag crinkled softly in your hand as you reached into your pocket for your phone. the screen stayed black.
“…oh shit.”. you pressed the power button again.
your phone had died.
your stomach dropped as you looked around the empty corridor.
a couple of staff members hurried past in the distance.
you opened your mouth to ask for help
“…”
but the words never came.
your anxiety stopped you before you could even try.
don’t bother them.
they’re busy.
you’ll work it out yourself.
so you kept walking and walking, the stadium growing quieter with every turn you took.
the doors were being locked and lights were switching off in different areas.
soon, the only sounds left were your footsteps and the quiet rustling of the paper bag in your hand.
your breathing became a little quicker.
you stopped walking altogether, looking down each identical corridor. “…where am i?” the question came out barely above a whisper. you tightened your grip on the little bag you’d bought for jude, your eyes beginning to sting.
all you’d wanted to do was surprise him with a snack after the match.
instead you were completely lost.
your breathing became uneven as you looked down yet another empty hallway.every direction looked the same and every sign seemed to point somewhere you’d never been.
you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tight feeling growing in your chest.
just think.
the lounge… where was the lounge?
you turned around then stopped. “…was i just here?”
you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore. your grip tightened around the paper bag until it crinkled beneath your fingers. you tried your phone one last time. still dead.
“please…” you whispered.
your heart was beating so loudly it felt impossible to think. you started walking again, a little quicker this time. every time you reached another junction, you convinced yourself this one had to be right. yet it never was.
after what felt like forever, you spotted a member of staff pushing a trolley further down the corridor.
relief washed over you. you took a step forward.
“excuse me…” your voice came out so quietly they didn’t hear.
they disappeared into a staff only place before you could force yourself to call any louder. “…”
you stared after them, your eyes filling with tears. why did that come out so quietly?
back in the media room, jude finished answering the final question with a polite smile “thanks, guys.”
he unclipped the microphone from his shirt, thanked the interviewer and headed straight for the family lounge. he was already picturing your smile. maybe you’d tease him about missing that chance in the second half.
he smiled to himself as he pushed open the lounge door but the room was almost empty. you weren’t there.
he frowned anf checked his phone. no messages. that was strange.
you always texted him while he was doing media.
proud of you ❤️
can’t wait to hug youu
how much longer?? i miss you too much 😔
there was nothing.
he called you. he called again. voicemail..
“…her phone.” he remembered you mentioning before the match that your battery was low.
“have you seen my girlfriend?” he asked one of the stadium staff. the woman frowned apologetically. “i’m sorry, no.”
another steward shook his head. “not since the match.”
“can you radio security?” he asked quickly. “she’s quite anxious and i think she’s gotten lost.” the seriousness in his voice made the steward reach for his radio immediately.
“all staff, can we keep an eye out for a young woman looking distressed with…”
jude didn’t wait to hear the rest and was already jogging through the corridors.
“baby?” he called, voice echoing off the walls.
he checked every lounge. every waiting area. every corridor and with each one that came up empty, the knot in his chest pulled tighter.
meanwhile, you’d given up trying to figure out where you were. you’d sunk down onto the floor against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest.
the paper bag sat beside you.
you wiped angrily at your cheeks. “stupid…” you whispered to yourself. “he told me to stay there.”
another tear rolled down your face. “he’s gonna think i just wandered off.” you buried your face in your arms, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
a few minutes later, you heard a faint
“baby?”
your head shot up. for a second, you thought you’d imagined it.
“…sweetheart?”
that voice. it was jude’s!
you scrambled to your feet so quickly the paper bag tipped over beside you. “jude?”
he rounded the corner at the exact same moment. the second his eyes landed on you, every ounce of panic he’d been holding onto melted into relief. “there you are.”
his shoulders visibly dropped.
you looked at him for one second before your composure completely broke. “jude…” the wobble in your voice shattered his heart. he crossed the distance between you in seconds.
“hey, hey…”
before you could even apologise, he’d wrapped both arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.
you clung to him immediately. “sorry,” you sobbed into his shirt. “i’m so sorry…”
he held the back of your head, gently stroking your hair. “no, sweetheart. no apologising.”
“i got lost.”
“i know.”
“i just wanted to get you something to eat…”
his brows knitted together. you stepped back just enough to pick up the slightly crushed paper bag from the floor.
inside was the selection of items you had chosen for him.
“…you’ve not eaten since lunch,” you sniffled. “i thought you’d be hungry.”
jude looked at the bag before looking back at your tear-stained face and his heart genuinely ached. “oh, baby…” he cupped your cheeks so carefully, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “you got lost because you were trying to do something nice for me?”
you nodded miserably. “and then my phone died… and i couldn’t find the lounge… and i couldn’t ask anyone because…” your voice cracked. “i got scared.”
his eyes softened even more and without hesitation, he pulled you back into his arms. “i’ve got you.”
you buried your face into his neck, your breathing still shaky. “i thought i wasn’t going to find you.”
he shook his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your hair. “you never have to worry about that.” he hugged you just a little tighter. “i’ll always come looking for you.”
An emt!boyfriends request if you are so inclined! reader gets hurt in an accident or something and is taken to the hospital, as the marauders are patching her up she is trying to hide how much it hurts- trying not to make any noise or show any pain but they comfort her and say it’s okay to hurt, bc medically they would know how much pain she’s in and they help her through the whole thing
(your comfort fics are my favorite thing on the planet, love u!)
Love you more!
cw: broken bone, no description but mention of nausea from pain
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 877 words
It's a stroke of luck that Remus and Sirius are nearby when James calls emergency services. As they load you into the ambulance, you let James do most of the talking. It makes sense, since he knows more about what's going on with your messed-up leg than you do anyway, and it seems like a good plan until your boyfriends start sending you funny looks.
"Hey, pretty girl." Sirius unsticks a piece of sweat-damp hair from your temple. It's not even very warm out. You're just in that much pain. "You with us?"
"Mhm." Your voice doesn't waver or break, and so you grow bolder. "Sorry, just, seems like you've got everything you need."
"You didn't want to weigh in on the dosage of tramadol?" Remus teases. He begins typing whatever information James has given them into a computer. When James reaches for something, his hand is lightly smacked away. "Don't. You're off the clock."
James looks hurt. "You don't have to tattle if I do a couple of things."
"It'll be a whole load of paperwork if someone finds out, though."
"I want to help."
"Then comfort her, idiot."
James sulks in Remus' direction, but his look turns more content as he sits on the bench beside you. Remus spares a moment to kiss James' head as he goes by.
James perks up even more. "What can I do to make you feel better, lovely?"
You shrug. You're sweating, shaking a bit, and you keep repressing waves of nausea. You can't really picture your situation improving at the moment. "I don't know. It's not so bad."
Sirius makes a poorly-smothered scoffing sound. James' expression pinches.
"You're a good sport," he says, "but your tibia is sticking out."
"I think you could probably feel a bit better," Sirius agrees. He lifts the dishrag James placed over your leg carefully.
You bite down hard on your tongue.
"That's stopping the bleeding," James protests.
Sirius hums. "Dressing will be better."
"Dove." You and James both turn to Remus, who taps your jaw. His eyes are narrowed sternly. "Stop hurting yourself."
Slowly, you force yourself to unclench. Your tongue bleeds an acrid taste into your mouth.
James frowns, his brows hooking as he takes your hand. "Yeah, don't do that, angel. You can squeeze my hand if you need to, okay?"
If you weren't already overheated from the effort of bearing such awful sensation, you think the embarrassment would warm you. "Sorry," you manage. Putting extra focus into keeping your expression locked down.
"You don't have to be sorry." James' voice is gentle. "Just try to relax, if you can. It's okay to make sounds if you need to, too, you don't have to be quiet."
You don't have anything to say to that. Relaxing feels impossible. You can hardly think.
"Alright, I'm going to have to make these snug," Sirius warns you, unspooling bandages over the dressing he's placed around your wound. "I'll try to be quick."
Your head goes to static as he puts pressure around the excruciation of your leg, every alarm in your nervous system blaring urgently. You focus on keeping your jaw unclenched as James coaches you through deep breaths, and you try not to feel sickeningly condescended to. Your eyes well.
"That's it," Sirius promises when he's done. "That's it, baby. That's the worst part for now."
"And the worst part you won't be on pain meds for." Remus bends to kiss your head. "Well done."
You try to subtly blink the tears from your eyes.
"You know," Sirius says conversationally, putting away his supplies, "there's a reason we haven't asked you to rate your pain."
You look at him helplessly.
His brows lift. "Do you want to know why?"
You swallow, praying your voice comes out normal. "Okay."
"It's because," he says, a bit more softly, "we already know it fucking sucks when you have this kind of injury. You're in a lot of pain. That's obvious whether you put on a brave face or not."
You swallow again, harder. "I don't want to stress you guys out."
James laughs. "Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly when you look. "That's really sweet, but you're not going to stress us out. We see people in pain fairly often. I promise we won't freak out on you."
"Not that we don't hate seeing you in pain," Sirius adds. "But—baby, you don't need to be more worried about us than what you're feeling. That's too much, especially right now."
"When I'd bet you're feeling a lot," agrees James.
You take a breath. It wavers some on the exhale, and Remus finally finishes with the computer, reaching down to hold your cheek.
"You're alright," he tells you. Something about his tone—the compassion in it, or the intimacy, or maybe it's his hand on your face—brings your tears closer to the surface. James makes a sad noise and kisses your cheek consolingly. "I'm going to go up to the driver's seat now, but all you have to do from now on is relax. Sirius, hold the proximal and distal joints while we're moving."
"If you'd give me a minute," Sirius grumbles, sitting beside James and scooting closer to your leg. "It's not my first bloody day."
request: I’ve been thinking about Haaland’s hands recently, right? They’re big, strong, calloused from training and exercising, and they’re so big that when he holds your hand yours just kinda disappears in it. So what about him with and a reader who has a bit of a choking kink? And his hands are so big they almost close completely around her neck?
warnings: nsfw! choking resulting in bruising but not legitimately restrictive, fingering (f recieving), edging, size kink, dom/sub dynamic, and also just a sprinkling of sweet aftercare
pairing: erling haaland x fem!reader
word count: 4340
notes: hi i'm still obsessed with him and his big ass, need him so badly also requests are open get as freaky as you'd like plz , not proof read
erling haaland always fills a room before you even see him—his presence, the weight of him, the way his laughter rumbles down the hall and makes the pictures on the wall vibrate slightly in their frames. that evening, the door clicks open and you catch that first heady scent: grass stains, clean sweat, the sharpness of deodorant mixed with something earthy and boyish, as if the whole football pitch clings to him.
he drops his keys in the bowl by the door, kicks off his trainers, and pads toward you, hair still damp at the ends, tied back but messy, golden as ever. you’re already curled on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, pretending to read a book but your eyes keep flicking to the clock, to the window, to the spot where he’ll inevitably stand towering, broad, impossibly big.
he catches you looking, a slow, knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “miss me?” he asks, voice soft and teasing, and you can’t help the way your body responds just to that—a flutter low in your belly, a tingle between your thighs. all you can do is nod, a little too eager, a little too obvious. he just hums, dropping down next to you, stretching his long legs out until his feet almost brush the end of the coffee table. one arm slips around your waist, pulling you in, and when he threads his fingers through yours, your hand vanishes inside his, swallowed completely. his skin is rough, calloused from gripping weights and handles and footballs; his knuckles are scuffed, and when he squeezes gently, you feel small and delicate, fragile in a way you never are with anyone else.
you glance at his hands, and you think about how they can palm your whole face, how they settle on the small of your back and bracket your hips with such easy confidence. “why’re you staring at me like that, love?” he teases, voice a low burr. you squirm, embarrassed, but he just laughs, pressing a kiss into your hair. “i need a shower, sweetheart. i’m disgusting.” he stands, stretching, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of hard, muscled stomach. “give me ten minutes, yeah?”
you watch him go, the heavy stride, the way he ducks his head instinctively through every doorway. the bathroom door clicks shut, the sound of water thunders through the pipes, and you try to wait, you really do. but the seconds drag, your skin prickles with anticipation, and your body aches with need. you want him, need him, the way only he can give himself to you—overwhelming and gentle, sweetly condescending, hands everywhere.
after five minutes you can’t take it. you slip out of your clothes, tiptoe to the bathroom, and slide the door open just enough to let out a curl of steam. he’s under the spray, head tipped back, water sluicing down the thick line of his neck, shoulders bunched and glistening. for a second you just look: the sheer size of him, the long expanse of his torso, the way his arms flex as he runs his fingers through his hair. you step in behind him, water hitting your skin in hot, heavy drops, and he startles, just a little, then turns, a smile blooming as his gaze rakes down your naked body.
“couldn’t wait, huh?” he murmurs, stepping aside to make room, though the shower suddenly feels much too small with all of him filling the space. he reaches for you, pulling you into his chest, slick and burning with heat, and his hands cup your hips, thumbs pressing slow, possessive circles. the air is thick with steam and the scent of him, and when he leans down, his mouth brushes your temple, his voice a gentle hum. “so needy tonight…”
you shiver at the sound, at the press of his body, at the way his hands bracket your waist, their size alone making you feel helpless. his palm drifts up your side, fingers trailing over your ribs, then higher, curving around your throat—so easily, so naturally, his thumb settling against your pulse. you look up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and he smiles, all soft confidence, fondness and control.
he strokes your neck, his hand almost engulfing it, his grip careful but so solid you feel instantly pinned in place. “like this, don’t you?” he says, not quite a question, his voice a low, indulgent purr.
your answer is a breathy whimper, your body arching into his touch, your fingers curling around his wrist. he tightens just a little, just enough pressure to make your head spin, to make your breath catch and your thighs tremble. the contrast between his gentle smile and the strength in his grip makes your heart pound, makes your skin twitch with need.
the water thunders over both of you, steam curling up, everything heavy and hot. his palm stays firm around your throat—so gentle it aches, yet so unyielding you feel like you’re hanging in his grasp, suspended between the slippery tiles and his massive frame. he’s not even really looking at you, not with that usual burning focus; instead, he hums, low and idle, the vibration rumbling against your cheek as he reaches for the bottle of shampoo, his other hand never leaving your neck.
you whimper, shifting on your toes, the press of his big hand making your pulse race. he just lets out a soft, indulgent “mmm,” as if you’re a song he can’t get out of his head, and tips your chin a little higher with his fingers, watching your eyelids flutter. the pads of his calloused thumb and forefinger stroke lazily over the sensitive skin, making you feel impossibly tiny, breakable, his to play with.
he lathers shampoo into his hair with his free hand, biceps flexing, his body a living wall at your back. even when he’s only half-focused on you, you feel completely overpowered, bracketed by his arm, the breadth of his chest crowding the shower, every inch of you pinned between the tiles and him. you squirm, thighs clenching, but he just clicks his tongue, a gentle warning, and tightens his grip a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to steal a gasp from you.
the water sluices white suds down his neck, across his broad shoulders, and you watch, mesmerized, as he scrubs, humming tunelessly, fingers never easing from your throat. when you twist, desperate for more, he smiles down at you, all fondness and soft, knowing cruelty.
“easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a hush, “i’m not done yet.” he turns you with a nudge, big hands guiding you until your back is pressed flush to his chest, his arm looping around from behind, forearm locking you tight against him. his palm stays at your throat, the pressure achingly possessive, thumb stroking thoughtfully along your jawline. you can feel every inch of him—hard muscle, slick heat, the outline of his cock thick and heavy against your lower back.
he leans down, breath warm at your ear, and hums again, low and sweet, almost teasing. the hand not pinning you starts to roam, soap-slicked and slow, gliding over your stomach, your hips, your trembling thighs. he’s in no hurry; he likes to see you squirm, likes the way you melt and shiver in his grasp. his size dwarfs you—there’s no hope of moving an inch unless he lets you, and that helplessness is a drug you can’t resist.
“you like this, hmm?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hand tightening just enough to make your knees buckle. “how much bigger i am than you? can feel your heart racing, little thing.” his other hand slips between your legs, fingers parting you, slow and deliberate, and your head tips back against his shoulder, a whine catching in your throat.
he just hums in approval, lips finding your jaw, nipping softly, his big body crowding you from behind as he strokes you, teasing and patient, never letting up the pressure at your throat. “was gonna come take care of you after, you know,” he croons, voice all warmth, “can’t wait, can you?” his fingers slide over your clit, rubbing in lazy circles, every movement calculated, every touch designed to unravel you.
a breathless little sound escapes you, high and desperate, as his fingers toy between your thighs while his hand remains steady on your throat. he takes his time—so slow, so maddening—as he slides two thick digits over your slick folds, the pad of his thumb brushing your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle. you try to press closer, to grind against his hand, but he just hushes you with a low, amused hum, his chest vibrating against your back, fingers tightening just enough on your throat to make your head spin.
“min kjære,” he hushes, voice honeyed and indulgent, lips brushing the curve of your ear. “you’re trembling so much. can you feel that? your whole body shaking for me.” he punctuates his words with a slow stroke that makes you whine, the heel of his palm pressing hard against your clit while his fingers dip shallow, refusing to give you what you really want. “so sensitive, such a desperate, pretty girl.”
you try to twist, to buck back against him, but he’s immovable—his thick forearm holding you flush to his massive frame, palm pressed to your windpipe, not hurting, just claiming, just reminding you how easily he can pin you in place. the water continues to stream, hot and heavy, sluicing over both of you in the cramped shower, steam coiling around your tangled bodies.
he hums thoughtfully, fingers still sliding, still tormenting. “you see how good i’m being to you, sweetheart? letting you stay right here, pressed up against me.” his other hand tightens just a fraction, and a gasp tears out of you, sounding pathetic and broken even to your own ears. “you gonna let me finish washing up?”
"n-no," you whine, the sound small and petulant, twisting in his grip despite knowing it won't do a damn thing. "no, no, please—i've been waiting all day for you… i waited all day and now you're— you're just teasing me—" your voice breaks into a high, breathy moan as his fingers drag through your folds again, achingly slow, nowhere near where you need them most. "i waited, i waited hours, please, please can i come, please can you just—"
his low chuckle cuts you off, rumbling through his chest into your back. "mhm," he hums, voice thick with amusement, utterly unbothered by your rambling. "you waited, did you?" he purrs, breath hot against your temple, fingers still moving in that cruel, leisurely pace. "poor baby. so patient for me, hm? all day, just thinking about this?" a single thick finger slips inside you, and you nearly sob at the fullness of it—never mind what the rest of him does to you—your hips bucking uselessly against his forearm.
"i can't—" you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the pressure on your throat making every breath a small, desperate gulp. "i can't wait, please, please, just let me—"
he hums again, deep and indulgent, leaning down to mouth lazily at your jaw, his free hand flexing around your throat so your breath stutters. "shh," he soothes, even as his finger curls inside you, devastatingly slow. "you'll wait a little longer, sweetheart. just a little longer for me, yeah?"
your body goes slack against him, all the fight bleeding out, replaced by a trembling, boneless surrender. a sound leaves you, barely a noise at all, just a weak, pathetic little whimper that dissolves into the steam. your head lolls against his chest, eyes wet, lashes fluttering. he can feel every tiny quake that runs through you, the way your thighs twitch, the way your breath hitches in shallow stutters each time he drags that finger through you. too much and not enough, his other hand still circling your throat in slow, patient sweeps.
"mmm," he breathes, warm against your ear, and you feel the vibration of it sink into your spine. "there she is." his finger crooks inside you, rubbing meanly against that spot that makes your vision white out, and you gasp, a broken, wet sound, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the arm locked across your chest. "so sweet when you stop fighting it," he murmurs, almost to himself. "just let me do all the work, hm?"
he pulls his finger out, the sudden emptiness making you keen, and you feel his big hand leave your throat for only a second before it returns, gripping your jaw, tilting your head back so it rests against his shoulder. your mouth falls open, panting, and he shifts his other hand lower, his thumb finding your clit again, pressing firm little circles that make your hips jerk. he doesn't slide anything back inside, just teases the slick, swollen bundle of nerves with his thumb while his thick fingers cup your whole cunt, holding you open, keeping you right at that unbearable edge.
a sob tears out of you, quiet and broken. "please—" you whisper, barely audible over the water, "please please please, i can't—it's too—"
"you can," he hums, calm as anything, and presses a kiss to your temple. "waited all day for what, to be finished in five minutes? just a bit longer." his thumb flicks, faster, meaner, and your body seizes, every muscle coiling tight, almost there, almost— and then he stops. lifts his hand away completely, leaving you clenching around nothing, your thighs shaking, tears leaking down your temples.
a whine rips from your throat, raw and wrecked, your body trembling so hard you can barely stand, but his arms are everywhere, thick and heavy, bracing you against him. he just hums, low and pleased, pressing his lips to the hinge of your jaw, his voice a gentle murmur against your wet skin.
"shh, shh," he soothes, palm settling warm and heavy over your throat again, thumb stroking your pulse point in lazy circles. "i know. i know, sweetheart. you're doing so well for me."
the hot water beats down on both of you, carving rivers down his chest, and you can feel him everywhere, his massive frame curled around yours, the thick ridge of his cock pressing firm against the small of your back, a constant reminder of exactly how much he dwarfs you. you try to grind back against it, desperate, seeking friction, but his forearm tightens, pinning you in place with ease.
"uh uh," he chides softly, a smile in his voice. "none of that."
his free hand slides down your body again, this time mapping every curve, fingers dragging through the water streaming over your skin. he cups one of your breasts, weighing it in his palm, thumb swiping slow over the sensitive peak until it's aching, and you whimper, head tipping back against his shoulder. When it returns between your thighs, and you nearly sob at the first brush of his knuckles against your slick heat, your whole body jolting, oversensitive and desperate.
"please," you mewl, voice thin and reedy, vocal cords still pressured, "please, please, i'll be good, i'll be so good, just let me—"
"you are being good," he cuts in, quiet and indulgent, lips brushing your temple. "best i've seen you all night. my sweet, soft little thing, hm?" his fingers dip between your folds again, gathering your arousal, and you can feel how wet you are, how absolutely ruined he's made you without even fucking you yet. "so messy for me. can feel it everywhere. such a needy girl."
two fingers slide back inside you, thick and deliberate, and the stretch makes you cry out, your hand slapping back to grip his thigh, nails digging in. he just lets out a low, satisfied hum, crooking them slowly, finding that spot again, dragging against it mean and precise while his thumb finds your clit.
"there?" he asks, though he already knows, already feels the way you seize up, the way your breath catches against his palm. "mm. that's it. feel that?"
"yes, yes—" you gasp, rocking your hips, riding his hand as best you can with his massive arm locked around your waist. the pressure builds, coiling tight in your belly, your thighs shaking, your vision blurring, and he lets you get there again—lets you feel that cresting wave, lets the pleasure burn so bright it whites out everything—and then his fingers withdraw, his hand pressing flat against your lower belly instead, keeping you right on the edge while you sob and thrash and beg.
"so close, aren't you," he murmurs against your ear, not even a question, his voice warm and honeyed, endlessly patient. "feels good, doesn't it? just keep floating right there for me. just a little more."
you don't know how long you stay like that, suspended in that unbearable almost, his fingers occasionally brushing light over your clit, just enough to keep you trembling, never enough to tip you over. your legs give out twice and he just catches you, scooping you up against his chest, his body so much bigger than yours that he holds your entire weight with one arm like it's nothing.
"you tired, baby?" he asks, amused, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you nod weakly, tears still streaming, and he makes a soft, pitying sound. "aw, poor thing. you've been so good for me. been so patient."
his free hand finally, finally returns between your legs, and this time his fingers don't tease, don't wander. two thick digits push back inside you, curling ruthlessly against that spot while his thumb locks onto your clit and grinds, hard and deliberate. you wail, hips bucking, and his palm presses back against your throat, just enough pressure to make every sound catch, every breath stutter.
"that's it," he breathes, voice dropping low, rough for the first time all night. "let go for me. come on, sweetheart. i've got you. just let it happen."
it crashes through you like a wave, violent and endless, your whole body bowing in his grip, a choked cry tearing from your lips as you clench around his fingers. he holds you through every shudder, every spasm, his arm squeezing you tight to his chest, his hand never leaving your throat, never easing up. you feel the rumble of his hum against your back, low and satisfied, the press of his lips to your temple as he whispers, "good girl. that's my good girl. knew you had it in you."
soon after, he shuts off the water, carries you out of the shower like you weigh nothing, one arm beneath your knees, the other bracing your back, your wet head lolling against his shoulder. the bathroom fills with steam and the lingering scent of his body wash, musk and mint, and he towels you off with the same methodical patience he shows everything, rubbing the plush fabric slow over your arms, your stomach, between your toes, taking such ridiculous care with each part of you that you want to cry all over again. you’re still shaking, boneless and dreamy, little tremors running through you every time his knuckles brush a tender spot.
he dresses you in the softest thing he can find, one of his t-shirts, swallowing you whole, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. he tugs a pair of his boxers on you too, rolling the waistband until it sits snug on your hips, and presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “there we go, sweetheart. all sorted.” you blink up at him, drowsy and syrupy, and he smiles, thumbing away a stray droplet of water on your cheek.
the bed is a cloud when he lays you down, sheets cool against your back, the smell of clean linen and him wrapping around you. he pulls the duvet up to your chin, tucking you in with absurd tenderness, and brushes the damp hair from your face before leaning down to kiss your forehead one more time. “take a nap, baby,” he whispers, voice impossibly soft, his big hand cupping your cheek, cradling your whole face in his palm. you pass out before he even lies down.
when you blink awake, it's to the smell of seared meat and butter and something warm and herbal from the kitchen, drifting lazy through the house. the sheets are cool against your bare skin, tangled around your legs, and the early evening sun is slanting through the curtains in long amber stripes. your whole body aches in the best way—limbs heavy, mind cotton-soft, that floaty, syrupy feeling still clinging to your bones like perfume. you stretch tentatively, cat-like, and catch sight of yourself in the full-length mirror by the wardrobe: your throat is mottled, faint bruises blooming across the curve of it, thumbprints and fingertip shadows. your thighs are still trembling faintly, and the ghost of his grip lingers everywhere he touched.
the bed beside you is empty, but the pillow still holds the dent of his head, still smells like him, and you press your face into it for a second, just breathing him in, before you push yourself up on wobbly legs.
the house is quiet except for the clatter of pans, the soft thump of footsteps, and when you pad down the hallway in his oversized shirt, you find him in the kitchen. he's standing at the stove, hair tied back in a messy knot, wearing a pair of low-slung grey joggers and nothing else, his back broad and golden in the last of the day's light. he's tending to two massive steaks in a cast iron pan, basting them with butter and garlic, the hiss and pop filling the kitchen with that rich, mouth-watering smell. his shoulders shift as he moves, the muscles in his back rolling, and he looks so impossibly big framed against the tiled backsplash, so entirely domestic, like something out of the kind of life you only ever see in romance novels.
you hover in the doorway for a second, watching him flip a steak with practiced ease, before he senses you there and glances over his shoulder. the moment his eyes land on you, his whole face shifts—softens into that particular smile he reserves for you, all warmth and quiet adoration, the kind that makes your knees go weak all over again. his gaze drops to your throat, to the marks just visible above the shirt's collar, and something flickers behind his eyes, a little breath of a hum.
"oh, baby," he murmurs, turning fully now, setting the pan on a low burner, crossing the kitchen in three easy strides, all long legs and casual power. he stops in front of you, tilting your chin up with two fingers, thumb brushing lightly over the bruises with a kind of careful, tentative tenderness. "look at you, hm? look what i did to my pretty girl."
you make a soft, embarrassed sound, cheeks flushing, but he just smiles—soft, a little guilty in that indulgent way of his—and leans down to press a slow, sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. "sorry," he says, quietly, mouth curving against your cheek. "might have to leave you alone tonight." he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, thumb still stroking your jaw, voice warm and low. "wouldn't want to bruise my baby up any more than she already is, hm? wouldn't want to be too rough with my little thing."
the sound that comes out of you is absolutely pathetic, a high, breathless little noise that you'd be embarrassed about if you had any dignity left. "noooo, please—" you reach for him without thinking, fingers curling into the waistband of his joggers, tugging weakly, and he just looks down at you with that lazy, indulgent expression, lips twitching. "please don't, i'll be good, i won't even be loud—"
"hm," he cuts you off, low and amused, thumb pressing gently against your bottom lip. "you say that now." he pulls away from you, easy as anything, your fingers slipping from his waistband as he turns back to the stove, and you make a devastated little whimper that makes him chuckle again, deep and warm.
the steaks are perfect when he plates them—seared, juicy, resting beside a pile of garlicky green beans and roasted baby potatoes. he sets your plate at the little two-seater table by the window, pulls out your chair, waits until you climb in, and then nudges it forward. he settles across from you, his knees brushing yours under the tiny table because he's so ridiculously big, and he watches you take the first bite with a small, satisfied smile, blue eyes soft as he watches you chew.
"good?" he asks, and you nod, still working on getting your voice back. he hums, spearing a green bean with his fork. "you earned it. put you through it earlier, didn't i?" his eyes flick to your throat again, and there's that little pinch between his brows, "sorry, baby. really."
but the way he says it, so gentle, the "sorry" landing all wrong, like a tease, you want to melt through the floor. you shove another bite of steak in your mouth to keep from making another embarrassing sound.
he eats one-handed, his other hand resting on your knee under the table, thumb stroking slow, absent circles on your skin. "maybe just a little bit later, hm?" he murmurs after a while, not looking up from his plate. "let you rest. let those pretty bruises fade a little." his foot nudges yours, gentle. "got a whole night ahead of us, baby. no rush."
you nod, cheeks burning, and his hand squeezes your knee, and you eat your dinner with that sweet ache in your chest, half-wishing he'd just give in already, half-wanting to be good enough for him to actually keep his word.
notes: i can’t believe the world cup has got me writing my little rambles again but here i am all up in my feels 🤣 this one features a protective and clingy bf erling. ❤️
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
you smiled to yourself as you watched erling jog back across the pitch after finishing his final warm up drill, his long blonde hair scrapped back into a red scrunchie making him stand out amongst the sea of players.
he glanced up towards the family section in search of you. it never seemed to take him long to find you, and this time was no different. his face instantly softened as you lifted your hand with a grin and gave him a little wave, earning one in return before he blew you an exaggerated kiss that had a couple of the other girlfriends giggling beside you.
"it's actually embarrassing how obsessed he is with you." one of them laughed, nudging your arm.
you couldn't help the blush that crept onto your cheeks as you watched him jog towards his teammates, still smiling to himself after spotting you in the crowd.
"i think you're confusing obsessed with affectionate.” you replied, trying your best to sound nonchalant despite the warmth spreading through your chest.
"no, i'm definitely not." she teased back.
the music echoed around the stadium moments later, signalling for the players to make their way back onto the pitch, and soon the norwegian national anthem was ringing out around the packed stadium. you felt a familiar wave of pride wash over you whilst watching erling stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the norway squad, his eyes fixed ahead as he sang every word.
the first half seemed to fly by, the atmosphere inside the stadium unlike anything you had ever experienced before. the fans cheered every tackle, every save and every attack, leaving you barely sitting down for more than a few seconds at a time before you were back on your feet applauding another chance.
when the referee blew the whistle signalling half time, you followed the rest of the players' families and friends into the hospitality lounge beneath the stands, smiling politely at familiar faces as people chatted excitedly about the first half whilst helping themselves to coffee and snacks.
you made your way over to the refreshments table, and as you reached for one of the bottles of water , a voice beside you pulled your attention away.
"good game so far, isn't it?"
you turned your head and were met with an easy smile from a man who looked around your age. he didn’t look familiar and he was dressed very smartly, so you assumed he was probably one of the many guests invited into the hospitality suite for the afternoon. he wasn’t much taller than you with mousey brown hair, dark eyes and an american accent.
“yeah, it’s been really good.” you smiled politely.
“my name’s liam.” he introduced himself before explaining that his father worked high up for one of the sponsors. it was very evident that he expected you to have been impressed by this which made you internally roll your eyes, but you did your best to remain polite. you didn’t want any rumours to circulate that erling’s girlfriend had been rude to the sponsors’ family.
liam effortlessly struck up a conversation as though the two of you had known each other for years, asking whether you had caught many of norway’s matches and if you were enjoying the world cup so far.
despite giving off the impression of someone who had grown up getting everything they had ever asked for, the conversation was pleasant enough, and you answered politely, keeping your reponses short and sweet in the hope that it would naturally come to an end, not thinking too much of it until his questions gradually began to venture into more personal territory.
"so," he smiled, taking a sip of his own drink, "who've you come here with today?"
oh, now this could be fun, you thought.
"my boyfriend.” you answered confidently.
"oh yeah?" he asked, glancing around the room. "where is he then?"
you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you nodded towards the pitch beyond the glass windows.
"he's just warming back up."
liam followed the direction of your finger before looking back at you with an amused expression.
"no, seriously."
you laughed softly, almost a bit offended that he hadn’t immediately believed you.
"i am being serious.” you replied a matter of factly.
liam frowned slightly. "which one is he?"
your smile widened as your eyes immediately found the familiar blond ponytail jogging across the pitch.
"number nine."
for a few seconds liam simply stared out towards the players before looking back at you with an expression somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
"you're telling me your boyfriend is erling haaland?"
you nodded, smugness filling your entire body. “that’s him.”
liam let out a surprised deep chuckle, quickly rubbing at the back of his neck.
“well... i have to be honest, i wasn't expecting that."
you smiled politely, assuming that would be the end of the conversation as you grabbed your water bottle. before you had the chance to excuse yourself, liam spoke up again.
"guess you can't blame me for trying, right?” his tone was light hearted enough that you simply laughed awkwardly.
you offered him a small smile out of pity, hoping the conversation would definitely be over now he knew you weren't only in a relationship, but that your boyfriend was currently out on the pitch preparing to play the second half of one of the biggest matches of his career.
noticing that people had already started making their way back towards the seating area as the players began to reappear from the tunnel, you tried to excuse yourself.
"i should probably head back out now.” you smiled politely, taking a small step backwards.
"wait," he said quickly, taking a step after you. "there's a big event after the game for some of the sponsors and guests. you should come."
you offered him an apologetic smile. "that's kind of you, but i'll be spending the evening with erling."
"bring him then.” he suggested, and you couldn't help but laugh.
"i don't think he'll be too interested.” the last thing erling would want to do after kicking off his world cup tournament was hanging out with some wannabe schmoozers.
"then just come for one drink. by yourself.” liam suggested and at this point, you were getting a little fed up of how persistent he was being.
you did your very best to remain calm. "i'm alright, thank you.”
he nodded, although it was clear from the expression on his face that he wasn't quite ready to leave it there.
"another time then.” he spoke confidently, not willing to just admit defeat. that would’ve clearly damaged his ego too much.
you gave a small shake of your head. "i don't think so."
"why not?” he asked and his arrogance was beginning to outstand you.
you blinked slightly, surprised that he had asked the question so openly. "because i've got a boyfriend." you reminded him.
"yeah," he replied with a grin, "but surely you're allowed friends."
you shifted your weight slightly, your smile becoming a little more forced than before.
"i don't really think erling would appreciate me going out for drinks with another man."
he laughed as though you'd made a joke.
"he never has to know.” your heart sank ever so slightly as his suggestion. from your first date with erling, he treated you with the upmost respect. he was a true modern day gentlemen; opening car doors for you, ensuring you always had what you wanted, looking after you when you were ill, but also loving how you were able to speak up and stick up for yourself when needed. it was evident early on in your relationship that he was the one for you, and the idea of so much as looking at another man quite frankly repulsed you.
"i'm going to go and find my friends before the second half starts.” you simply replied, ready to walk away now even if it did mean you were called rude.
"hey," he called after you as you began to turn away.
you glanced back over your shoulder.
"if you ever change your mind..."
you simply smiled politely.
"i won't."
without waiting for another response, you made your way across the hospitality suite towards a couple of your girl friends, feeling yourself breathe out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as you reached your familiar group.
you mumbled a quick hello to them as you settled back into your padded seat. you couldn't help yourself from glancing down towards the pitch as erling emerged from the tunnel alongside his teammates, completely unaware of what had happened during the break as he jogged back into position, and the second his eyes found yours amongst the crowd once again, he offered you that same boyish smile from before kick-off along with a small wave, making your heart soften despite everything.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
the final whistle was met with an eruption of cheers as norway secured a deserved 3-1 victory, two goals curtosey of erling.
by the time you and erling had had some dinner and finally made it back to the hotel, it was several hours later and both of you were exhausted.
you quietly closed the bedroom door behind you before slipping your shoes off by the entrance, letting out a content sigh as the silence of the hotel room replaced the constant noise that had surrounded you for the entire afternoon and evening.
“do you want me to run you a bath, baby?” erling asked and you smiled, your routine from home following you to america.
you disappeared into the bathroom, having some time to think about the day’s events, but mostly how proud you were of erling for performing so well in such an important game. he hadn’t let the pressure get to him, and you were sure you were the prouder girlfriend to ever exist in that moment.
after a while of relaxing and soaking in the bubble bath that erling had prepared for you, you reappeared wearing one of your favourite t-shirts that was previously erling’s but had long been claimed by yourself. you padded barefoot across the room towards the bed where he was already lying against the headboard, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats signalling he was ready for bed. he was scrolling absent-mindedly through messages from teammates and family congratulating him on the result.
he instantly smiled seeing you join him on the bed, his heart beaming as he took in your appearance, makeup removed, natural damp hair and wearing only his clothes. he would never tire of the sight.
you got settled onto the mattress beside him, pulling the duvet up to cover both of your legs as you picked up the tv remote and flicked through the channels. after just a few moments you found yourself glancing across at erling.
"you'll never guess what happened at half-time."
he looked up immediately, an intrigued look on his face. “what, baby?”
“this guy was trying to chat me up at half time.” you sniggered a little at the memory, as though the idea of another man trying to chat you up was laughable. you were so committed to erling.
erling immediately locked his phone and placed it onto the bedside table, his eyebrows furrowing and a stern look appearing on his face at the mention of a guy bothering you.
"he was fine to begin with," you continued, absent-mindedly playing with one of the loose threads on the duvet. "then he started asking who i'd come with."
erling's expression became a little amused, already picturing the look on this loser’s face when his beautiful girlfriend told him she was taken, let alone who by.
"i told him my boyfriend had brought me and he asked where you were."
that made the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "what did you say?” he asked, leaning back slightly agains the headboard more amused than before.
"i pointed out onto the pitch.”
erling grinned at that, chuckling lowly. "and?"
"he thought i was joking.” you said, your voice showing that you weren’t sure if you should’ve been offended.
a little laugh escaped erling. "did he?"
“mhm." you couldn't help smiling as you remembered the look on the young man's face. “i did enjoy the look on his face when i pointed to you.” you laughed recalling the memory.
erling let out a proper laugh at that, shaking his head to himself. "i wish i'd seen his face."
you giggled, "it was priceless."
his smile lingered as he reached across to gently tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. "bet that shut him up."
you hesitated ever so slightly, debating whether to just leave it there, but you decided not to. you and erling had no secrets.
"...not exactly."
the smile slowly faded from his face. "what do you mean?” his bright eyes searched yours.
you shrugged. "he asked me if id like to go for a drink with him even after i told him about you.”
erling frowned, and the room seemed noticeably quieter now.
“i obviously said no.”
erling was looking at you properly now, his heart breaking at this loser potentially making his girl feel uncomfortable whilst he oblivious to this going on.
"he said it was only a drink and that you didn't have to know.” you continued and for a second, erling didn't say anything at all.
he simply looked at you, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“he knew you were my boyfriend. i told him twice.”
erling paused before speaking up, trying to keep his anger at bay. he wanted to direct it to this guy, and he didn’t want you to think he was getting angry with you.
"should've been enough the first time.” he mumbled angrily and your heart melted.
you reached over, resting your hand against his forearm.
"erl, honestly, it's okay."
he looked down at where your fingers rested against his skin before meeting your eyes again.
"was he making you uncomfortable?"
you thought about it for a moment. "a little."
that was all it took.
without saying another word, erling reached for you, his hands settling gently around your waist as he guided you across the mattress until you were sitting sideways on his lap, his arms wrapping around you almost instinctively before pulling you firmly against his bare chest.
"erling..." you laughed softly.
he simply buried his face into your shoulder. “don't say it’s fine when it’s not.”
you smiled to yourself, your arms naturally finding their way around his neck as you stroked your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
"i'm okay, i promise. he was just so persistent it was annoying.”
he tightened his arms around you ever so slightly, the embrace somehow becoming even more secure as though every protective instinct inside him had quietly taken over, leaving you almost completely cocooned against his broad chest.
after a few moments, he shifted the two of you further up the bed until he was lying back against the pillows with you tucked comfortably into his side, one of his arms beneath your shoulders whilst the other remained firmly around your waist, keeping you so close that there wasn't even the smallest gap between your bodies.
"comfortable?" you teased, smiling to yourself as you realised there was absolutely no chance of escaping his grip.
he simply hummed. “very."
you laughed quietly, attempting to readjust your body slightly. "i can't move."
"good." he replied.
"you're squashing me." you half complained but really, you loved it. you never felt safer than being all wrapped up in his arms, even if that did mean struggling to breathe.
he loosened his hold by the tiniest amount before immediately pulling you straight back against him again, pressing a kiss into the top of your head as he intertwined his fingers with yours beneath the duvet.
"better?"
"not really." you spoke, sarcasm clear in your voice as you exaggerated a little sigh.
"good."
you couldn't help but laugh as you felt him smile into your hair, his fingers absent mindedly rubbing slow circles against your side whilst the steady rise and fall of his chest gradually lulled the room into a comfortable silence.
"you're being very clingy."
he shrugged against you. “i’m allowed."
"are you?" you glanced up at him, his eyes now closed. he just mumbled in agreement. “why?"
he was quiet for a moment before kissing your forehead. “because i spent ninety minutes on a football pitch today."
you looked up at him. “and?"
"and whilst i was out there..." he murmured, gently brushing his thumb across your waist, "...some idiot wouldn't take no for an answer."
you smiled softly before nestling yourself impossibly closer, earning another content little squeeze from the giant norwegian wrapped around you.
"i only want you.” you replied and he tutted, hating the idea of you thinking you had to defend yourself to him all because some guy wouldn’t leave you alone.
Jobe Bellingham as your cutie patootie bf! ⋆.˚ 18+ | part three
bf jobe! who ties your shoelaces when they’ve come undone. he sits you someplace with shade and his body would shield the sun away from your face so he can bend and re-tie them.
bf jobe! who once jacked off in the locker room to you when he was missing you so much :c his fingers pumping his length were not as good as how your warm pussy feels. he’s never satisfied with jacking off but at least he can visualize how’d you’d look like when stuffed full of his cock.
bf jobe! loves resting his head in between your boobs. no matter the size, he lives for them anyway. If they’re big, he’ll use those as his pillow and if they’re little, he sucks various love bites into your skin, liking the way your flesh bruises a pretty shade of red.
bf jobe! who never gets tired of hugging you. he buries and rubs his face into your shoulder like an oversized cat and sniffs you delightedly, feeling that little smile on your skin. always pressing soft kisses to your neck as well since you always smell so good to him he just can’t get enough.
bf jobe! has inside jokes with his favorite girl. just because you both are dating he doesn’t make it any different with how limited his jokes can get.
bf jobe! holds you close in a crowded area. likes to hold and intertwine his fingers with yours as if to attach himself to you. if that’s not enough, he interlinks his arm with yours or just lets you walk in front of him with both his hands gripping your hips.
bf jobe! who carries you when your legs are tired from walking. sure it’s the bare minimum but sometimes you insist that he doesn’t have to but he just chuckles at that. you don’t want his arms wrapped around you? how about his hands underneath your thighs to hold you close and secure? or when he tucks your head into his solid chest as he kisses your forehead whispering sweet words into your ear? the longer you resist, the more you want.
bf jobe! stands behind you at ALL times. anywhere and everywhere he’s your personal bodyguard. he stands tall (6’3) so he uses that as an advantage to protect you
bf jobe! back hugger. yup. hugs you from the back and just fully drowns you in his body. wraps his long sturdy limbs around you just to snuggle and to annoy you (because holy shit he’s heavy!)
bf jobe! who falls asleep on you during movie marathons. usually he can keep his eyes open no problem but when his favorite girl is beside him all warm and cute, he’s the type to just lay his head on your shoulder or if he’s really tired, he buries his face into your lap.
bf jobe! who covers your body when you bend down to pick something up, only for him to turn and look at your ass with a shy little grin on his face. another thing where he has to bend his knees to talk to you because of the height difference and cheekily caresses your cheek with his thumb because you laughed at one of his jokes.
bf jobe! secretly has a size kink. all over you and in bed, it gets pretty obvious. he sees you wearing one of his jerseys which was one too many sizes on you? instant turn on. or when your pretty eyes begin to water slightly when he tries to fit his cock into you, his favorite part is when he sees the little bulge peeking over your lower tummy. don’t be mad if he cums on the spot, you’re just so fucking hot to him.
bf jobe! who clings to you during a horror attraction LMAO he gets all jumpy and scared but swears he can protect you (and he will, he’s trying!), “s-shit! why’s that even there–” before he can finish another stage actor frights him which sends his heart leaping out of his chest. all he can do is hold you while walking down the horror house alert with a nervous smile on his face.
bf jobe! who’s actually introverted and when you do all the talking outside while he’s on his phone, he just admires you when you order a drink for the both of you (he’s paying duh) but when everything you do turns him on so pathetically, it’s hard not to be hard.
synopsis — after spending his whole life watching the world choose his older brother first, jobe never expected to meet someone who would make him feel seen. when he and y/n quickly grow inseparable after meeting at a party, he quietly begins to believe that, for once, he might be someone’s first choice. but after seeing her laughing with jude, he convinces himself history is repeating itself. instead of risking another heartbreak, he slowly pushes her away, only to discover that the person she’d been choosing all along was him.
# warnings: faint angst, fluff, hurt/comfort.
# wc: 3,7k
# mia’s note: reqs are closed!!! with sooo much love, mia.
part one. part two.
masterlist
jobe hated every second of it.
every ignored message, every cancelled plan, every short reply. because every time he did it, he pictured the expression she’d probably make reading it.
the little crease that appeared between her eyebrows whenever she was trying to understand something.
he knew she was confused. he knew she was probably wondering if she’d done something wrong.
and he hated himself for allowing her to think that, but he couldn’t stop. just like y/n, he was protecting himself from what he was convinced will damn him for life, coming second to his older brother.
because every time he imagined seeing her again, he also imagined seeing her look at jude the way she’d looked at him on the patio.
warm, comfortable. interested.
he’d spent his entire life watching people choose his brother first. teachers remembered jude’s name before they remembered his.
coaches compared them, reporters asked about jude before asking about him.
fans wanted photographs with jude. brands wanted jude.
everyone wanted jude. he’d learned to live with it, he really had.
because none of those things had ever belonged to him in the first place.
but y/n was different. she was the first thing he’d quietly allowed himself to hope might actually become his.
not in a possessive way, just someone who had chosen him first. someone who looked around crowded rooms and instinctively smiled when she found him.
if she chose jude too, he wasn’t sure he’d know how to survive hearing, “it’s not your fault, jobe.”
because he’d heard versions of that sentence his whole life.
“you’re just different.”
“don’t compare yourself.”
“people can’t help it.”
he knew they meant well. and it never hurt any less.
a week later, training finished early. the weather had turned grey, thin rain drifting lazily across the city.
jobe decided to grab a coffee before driving home.
as he turned onto the high street, his footsteps slowed.
across the road, through the rain speckled window of a small café, he saw them.
jude and y/n.
they were sitting opposite each other, with two mugs between them. she was talking with both hands, animated in the way she always became whenever she forgot to be self conscious.
jude listened carefully before laughing.
she laughed too. then shook her head, smiling as though she was teasing him.
from where jobe stood behind the rain, they looked easy. comfortable like they belonged there.
he didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, that she’d asked jude to meet because she was worried. that she’d wanted to ask if he’d noticed something different about jobe.
that she’d spent nearly the entire conversation anxiously wondering whether she’d accidentally hurt him.
all he saw was the one image he’d been trying desperately to convince himself wasn’t real. his brother, and the girl he’d fallen hopelessly in love with, choosing each other’s company.
he stood there for several long seconds, the rain slowly dampened the shoulders of his jacket.
he felt so defeated. it wasn’t jealousy, he was just so hurt, because life had been so unfair to him.
y/n never belonged to him, but she was the closest thing he ever had to being his. what he had prayed to keep.
inside the café, neither of them looked toward the window, neither of them saw him.
he lowered his head, turned around, and walked away.
he didn’t feel like he’d been left behind, he felt replaced.
it lasted another five days.
five days of pretending nothing was wrong. five days of checking her messages without replying straight away.
five days of rehearsing conversations in his head that never happened. five days of missing her so badly it almost became physical.
he still reached for his phone whenever something reminded him of her. he still instinctively looked for the black jacket she always wore whenever he walked into cafés.
he still caught himself turning to say something before remembering she wasn’t beside him anymore.
every habit he’d built around her remained, only she was gone from them. or rather he’d removed her himself.
and that made it worse. because every lonely evening, every quiet drive home, every meal eaten alone wasn’t something fate had handed him, he had chosen it.
he kept telling himself it was better this way. better to disappear now than stand there and watch her slowly realize she’d rather have jude.
he’d survive leaving before she could leave him.
that thought comforted him for about five minutes at a time, then he’d remember the look on her face the last time they’d properly laughed together. the way she’d smiled whenever she’d managed to make him blush.
the cinnamon pastry.
and he’d wonder if he’d just thrown away the happiest thing that had happened to him in years.
y/n had reached the end of guessing. she’d replayed every conversation, every message, every moment at the party.
she’d asked herself whether she’d accidentally embarrassed him or said something insensitive.
whether she’d become too much. whether he’d simply stopped liking her.
none of the answers fit, because none of it matched the boy she’d gotten to know.
jobe wasn’t someone who disappeared. if something bothered him, he usually went quiet, but never cruel. but this silence felt deliberate, which hurt far more than anger ever could have.
anger, at least, came with an explanation. silence left too much room for imagination.
she found herself standing outside the training ground before she’d fully decided she was going there. the autumn air had turned crisp enough that every breath lingered white for a second before disappearing.
players were beginning to filter out through the gates in little groups.
she spotted jude first, and he noticed her almost immediately.
his smile appeared automatically before fading into something more puzzled. “y/n?”
she offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.“hi.”
“everything alright?”
she hesitated. “have you seen jobe?”
jude glanced over his shoulder toward the building. “he’ll be out in a minute.”
his gaze drifted back to her to he study her face for another second. “what happened?”
she looked away. a slow breath left her lungs. “i don’t know.”
those three words sounded far smaller spoken aloud than they’d felt inside her head.
“he just…” she swallowed. “…he won’t talk to me anymore.”
the confusion on jude’s face deepened. “what?”
“i don’t know what i’ve done.”
“you haven’t done anything.”
“how do you know?”
“because he’d have told me.”
she let out a humourless little laugh. “apparently he doesn’t tell anyone.”
before jude could answer the doors opened again and jobe stepped outside. training bag slung over one shoulder, head lowered as he zipped up his jacket against the cold.
he almost walked straight past them. almost.
then he looked up, and everything inside him stopped.
for a second none of them moved. engines started and doors slammed. but it all sounded strangely distant, because all jobe could see was her.
she looked tired. there were faint shadows beneath her eyes.
she’d tucked her hands into the sleeves of her jumper the way she always did whenever she felt awkward.
she looked sad. and he knew, with sickening certainty, he’d put that expression there.
jude looked between the two of them once. “i’m gonna leave you two to it.”
neither of them answered, and he walked away anyway.
the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. months of easy conversation had somehow become impossibly difficult.
jobe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. his grip tightened around the strap of his training bag.
“hi,” her eyes searched his face.
“hi,” his voice sounded unfamiliar. rough.
she noticed. he hadn’t been sleeping well. she could see it, his jaw looked tighter. his shoulders more tense.
even the smile he tried giving her looked tired.
she hated how relieved she felt just hearing him speak, but that relief quickly gave way to frustration.
“can we talk?”
he nodded almost immediately. “yeah.”
they ended up walking without deciding where, the training ground disappeared behind them.
neither of them seemed in any hurry to fill the silence.
for weeks, she’d imagined this conversation, rehearsed dozens of openings.
none of them seemed right anymore. but finally, she stopped walking.
he did too.
there was a small park beside the road, nearly empty except for rain dark benches and leaves scattered across the paths.
she turned to face him fully. “i need you to tell me what’s happened,” her voice wasn’t angry. “because i’ve spent weeks wondering if i hurt you,” she looked down at the pavement for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “and i can’t keep inventing reasons.”
jobe felt something inside his chest crack.
she’d been carrying this too. while he’d been trying to protect himself, he’d forgotten she’d been hurting as well.
he looked away. towards anywhere but her.
“you didn’t.”
“then what was it?”
he stayed silent. and she waited, but he still didn’t answer.
her shoulders dropped as she whispered, “please,” barely louder than the wind. “don’t make me guess anymore.”
he closed his eyes. he’d spent years swallowing this feeling, years pretending it didn’t exist.
years telling everyone,including himself, that he didn’t care. because admitting it felt unfair.
it wasn’t jude’s fault. it wasn’t anybody’s fault. but that didn’t stop it from hurting.
his voice came out almost as a whisper. “i saw you.”
she frowned slightly. “what?”
“at the party,” his throat tightened. “with jude.”
she blinked. “oh.”
“then…” he laughed quietly, without any humour in it. “…i saw you again,” he looked down at his shoes. “…at the café.”
he rubbed one hand across the back of his neck, buying himself another few seconds because suddenly breathing felt difficult.
“…and i just…” his voice wavered just enough that the last word came out uneven. “…i thought…”
he couldn’t finish.
y/n stared at him confused. “…thought what?”
he squeezed his eyes shut.
and for the first time ever, he said the thing he’d never let himself say aloud.
“…i thought you’d chosen him.”
the words hung between them. settling deep in between them.
he kept talking before he could lose the courage. “everyone always does. it’s always jude,” he shook his head quickly.“not because he’s done anything wrong. he’s—he’s my brother.”
his eyes had begun to sting. “i love him. he’s never tried to take anything from me. he never would.”
another breath. “…people just…” his voice barely carried. “…they always look at him first.”
his shoulders slumped as though something heavy had finally slipped off them. “my whole life…” he stared at the wet pavement. “…i’ve always come second.”
there was no bitterness. only exhaustion that came from carrying something for years.
“and then i met you.”
his eyes finally lifted to hers. they were red around the edges, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before.
his expression held no pride anymore. no attempt to appear unaffected. “you were the first person…” his voice trembled. “…who looked for me.”
his throat tightened again. “…who remembered things about me… who chose to spend time with me.”
he smiled sadly. “…i didn’t even realize how much i’d started hoping,” another shaky breath. “then i saw you with him.”
his gaze fell again. “…and i just… thought history had caught up with me.”
his fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag.
“i liked you so much,” the confession was barely audible. “more than i’ve ever liked anyone.”
he smiled through the hurt. “and i knew…” his eyes closed again. “…if you chose him… i don’t think i would’ve survived standing there and watching it happen.”
the silence afterwards felt endless, because everything he’d spent a lifetime hiding was finally out in the open.
jobe looked less like a footballer people admired, and more like the little brother who had spent years wondering what it felt like to be chosen first.
for a long moment y/n couldn’t speak.
the world carried on around them as though nothing extraordinary had happened, and in the middle of all of it stood a boy who had just handed her the most fragile part of himself with both hands, trusting she wouldn’t drop it.
she looked at him. at the boy underneath all of it. the one who had spent years convincing himself he didn’t mind standing in someone else’s shadow.
the one who had smiled every time someone introduced him as jude’s little brother.
the one who had learned to make peace with being overlooked.
until he’d met her.
her chest tightened painfully. she’d never realized how lonely he’d been. how he felt.
the person she had grown to feel so fond of was hurting and she had no idea.
“jobe.”
his name came out softer than she’d intended.
he still couldn’t quite meet her eyes. as though saying all of that aloud had exhausted whatever courage he’d been holding onto.
his shoulders looked strangely small now. the tension that had kept his posture straight for weeks had disappeared, leaving only quiet defeat.
he genuinely believed he’d lost her. he genuinely believed she’d chosen someone else.
what hurt most was realizing he’d accepted that as inevitable. as if it wasn’t even something worth fighting for.
she took a few slow steps toward him until barely half a metre separated them.
“look at me,” there wasn’t an ounce of anger in her voice, only tenderness.
he hesitated before finally lifting his head. his eyes were still glassy.
he looked frightened. not of her, of whatever answer she was about to give.
y/n felt her heart crack. “you’ve spent weeks convincing yourself of something that was never true.”
he frowned ever so slightly.
she could almost see him preparing himself for rejection anyway.
for the gentle but…
the apology. the explanation.
she smiled sadly. “do you know what jude and i were talking about at that party?”
he shook his head.
“he was telling me the story about how you tried to teach him to bake when you were younger.”
confusion flickered across his face. “what?”
“a mutual friend mentioned you’d nearly set the smoke alarm off,” the corner of her mouth lifted. “apparently neither of you knew you had to grease the tin.”
he blinked. “that’s…”
“…embarrassing?”
“…yeah. it really is.”
she watched his expression carefully, confusion slowly replace heartbreak. “that was it. we’d met a couple of times before at parties. i already knew who he was.”
she shrugged lightly. “he’s your brother. of course we’d spoken,” she paused. “but i wasn’t standing there because i wanted to get to know him,” her voice softened even further. “i was standing there because i wanted stories about you. i liked hearing about little jobe.”
his eyebrows pulled together. “what?”
“the one who cried because he accidentally stepped on a snail.”
his eyes widened. “he told you that?”
“he seemed very proud of it.”
“i was six.”
a tiny, helpless sound escaped him. somewhere between a laugh and complete disbelief.
she took another small step. close enough now that she could see the tiny freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.
close enough to notice how tired he looked. how much weight he’d seemed to carry these past weeks.
“and the café?”
he didn’t think she owed him any explanations, but he had been so vulnerable already, and he really wanted to know.
she continued. “i asked jude to meet me.”
his face fell again for a second and she immediately reached for his hand. threading her fingers around his because she couldn’t bear the thought of him retreating back into his own head.
his hand was cold. hers tightened gently.
“because i thought you’d stopped liking me.”
he looked up so quickly she almost smiled.
“i wanted to know if you’d said something to him. if training had been difficult or if something had happened that you hadn’t wanted to tell me.”
she let out a quiet breath. “i spent almost an hour asking your brother if he’d noticed you seemed… sad.”
she laughed softly to herself, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “and all that time…” she looked down at their joined hands. “…you thought i was on a date with him.”
the silence that followed felt completely different from the one before.
jobe’s mouth parted slightly. he looked almost dazed.
“you…” his voice was rough. “…you were asking about me?”
she looked at him as though the answer couldn’t possibly be anything else. “who else would i have been asking about?”
he swallowed hard. she watched the movement in his throat. watched his eyes search her face over and over again, as though he was trying to find the hidden catch.
the part where she changed her mind. the part where she admitted she’d been trying to spare his feelings.
there wasn’t one. she could see him struggling to believe it.
years of being second weren’t undone by one conversation, they had become instinct. an old wound didn’t stop hurting because someone finally bandaged it.
so she didn’t rush him.
she stayed there, holding his hand, and waiting.
after a long while, he whispered. “why me?”
it was such a quiet question that someone walking past would’ve missed it entirely.
every ounce of disbelief tucked inside those two words.
not do you like me?
not are you sure?
“because you’re you.”
he looked unconvinced. she expected that.
“you listen. you notice when i’m cold before i do. you always walk closest to the road.”
his eyes dropped to the ground for a second.
she continued. “you blush every single time someone compliments you and you smile like you’re trying not to.”
“you make room for everyone else before yourself. and…” her voice became almost a whisper. “…i’ve never once spent time with you and wished i was talking to somebody else.”
she stepped even closer until there was barely any space left between them.
“i didn’t choose jude. i never would. i chose you the first night you stood there defending plain water like it was a personality trait.”
a laugh escaped him. he rubbed one hand across his face in embarrassment. “i’ve been such an idiot.”
she shook her head immediately. “no you haven’t.”
“i’ve been scared.”
he closed his eyes.
“yeah. i know.”
she lifted her free hand slowly and carefully. giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wanted.
he leaned into it before he’d even realized he was doing it.
her palm settled against his cheek warm and gentle.
the roughness of faint stubble brushed against her skin.
he let out the smallest breath. weeks of tension seemed to leave him all at once.
“you know what hurt me most?” she whispered.
he looked at her.
“you didn’t think i liked your brother.”
“i can understand why you were afraid, but you thought you had to lose me by yourself.”
his eyes closed again. a tiny crease appeared between his brows. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.”
she smiled. then, without another word, she leaned forward the final inch.
she gave him every chance to stop her.
he didn’t.
he watched her coming closer, his eyes searching hers one last time, almost as though he still couldn’t quite believe she was here. that she hadn’t walked away after everything he’d confessed.
their foreheads brushed first. a feather light touch.
she felt the shaky breath leave him, warm against her face, and for a brief second they stayed there, noses almost touching, sharing the same quiet air.
“can i?” she whispered.
he answered with the smallest nod. so small it was almost imperceptible.
when their lips finally met, it wasn’t hurried.
it was impossibly gentle. a soft, lingering press, tentative enough that it felt like both of them were still asking permission even after the kiss had begun.
jobe froze for the briefest heartbeat. he’d imagined this moment so many times that reality almost felt unreal.
then, slowly, he kissed her back. carefully like she was something precious.
his hand lifted from his side with obvious hesitation before settling lightly against her waist, fingertips barely resting there, afraid that holding her too tightly might somehow break the moment.
y/n smiled against his lips.
she could actually feel the nervous little exhale that escaped him. it made her heart ache.
her fingers slipped gently from his cheek into the soft curls at the nape of his neck, not pulling him closer, just resting there, reassuring him without words that she wasn’t going anywhere.
the kiss deepened only by time. not by urgency. it lingered because neither of them seemed ready to be the first one to let go.
because after weeks of distance, of misunderstandings and lonely nights spent believing the other had slipped away, this felt like finding home again.
when they finally drew apart, it wasn’t by much.
their noses still brushed. she could still feel the warmth of his breath.
his eyes remained closed for another second before opening slowly.
there was something wonderfully unguarded about the way he looked at her now. like the walls he’d spent years building had quietly crumbled away.
his forehead found hers again almost instinctively.
a shaky laugh escaped him. “i’ve wanted to do that since the second coffee.”
she laughed quietly. “second?”
“i was trying to be realistic. i’d already decided after the first.”
she realized then, this was the first time since they’d met that he wasn’t carrying the weight of comparison on his shoulders.
for the first time in his life, someone had looked at both brothers, known them both, spent time with both, and still chosen him.
as they walked back toward the training ground together, their hands remained intertwined almost shyly, their fingers fitting together as though they’d been searching for each other all along.
halfway there, jobe glanced down at their joined hands before looking back at her. “so…”
“hm?”
“does this mean they’re dates now?”
she looked up at him with a grin that reached all the way to her eyes. “i think we’ve been about six weeks late to that conversation.”
he laughed again.
then, without thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed the softest kiss against her knuckles.
no hesitation. no fear. just quiet certainty. because jobe wasn’t shy, he just didn’t know if he was allowed to take up space in her life.
now, jobe bellingham didn’t feel like somebody’s little brother. he felt like someone’s first choice, and he was selfish enough to now feel like she belonged to him.
hmm I don’t know if you write this but could you do bartender!Sirius with a reader who doesn’t really belong in the bar scene but starts to frequent it and then he figures out she’s got a little crush on him?
love your theme btw! 🧸
Thanks angel!
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
cw: alcohol
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 896 words
Etiquette can work differently in bars. On busy nights, Sirius only has to make eye contact with someone on the other side of the bar and they'll tell him their drink order; not for lack of politeness, just for efficiency's sake. Most of the time the first words he hears out of customers' mouths are "vodka," "gin," or "pint."
You always approach with "hi."
"Hi," you say, leaning your elbows on the bar while Sirius shakes with one hand and stirs with the other.
He spares a grin for you. "Hello," he replies. Purring a bit, because he can. "What can I get you?"
The smile you shoot back is gut-wrenchingly sweet. "Anything you'd recommend?"
"Well…" Sirius passes off the two drinks and starts on a pint. "What did you think of the one you had last time?"
Your eyes blink wide. "I, um. It was good. I don't remember what it was called…"
"Mojito," he supplies. A customer down the bar calls for his attention, and Sirius slides a napkin to you, his fingertips touching yours briefly. "Sorry, lovely, can you excuse me for just a minute? I promise not to forget you."
He gets that customer's order and a few others, pouring some shots quickly to quell the urgency surrounding the bar for a little while. While he darts around, Sirius is conscious of the feeling of your eyes following him, like a shiver held at the base of his spine.
"So," he says when he circles back, "what'd you think of it? The mojito."
You make a sound like a puff of air turned to a laugh. "I can't believe you remember that." Sirius raises an eyebrow at you while he pours vodka into a shaker, and you go on almost shyly, "You must serve so many people every night."
"You remember certain faces."
And Sirius remembers yours. He thinks of it as his right, after putting up with so much shit from customers, to pay the pretty ones a bit of extra attention. You came in first a couple of weeks ago. Since then, you've been back fairly regularly, though usually with various other friends. This is the first time Sirius has seen you here alone.
"You can tell me if you didn't like the mojito," he says, looking you in your eyes. Indulging in a private delight at the way your lashes flicker when you have his full attention. "I won't take it personally, promise. We can make you something else."
Honestly, Sirius hopes you didn't like it. Mojitos are a bitch to make. He'd do it again for you, though.
"No," you say, "I liked it. I'd have another, if—only if it's not too much trouble."
"None at all," Sirius lies, and gets out the muddler.
"Thanks," you say, with enough quiet sweetness to make him happy to do it.
He finishes the drink he was making, delivering it to its customer and starting on yours. You watch his wrist twist as he muddles mint in the bottom of a clean shaker. Sirius flicks his eyes up, and yours move away quickly.
"You don't seem like a barfly," he says.
"Oh?" You lean closer as if to hear him better. "I don't know, what makes someone a barfly?"
"Hours logged, I reckon. Gotta do at least ten a week."
Your eyebrows fly up. "Ten?"
"Ten's really on the low end."
"Oh—then, yeah. I guess I'm not one."
Sirius snickers. No shit—you don't even know what a mojito is. "You've been coming around a fair amount, though."
You hear the question he isn't asking. Your bottom lip dents sheepishly. "I just like it here, I guess."
The shiver chooses this moment to zip up Sirius' spine, the feeling tingling all the way to his fingertips. Despite your obvious bashfulness, you hold his gaze across the bar. He almost spills simple syrup on the counter.
"It seems like you're always here," you say after a moment.
"Well, I actually work here," Sirius tells you.
You smile. "I mean that you're here every time I've come in. Do you work every night?"
"From five to two," he confirms. Your smile dims a bit, and Sirius feels himself frown in response. He sets your drink on the bar. "Try that for me, lovely."
You pull the straw towards you dutifully and take a sip. The soft breath you let out after does something funny to his knees. "That's really good, thank you."
"Yeah? It's okay? We can try something else if you like."
"No, it's perfect. I think this is my favorite." Well, Sirius has done it now; he owes an apology to all other bartenders you encounter. But you smile at him again, your eyes crinkling endearingly, and fuck all other bartenders, actually. Sirius will get out the muddler for you as often as you like. "Thanks very much."
"You're very welcome," he tells you. Sincerely, though not without a heavy dose of flirting. Your lashes kiss at the corners. "I do work every night, but that means I'm free during the day. I like coffee."
Your voice softens as though you're trading secrets. "You do?"
"I do."
"There's a coffee shop I like down the street from here. Would you want to go sometime?"
firefighter abby n emt ellie coming home at around 7am only to find reader still awake :( reader couldn’t sleep, maybe bc of anxiety or something, soooo it’s group cuddle time :3
𝓢𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆 ? — 𝐞𝐦𝐭!𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 + 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲
first written fic for this au yayyy!! ellie and abby bickering for 1.7k words straight. Pet names (pretty, babe), swearing, Ellie is a menace with severe adhd, reader mentioned being stressed, Abby pics reader up, fluff fluff fluff, falling asleep w the roomies :) for marie, with love :p send requests! dont be shy 🤍
𝓣he tv’s blue light shines against your face from across the living room, the loading screen appearing after many minutes of ignorance. You paid no mind to it, scrolling mindlessly through your phone underneath one of the living room throw blankets.
Your head pounds against your skull, your eyes wincing as the fluorescent screen of your phone beats into them. You had tried to close them multiple times, you really had. But no matter what you did, your body just wouldn’t cooperate.
At 10 pm you shut down your laptop, slipping it back onto the kitchen table. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and crawled into your own bed, something you didn't do very often.
At 12, after two hours of tossing and turning, you begrudgingly tossed the covers off of your body, and tip-toed into the kitchen. You prepared yourself a small cup of warm tea, and let it coat your throat. You finished, rinsed out the cup, and made your way back to your room.
At 2, you grew angry. You threw yourself out of bed, trudged into the bathroom this time, and ran a warm bubble bath. At that point, your hopes of falling asleep were growing thin, alongside your patience. You hopped in, and let the water calm your muscles for the few minutes that followed.
You got out at three, and followed the previous routine of making your way back to your room and slipping beneath the covers. This time, you opened the window, turned off all your little lights, and did a breathing exercise.
By four o’clock, you knew there was no hope for you. You tugged your phone off the charger and moved to the living room. It was cooler in there, so you pulled a blanket out of the basket at the end of the couch.
You pulled it over the length of your body, and began to carelessly browse the tv for show options. You clicked on the current tv show you were watching, and put it in the background. You barely paid any attention to it, instead opting to pull out your phone and switch between the same four apps that you always did.
Eventually, time slipped away from you, and the clock was striking 7 am. Your roommates were due home soon, today was one of the off times where finished work at the same time.
You scroll to the next TikTok.
“Oh my god you guys, this new blush hack is changing the game!” A woman’s voice fills the silent room. The volume makes your head pound harder. You turn it down quickly, letting it sit at a solid 10.
Scroll.
A video of a cat cooing against their owner pops up. You smile gently, double tap the screen and scroll.
The next video is a lesbian couple, cuddled up in a bed with a soft sound playing in the background. You roll your eyes, clicking on the favourite button and double tapping the screen.
Your scrolling time is interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open, and two sets of boots trudging into the house. You can’t see them from here, and they can’t see you. The back of the couch is covering the majority of your body, and theirs before they step into the entry way.
Ellie groans as she steps into the house, dropping her work bag onto the floor and leaning down to shove her shoes off of her feet. Abby does the same, stretching her back out with a light sigh.
You shut your phone off, and push the blanket down to your knees. You sat up on your knees, laying your head along the back of the couch. “How was work?” You chirp up, your voice decently quiet.
Ellie’s head shoots up from the ground, her green eyes blown wide. Abby’s head cracks to the side so quickly you can only guess it gave her whiplash.
“Jesus Christ.” Ellie whispers, pushing herself off the wall. Abby chuckles quietly, stretching her arms over her head and smiling.
“Sorry, sorry!” You laugh, pushing your head back up. Abby walks into the kitchen, probably in the search of food. Ellie walks over to the couch, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you into a soft hug. You wrap your arms around her waist, chuckling into her shoulder.
“Work was—work. Nothing special.” Abby finally replies from the kitchen, letting the fridge door shut behind her as she pulls a container of whatever she had prepped the previous day out from inside of it.
“You literally fight fires.” You quip, letting go of Ellie and stepping off the couch. Abby just shrugs, and shoves her definitely not microwave safe container into the microwave.
You and Ellie meet her in the kitchen, sliding into the space with practiced ease.
“Why are you still up anyway?” Abby asks, moving over to the sink to wash her hands.
Ellie pipes up next. “Yeah, the sun's already up—you should be in bed.” She slides a finger up your face, grazing your upper lip and the bottom of your nose.
You bat her hand away and shrug, “couldn’t sleep.” Your admission causes Ellie to jut out her bottom lip, and Abby elbows her out of the way to get to the microwave.
“How come?” Abby asks, opening the door of the appliance with the smooth click of a button. Her voice is gentle, soothing.
“I don't know. Maybe stress.” You answer, pulling your blanket up around you. Your head felt heavy on your shoulders, and if you were honest, you weren’t quite sure how many more words you could get out.
The sun had started seeping through the cracks in the living room and kitchen curtains, a gentle breeze flowing in the open window. Ellie’s pushing out of the way and making her way down the hall to her room.
“Well, we should probably get you to bed then, hm?” Abby says, finally looking up at you. Her food is steaming when she pulls it out, she slides it down the counter and lets it settle.
You nod. “Don’t know if it's even worth it. Maybe I’ll just start the day now. Try to be productive.” It was an idea that had been swirling around your head since maybe five. But truthfully, you might collapse if you have to keep your eyes open another second.
“Nonsense. You can sleep in my room.” She places a small kiss on your forehead, and takes a seat on one of the stools that sits tucked beneath the island. You nod.
A few seconds of silence pass before Ellie’s quietly emerging from the hallway, this time she's in pajamas and has a green toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She leans over the counter, clearly experiencing some type of fomo.
“Can you—” Abby swats at her, making a semi disgusted face. She throws her hands up, walking over to your side of the counter.
“Stop drooling on me, you goblin.” You laugh, pushing her away from you almost immediately. She drops her head back, and continues brushing, right in the kitchen.
“I’m sleeping with Abby tonight.” You state, matter of factly. Ellie drops her head back, and immediately turns around to spit her leftover toothpaste into the sink. She quickly rinses her mouth out with the tap and turns back to you.
“Why?” She asks, walking back over to you. She plops down right next to your other roommate, who’s almost done with her meal at this point.
“I dunno, I just felt like it.” You shrug.
”Jealous?” Abby intervenes, turning to her with a shit eating grin. The auburn headed girl lightly slaps her arm.
“I’m coming too, then.” She smiles at you, and you nod in her direction.
The blonde groans, you can tell she's pretending to be annoyed. “You kick hard as fuck. Stay on your side I swear.” She stands up, shoving a hand into Ellie’s face, pushing her back gently.
“Fuck you!” Ellie shrieks, flipping her off. Abby shoves her container into the sink, and grimaces at Ellie’s mess of toothpaste. She doesn't say anything, just silently rinses out the sink.
“Shhh!” You whisper to Ellie, the sound of her basically yelling only makes your head pound harder. “I have a headache.”
“Sorry, pretty.” Ellie stands, “it’s probably from sleeping at odd hours, though.” She winks, sticking the tip of her tongue out form between her chapped lips.
“I like sleeping with you more than sleeping on time.” You admit, blowing her a kiss. Her cheeks burn a light dusty pink, and she flips you off.
“Alright, let's go.” Abby speaks up from behind you. The light flicks off, and before you’re able to slide off the counter, she's sweeping you up into her arms.
Ellie rolls her eyes, turning around to make her way to the farthest room down the hall. “What, you wanna be carried too, Williams?” She jokes, and smiles at you when you laugh.
You hear Ellie whisper something along the lines of die faggot, as she opens the door. Abby follows her in, dropping you onto the bed and turning around. She's still in uniform, so she grabs a pair of pajamas and makes her way to the bathroom to wash up.
Abby's room is much much darker than the living room, thank god for blackout curtains. And the breeze from her AC keeps the place crisp. You quickly scramble beneath the sheets, tucking yourself in as Ellie falls on top of you.
“Ellie. You’re so hot.” You say into the darkness, feeling the gumminess of her warm arm wrap around you.
“Thanks, babe.” You can feel her smirking, her cocky ass. She knew thats not what you meant, and you didn't fight her on it.
Ellie's breath quickly shifts from jagged and quick to slow, soft snores. You pet her hair a few times, letting her fall asleep against you.
Abby comes back in just a few minutes later, and you’re already the closest to falling asleep you’ve been tonight. She slips beneath the sheets on the right side of you, and quickly pulls you against her chest. You hum gently into her, and Ellie only snuggles up to you more.
“She’s a child.” Abby chuckles into your ear, wrapping her arms around your waist.
You can barely nod, humming softly in agreement. It’s not long after that you’re falling asleep, chasing dreams of your insanely chaotic roommates.
What I look like checking a specific X reader tag for the fourth time today, only to realize I’ve truly read everything…
This problem is more regular than you might think… and this being a problem in itself might also be an issue, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about 
summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ while watching your boyfriend practice for the upcoming season, you found yourself getting a little too distracted by the way his arms looked in a sleeveless top.
warnings 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ established relationship, unprotected sex, fem reader, choking, multiple orgasms, mirror sex, dirty talk, praise kink, a lil bit of begging, CONSENT was verbally given, pet names, manhandling. let me know if i need to add any other warnings! (wc 2.3k)
note 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ NOT PROOFREAD; not too sure if i am fully confident that i did this justice but i wanted to get it out anyways. this fic is based on this anon ask—thank you so much!
The hot afternoon sun hung low over the training pitch, the air muggy with shouted instructions and the constant thud of footballs against boots. You’d been mindlessly watching for nearly an hour, perched on the edge of the stands with your chin resting in your hand, barely paying attention to anything except your boyfriend, Jobe.
An ear-piercing whistle cut through the air, bringing the session to a temporary halt. Groans and relieved sighs spread across the pitch as the players slowed to a walk and made a beeline for the coolers lined up along the touchline. The coaches called out a few last instructions, though most of it was drowned out by the chatter that came with a well earned break.
Your attention remained fixed on the pitch, eyes following Jobe as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his training top before reaching for a bottle of water. He took a few long swigs, scanning the sidelines absentmindedly.
Eventually, he spotted you on the far end. The tiredness on his face disappeared almost instantly, replaced by a bright grin as he excused himself away from the group and started jogging over.
“You’ve been sat there the whole time?” he called, jogging over with a happy grin. He leaned against the barrier, still catching his breath. “Getting bored yet?”
You blinked, pulled back from your thoughts. “Hm?”
“I asked if you’re bored.”
“Oh! No, no.”
Jobe studied you for a second, eyebrows knitting together. “You sure?”
You nodded absentmindedly, your gaze drifting somewhere over his shoulder. Jobe turned to follow it, squinting across the training ground before looking back at you with a puzzled frown.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“… You sure?”
Before you could answer, Jobe closed the remaining distance between you. He swung past the barrier with a tired huff before casually throwing an arm across your shoulders, still warm from training. The material of his shirt brushed against your cheek as he shifted closer, completely unaware of how much of his weight he’d rested on you.
“There’s something else on your mind, c’mon love,” Jobe said, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “What’s up?”
The feeling of Jobe’s strong, muscular bicep tucked snugly under your jaw while he hugged you made the syrupy heat in the pit of your stomach spark and flutter with nerves.
That’s what’s up, Jobe.
You stiffen when he places his hand across your collarbone, your skin prickling beneath your tactical pants as he caresses it in an attempt to comfort you. It does the opposite—comfort is the furthest thing from your mind.
Remembering where you are, you wrinkled your nose, nudging him away with your elbow.
“Nothing. Now get off me.” you retort, averting your gaze. You try to shift your body away from Jobe’s grasp, but his strong hold keeps it in place.
Jobe’s brows lifted and he smacked his lips, eyes peering down at you. “Aye, What!?”
“You’re sweaty.”
He glanced across the field before letting out a short chuckle. “I’ve had a hard session!”
“And now you’re making it my problem, shoo.”
“Pssh, whatever. You’ll live.” Jobe then softly sighed, chuckling to himself while he shook his head. Then, his grip around you loosened slightly as he leaned down, close enough that only you would hear him over the noise of the training ground.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Jobe’s voice was so soft, gentle. So different from the teasing tone he’d been using moments before. He was always so attentive and sure when it came to you. Unlike what most people expected, Jobe had to mature more quickly than most. He was always analysed, and not to mention the rumours and comparisons that happened with being a Bellingham. You always admired how well Jobe took such teasing, and how it made him so much more mindful—you thought others could take some pointers from Jobe.
You stared ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. “Just drop it, J.”
So, he did. Jobe always listened to you. Though you didn't miss the way his eyes narrowed at you the moment the words left your mouth; he was thinking of something. A shudder ran through you at the dangerous look passing over him.
You honestly barely remember how you ended up here, face down, being relentlessly pounded into the mattress. Your body was numb, and after two orgasms, all you could do was lie there and take it. You were too fucked out, too dumb to even try to do anything else.
It was like Jobe read your mind sometimes. He knew you were distracted by him while he practised; he knew you were all but drooling over his arms. Jobe tried to squeeze it out of you at practice, though when you got snippy with him at the bleachers, he realised he needed to get creative. He had spent the whole car ride home teasing you, playing dense, acting like he had no idea what he was doing to you.
The moment you got home, though, Jobe had had enough. He was a man, after all, and could only take so much deprivation, especially when it came to you and the way you make him feel.
Jobe all but dragged you out of his car. You could barely keep up with him, albeit the iron grip he had on your hand. The moment he frantically unlocked the door, you found your back being pushed somewhat aggressively against the door to close it.
Then, suddenly, you were pressed against the closest hard surface, face squished, and your shoulders tense as his hand grips the nape of your neck. His other hand finds its way into your pants, making quick work of unbuttoning them and slipping his fingers under the band of your underwear.
Jobe finds you positively wet; a groan leaves his lips, “Fuck me… already so wet for me, darling.” His voice sends shivers down your spine as he whispers straight into your ear. “Did I really get you this riled up? Hmm?”
His pointer and middle finger slide down your folds, going past your clit and finding your soaking wet hole. Middle finger circling it, spreading the wetness around before dipping inside, three knuckles deep almost immediately. Your eyes roll back while your head droops down to lean on his chest.
Suddenly, with wide eyes, a light bulb went off in your head. You thought about the way you felt when Jobe’s arm hung around your neck casually earlier, his firm, muscular biceps slithering around your neck. The way your underwear soaked, the way you tried to play it off, and the way in your hazy state, considered asking him to do it again. Well, it doesn't hurt to ask, right?
“J—Jobe,” you breathlessly spoke, dopily smirking up at him in your fucked out state. His eyebrows were pulled together tightly, perhaps slightly too focused on making you feel good. “Oh, fuck—hey, hey.”
However, the last words that left your lips made him snap from his trance; his plunging eyes darted to you immediately. Jobe’s movements immediately stopped, which made you whine and whimper at the loss of friction.
“Yeah, baby? You alright?” Jobe leaned down to kiss the side of your head tenderly. Jobe always listened to you—and sex was never an exception. He always made sure you had cummed multiple times during sex before even thinking about himself, no matter how badly he needed to get off. And neither was making your fantasies and desires come true.
“W—wrap your arm around my neck. Please,” you hushed out quickly. You'd been embarrassed by this had it been any other scenario, but by this point, you and Jobe were far past the honeymoon stage of your relationship.
“Are… are you sure?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you, y’know—”
“Jobe—ngh—I will be fine. I promise. Just please…C’mon...” you practically begged, peering up at him with hooded eyes. You didn't feel like chit-chatting logistics with him, and you trusted Jobe. He'd never do anything to hurt you; he always listened.
Jobe licked his lips, and that was enough confirmation he needed from you. Slowly, his hand moved around from the back of your neck to your throat. He spun you around, making your torso face the wall. His headlock on you was just tight enough to make it slightly harder to breathe. A hoarse gasp escapes your throat as you feel him in and on you, another finger joining quickly as he pumps the digits at a slow pace. At every thrust into you, he presses against that pleasurable spot that only he can reach. His thumb is quick to join the motions, making tight circles around your clit as he fingers you slowly.
If you weren’t so caught up in the pleasure, you’d be mortified by how fast you came. It came washing over you like a tidal wave, Jobe holding you up with his other arm wrapped around your waist. The hand that had been choking you was now wrapped around your torso as he hugged you from behind.
When you manage to catch your breath, you relax back into Jobe’s embrace. He lets you rest a moment before grabbing you. Unexpectedly, his bicep is back around your neck, the clasp tight as he starts to guide you to the bedroom, “Didn’t think I was done with you already, did you?”
Once you get to the room, he pushes you towards the bed, positioning you in front of the floor-length mirror before he throws you down on the bed and pulls your shorts fully down. You gasp as the cold air hits your warm center, and you try to bring your hands up to support you, yet Jobe has other plans. He grabs your arms and puts them behind your back, one hand covering both your wrists, “Come on, hands behind your back. That’s it. Keep ‘em there, yeah?”
You catch his gaze in the mirror, and all you can do is nod. Your need for him is literally running down your legs at this point. You could tell he was relishing in this as much as you were, just so quick to mock and coo at you. It made your mind whirl—just what else was Jobe capable of? What else would he get off to? The possibilities felt endless.
You hear his zipper being pulled down, and he positions himself at your entrance, teasing the tip of his dick there. Letting your wetness coat him as he keeps a hand between your shoulder blades, making sure you stay down. “Tell me what you want, love.”
His eyes find yours again in the mirror, the intense contact almost burning you, and your mouth is open as you breathe laboriously. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to his request. “Please, Jobe.. please, please fuck me! I need you inside me now.” You whine out, making sure to sound extra pathetic as you wriggle your ass back on him, making his dick slip in an inch.
Jobe growls at the feeling before pushing in all the way in one go, “Good fuckin’ girl, eh? Begging so pretty for me.” You see him bite his lip as he gets lost in the feeling of your heat wrapped around him. His gaze is fixed on the point of your connection as he slowly starts to pump into you. “Fuuck, love, you feel so good for me. Always taking me so well.” You moan into the bedsheets, the feeling of Jobe’s cock filling you up is always too much for you. Muffled words resembling pleas and his name comes out in gasps and puffs of breath as he picks up his pace.
Jobe is seemingly not satisfied with your head in the sheets, he bends down over you, covering your body with his. Pressing against you entirely and stopping his thrusting while he’s deep within you; “Come on, pretty girl. Look at us, yeah?” The arm that was previously holding you down now snaked around your neck. Your throat slots into the crook of his elbow, and he lifts you up a bit so you can look in the mirror. The move makes your head rest on his bicep as he holds you up. “Look at us, love. Could anyone else make you feel this good?” He tightens his arm muscles a little, constricting your airflow as he starts fucking into you again. His hips are smacking into your ass as your vision starts to blur.
“No! No, no one, only you; all I need is you, Jobe.” Gasping out with the little breath you have left.
He’s panting with exertion, his words being gasped out over the sound of skin hitting skin. “That’s right, sweet girl. Only I can satisfy you, you were made to take my cock. Only me.” His other hand goes from gripping your hip to rubbing fast at your clit. “Come on my cock, darling. Make a mess on me.” As he says his final line, he also lets up the pressure on your throat.
The walls of your pussy are fluttering around his dick as your second orgasm crashes into you at the same time as you inhale the sweet air. Your gaze has not left Jobe’s since he lifted you up, and you fight to keep your eyes from shutting as he fucks you through it. Your hands have left their place on your back and are now helping to hold you up as your body trembles.
Both of Jobe’s hands have gone to hold your hips now, his focus on his own orgasm. Still keeping the intense eye contact as his hips start stuttering as he spills himself deep inside you. Eyes finally shut as he slowly comes to a stop. His forehead is resting on your back now, and both of you are trying to catch your breath.
“Fuck me… I reckon we should do that more often,” Jobe breaks the silence, speaking into your back, trailing kisses over your sweaty skin. You just groan into the sheets. You knew he would never shut up about this, bastard!
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