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Yeah so basically the summary is that Argentina usually beat their opponents - with the exception of a few teams - but England have won 25/31 (I think) games against them, Argentina winning 5, and 1 being a draw. They're not too happy about that. But this time on top of that loss, they're not happy bc England was being 'disrespectful' bc they were celebrating in their locker room. That last part was what was reported at least.
BUT both teams received 4-5 yellow cards and were antagonising each other so neither were saints in the game.
Yeah, it was the whole being 'disrespectful' thing I heard, like Argentina wouldn't have been celebrating in their locker room if they had won instead???
clayton. are we thinking he’s more of a boobs or ass man?
also love love love u beth xx
i'm gonna say an ass man, stares at it when you walk away, doesn't care if anyone catches him doing so, loves to give it a cheeky tap or grab whenever he passes you in the house, loves how flushed you get whenever he does it
i bet clayton sounds pretty when you make him beg for it, all that natural control he oozes just chipped away, squirming and biting his lip, soft grunts and whimpers, a few tears in his eyes because it's just that so good
Oh but Clayton totally gets turned on when you’re mad at him and acting all short and bratty and thinks it’s so hot 😩
nsfw content below :3
you’re fuming. absolutely seething, lips pressed tight, jaw tense, still glaring at him even as your back hits the mattress. you were mid-rant—about his carelessness, about his stupid habit of leaving his shit everywhere, about how you’re not his maid—and then he had the audacity to smirk, hum, and haul you into the bedroom without a word, as if your anger was nothing but foreplay to him.
you want to slap him, want to bite him, want to scream in his face, but now you’re pinned under him, wrists caught in one of his big hands, thighs spread wide, and all the heat in your body has shifted low, pooling and pulsing, making you feel wild and desperate and so fucking needy you could cry.
he’s deep inside you, cock stretching you open, filling you the way only he can. every thrust is hard, unhurried, like he’s making a point, like he owns you. you can’t keep quiet—not even close. you’re whining, high-pitched and shameless, every sound tumbling out of you, nails dragging down his back. your hips are lifting, chasing every stroke, trying to get him to hit that spot that makes you come undone. you can’t stop squirming, can’t stop begging under your breath, even though you swore you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “clay, right there—fuck, please—more, want it,” you gasp, voice wrecked, eyes rolling back as he grinds in deep, making your cunt flutter around him.
he hums, the sound low and smug, head tilted as he watches your face twist up in frustration and desperate pleasure. “that’s better,” he drawls, voice thick with condescension, hips rolling slow and deep, making you sob. “so much prettier when you’re whining on my cock instead of running your mouth.” he gives you another slow, brutal thrust, and your whole body trembles. you try to glare up at him, but all you can manage is a shaky moan, lips parted, eyes glazed.
he doesn’t talk you through it this time, doesn’t tell you how good you’re being, doesn’t praise you for taking him deep—he just fucks you, deep and relentless, pinning you down like you’re not going anywhere. you whimper, arching, every muscle in your thighs shaking with the effort of chasing that perfect spot, toes curling into the sheets. “clayton, please—just a little harder—fuck, please, i need it—” you’re babbling, voice breaking, so close to tears from how desperate you feel. your cunt clenches around him, soaking wet, making filthy noises every time his hips snap forward.
he watches you fall apart, all smug hums and soft, mocking little tsks, bending to mouth at your neck, biting down hard enough to make you yelp. “all that attitude,” he murmurs, words hot against your throat, “and now look at you... you need me to help you get all that out, huh, baby?” he bites again, leaving another mark, and you whine, hips jerking up, trying to grind against him. he just presses you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned, making you take it just how he wants.
your moans get higher, breathier, every sound so needy and raw you can barely recognize yourself. your thighs are trembling, cunt straining around him, desperate for release. “please, i need—need you to—” but you can’t finish, can’t think, can’t do anything but cry out as he finally snaps his hips a little harder, cock catching just right, making you see stars.
he doesn’t let up, doesn’t give you a break, just keeps fucking you through every bratty whine and gasp and plea, his free hand sliding up to squeeze your throat, thumb pressing just enough to make you feel dizzy, wanted, owned. “that’s it,” he hums, words dripping with satisfaction. “take it, baby. use that mouth for something useful, hm? let me hear you.” every word makes your cunt squeeze tighter, makes the pleasure coil sharper.
you arch, body taut, and the orgasm rips through you, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you sobbing and shaking, voice a string of broken, desperate sounds. he fucks you through it, relentless, loving the way you fall apart under him, how every bit of anger melts into pure, helpless need. and when you finally collapse, chest heaving, cheeks wet with tears, he kisses you slow, humming against your lips, still inside you, still in control, still so fucking smug about the mess he’s made of you.
