I love your Ilia Malinin works🎀If it’s okay can I request a fic where he is dating a hockey player and celebrating with her?????
Hockey Girl
.
The final buzzer sounded. And your helmet hit the ice before you even realized you were crying.
The arena exploded.
Your teammates swarmed you, gloves flying, sticks clattering across the ice as everyone piled together in the biggest celebration of your career.
Champions.
You’d done it.
From somewhere in the stands came one very recognizable yell.
“THAT’S MY GIRL!”
You looked up.
Ilia was practically hanging over the railing, clapping so hard his hands had to hurt. He’d flown in after a week of training camp just to make the championship game, arriving only hours before puck drop.
The TV cameras found him immediately.
*Olympic champion figure skater Ilia Malinin was losing his mind in the front row.*
He didn’t care.
He was pointing at you with both hands like he wanted the entire arena to know exactly who he came to see.
You laughed through your tears.
Nearly thirty minutes later, after the trophy presentation, interviews, and approximately six thousand team photos, you finally spotted him waiting just outside the locker room.
Still wearing his arena visitor pass.
Still holding the bouquet of white flowers he’d somehow managed to keep alive through the chaos.
The second your eyes met…
You ran.
The equipment bag still hung awkwardly off one shoulder as you sprinted straight into him.
“Oof…”
He barely caught you before your momentum nearly knocked both of you over.
“You won,” he laughed, wrapping both arms around your waist. “You actually won.”
“I KNOW!”
You buried your face in his neck, laughing and crying at the same time.
“We won.”
“No,” he corrected gently. “You won.”
He leaned back just enough to cup your face.
“I’ve watched you wake up at five in the morning.”
He brushed a damp strand of hair away.
“I’ve watched you come home covered in bruises.”
His thumb wiped away another tear.
“I’ve watched you lose games that broke your heart.”
His smile softened.
“And today… I got to watch every single hour of that pay off.”
Your lip trembled.
“You really came.”
He looked offended.
“You thought I was missing the biggest game of your career?”
“You had training.”
“I told Mister Dad Man Roman I’d miss one day.”
“You skipped training?”
“For you?” He shrugged. “Easy choice.”
“You never skip training.”
“I do now.”
One of your teammates walked by carrying the championship trophy.
“Oh!” she grinned. “Boyfriend!”
Ilia looked up.
“You’ve gotta hold it.”
His eyes widened.
“Ms? Seriously?”
“You flew all this way.”
She handed him the enormous silver trophy.
He almost dropped it.
“Whoa!”
The entire hallway burst into laughter.
“It’s heavier than Olympic gold!” he said.
“See?” you laughed. “Hockey’s harder.”
“Oh absolutely not.”
He shifted the trophy onto one hip.
“I jump quads.”
“You almost threw out your back lifting a cup.”
“It caught me off guard!”
The photographers immediately noticed.
“There they are!”
“Oh, we need pictures!”
Within seconds cameras surrounded you.
You instinctively stood beside him.
Instead…
Ilia quietly stepped back.
“What are you doing?” you whispered.
He smiled.
“This isn’t my moment.”
He gently pushed you forward until you stood in front of the trophy.
“You earned this.”
“You can be in them.”
“I will.”
He wrapped one arm around your shoulders.
“But every picture should remind people who the champion is.”
Your heart melted.
An hour later the team rented out a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city.
Music echoed across the terrace.
Everyone was still wearing championship hats.
Someone had already started dancing on a table.
Your teammates immediately claimed Ilia.
“So…”
One of the veterans crossed her arms.
“We’ve heard about the famous boyfriend.”
“Oh no,” you muttered.
“We have questions.”
Ilia grinned.
“I’ll answer almost anything.”
“Who gets recognized more?”
“Hmm…”
He looked at you.
“Depends.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“If we’re at a skating event…”
He pointed at himself.
“If we’re at a hockey arena…”
He pointed proudly at you.
“…I’m just somebody’s boyfriend.”
The entire table cheered.
Later, after everyone else was busy dancing, the two of you slipped onto the quiet balcony overlooking the city lights.
You still wore your championship smile like a medal around your neck.
Ilia stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist.
“So…” he murmured.
“So?”
“When I won Worlds…”
“Mhm?”
“You baked me cookies.”
“I did.”
“When I won Grand Prix Final…”
“I made dinner.”
He nodded.
“Today you won a championship.”
You smiled.
“So?”
“I’ve been preparing.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“What did you do?”
He pulled out his phone.
“I may have rented a cabin.”
“What?”
“For four days.”
“You did?”
“No interviews. No cameras. No training. No practices.”
He kissed your temple.
“Just us.”
You turned around.
“You planned all that?”
“I started planning after your semifinal.”
“What if you lost?”
He shrugged.
“Then we’d still go.”
“Why?”
“Because whether you won or lost…”
He rested his forehead against yours.
“…I was going to celebrate the woman I love.”
For a moment neither of you spoke.
The city glittered beneath the balcony.
Inside, your teammates were chanting your name.
Outside, the world felt wonderfully quiet.
You reached up and straightened the slightly crooked collar of his jacket.
“You know…”
“What?”
“You looked really cute trying to lift that trophy.”
He gasped dramatically.
“I knew this was a setup.”
“You almost dropped it.”
“It attacked me.”
“The trophy attacked you?”
“It was aggressive.”
You burst into laughter.
He smiled at the sound, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Good,” he said softly.
“What?”
“There’s my girl. The one who laughs with no fear.”
summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ you convinced yourself that being a footnote in jude’s life was better than getting hurt again. you are finally distancing yourself away from jude. but this time, jude bellingham refused to let you go.
warnings 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ unprotected sex, fem reader, jude is begging, crying, plenty of praise, apologising, hair pulling, fingering, slight angst, miscommunication, light choking, soft dom!jude, overstimulation ig, oral, & fluff at the end (7.8k wc)
note 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ wrote this while listening ain't too proud to beg by the temptations, so, there was my inspo. and, boom, there you have it! 50s music always gets me in a jude mood. also, my 3 part series has concluded. i hope this lived up to the hype, i really enjoyed finishing this story and having jude reconcile. THIS IS THE FINAL PART to a 3-part series. you can read PART ONE HERE, and PART TWO HERE.
You couldn’t believe him, which was ironic, really, because this was probably the most believable thing Jude Bellingham ever did.
The photos found you before he was able to explain—or rather—excuse himself.
You were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a terrible habit of yours. Suddenly, you came across a blurry picture of Jude outside an expensive restaurant, then another from inside. Jude sat across from a woman you recognised immediately, the same woman he’d mentioned the night of the gala: “I was supposed to bring someone tonight… but she cancelled.”
Evidently, she’d made it up to him. Wow.
Your manicured thumb hovered over the screen, refusing to scroll any further. Instead, you found yourself reading the comments beneath the post. There was complete strangers picking apart every detail, convinced they knew exactly who she was to him. Some called her his girlfriend. Others insisted she was just a friend. Others called her all sorts of horrible names. A few were already congratulating him, saying how pretty she was.
You exited the app before you could read another word. Because the truth was, it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter whether she’d been a date, a friend, or someone Jude simply shared dinner with. It didn’t matter if the internet had gotten it completely wrong.
What mattered was how easily your stomach sank. How quickly every conversation you’d had with Jude over the past few months came rushing back. Every lingering glance of his. Every touch that lasted a little too long. Every time he’d found you in a crowded room as though there was nowhere else he’d rather be, touching the small of your back so intimately as he did so. Every time you had made love to each other. Every time you had left his warm embrace in the morning when the consequences of your actions caught up to you. You knew this, yet kept running headfirst into a brick wall.
After the party, you’d walked away convinced that would be the last time. The last time you’d let yourself mistake his attention for affection because you knew better now. The last time you’d convince yourself that maybe he’d changed his mind. That, maybe, the boy who swore he didn’t want anything serious had finally realised he wanted something more. Then, the gala happened; you were thrown back back to square one.
Looking back, it made you cringe. You found yourself doing that a lot more recently.
You’d spent months clutching pieces of Jude because they felt better than having none of him at all. A hand on your thigh beneath a dinner table, arm wrapped around your shoulders in crowded rooms. Pillow conversations that blurred into early mornings, with you making eggs for yourself while Jude fixed his premade nutritional bowl. The little moments that felt far too intimate to mean nothing, yet never enough to mean something of fruitfulness.
Jude gave you just enough to keep hoping, then reminded you, without ever having to say it again, that hope was all it would ever be. And the worst part was that you let yourself become content with it.
You convinced yourself that being a footnote in Jude’s life was enough, even when he had somehow become the centrefold of yours. You were willing to exist in the margins of his world, to take whatever pieces of him he was willing to offer, while he occupied every corner of your thoughts without even noticing it.
He’d told you from the beginning; he didn’t want a relationship. Jude didn’t want commitment, didn't want to make promises he couldn’t keep. So why had he spent months making it impossible for you to leave?
Your phone buzzed against the comforter, the sound breaking through your thoughts. It's almost like he knew you had found out, that you had been thinking about him. You eyed your phone with disdain as his name lit up your screen before it disappeared again. Another message came through less than a minute later, then another.
Normally, you would’ve answered by now. Even if it was hours later. Even if you wanted to be angry with him. Somehow, you always replied to Jude because you cared about him.
However, not this time.
You turned your phone over, burying his name against the mattress before it had the chance to taunt you again.
You were sick and fucking tired of his bullshit. Tired of trying to decipher someone who had already given you his answer months ago. Tired of letting his actions convince you of one thing while his words insisted on another. Tired of being pulled back into his orbit every time you finally found the strength to walk away.
Maybe this was exactly what you needed. To be disappointed enough to finally believe Jude; he truly didn't want anything, and it didn't mean anything to him.
Jude knew he screwed up big fucking time. The worst part was that he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t understand why.
At first, Jude brushed it off. Maybe you were busy; you had a tendency to sleep for long periods of time. Or maybe you were finally giving him a taste of his own medicine. But after the fifth unanswered text and the third missed call, something in his chest began to tighten. You never ignored him before. You might’ve been frustrated, you might’ve needed space, but you always came back to him. You were always so understanding.
It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had happened. The photos had been everywhere before he’d even made it home. One dinner with a woman he’d known for years, someone he’d promised he’d make it up to after she cancelled on the gala, and suddenly the internet had decided he had a new girlfriend.
The thought would’ve been laughable to Jude under any other circumstances. She was nearly ten years older than him, someone he’d always viewed as a close friend and nothing more. There had never been anything romantic between them, nor would there ever be.
Jude could only imagine what you thought when you’d seen them. The explanation sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill the second you answered his phone calls. But the longer you ignored him, the more he realised the explanation wasn’t really the problem; the problem was him.
After the gala, Jude convinced himself everything had finally settled into place. The two of you had started talking more than ever before. Good morning texts became routine, calls that were supposed to last ten minutes somehow stretched past midnight. He found himself reaching for his phone after training without thinking, itching to tell you about another ridiculous argument that had happened in the dressing room or to tell you another funny story about Mastantuono or something Kylian had raved on about during ‘team meetings’.
Jude genuinely enjoyed your presence. The constant pressure that followed him—the cameras, the expectations, the endless rollercoaster that is football—disappeared whenever it was just the two of you. You never asked anything of him besides his company, and somehow that became the thing he looked forward to most. In fact, you really didn't even care about Real Madrid or football, nor did you bring it up unless he did first.
He’d convinced himself he finally had his feelings sorted. Or, at the very least, under control. Jude told himself there was no rush to put a name to whatever the two of you were. Things were good as they were! That eventually, when the timing was right, he’d figure the rest out.
Looking back, it was beyond selfish of him. Jude was asking you to wait for an answer he wasn’t willing to find because every time things edged toward something real, he’d retreat behind the same sentence he’d repeated from the very beginning: I don’t want anything serious.
But, at the time, Jude believed he was doing the right thing.
Football had to always come first. The scrutiny that followed him everywhere was relentless, and he knew better than anyone what happened when the public got hold of someone’s private life. Every relationship became a headline, every minuscule move was analysed for entertainment on social media.
Jude told himself that keeping you in the grey area was protecting you from all of it. If there was no label, there was nothing for the media to destroy; there was no way they could take you away from him as they had done to so many others.
It sounded noble in his head, but, really, it was just a shitty excuse. Because while he’d been trying to shield you from the outside world, Jude had been hurting you himself.
You’d become the person he wanted to tell everything to. The first face he searched for after a good match. The opinion that mattered more than thousands of strangers praising him online. Being around you never felt like another obligation. It felt like home, and he’d grown so used to having you there that he’d stopped appreciating how much of yourself you were giving him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was selfish.
Jude accepted all the parts of a relationship that came naturally, your company, your comfort, your unwavering support, while refusing to give you the one thing you deserved in return: certainty.
He thought back to the gala more than he’d care to admit. The way you had fit beneath his arm as though you’d always belonged there. The way he’d found himself looking for you in every room, wanting you beside him even when he was surrounded by people. Asking you to be his date hadn’t been planned.
And that, he realised, should’ve been enough for him to face the music: Jude Bellingham wanted to be yours, and he wanted you to be his.
Maybe some part of you had always known Jude would eventually reach out. He never stayed away for long, even if you were the one that sought him out moreso. There was always a text after a few days of silence, some excuse to start a conversation again, some small reminder that he was still there. You had gotten used to him finding his way back into your life before you had the chance to fully convince yourself he was gone.
But you hadn’t expected to open your door and find him standing there.
The knock had been quiet, his knuckles barely making enough noise against the wood to announce his presence. It was almost like Jude wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard, as if some part of him was still giving you the chance to ignore him. Had you not been home, had you not been standing close enough to hear the faint sound, Jude probably would’ve convinced himself that it was a sign and gone back to his car. He would’ve told himself he tried, that showing up unannounced was too much, or that you deserved space from him and his selfishness.
Yet, you were home.
It wasn’t that Jude was someone who avoided difficult conversations. He was passionate by nature, someone who felt everything deeply and never did anything halfway. Jude knew from an early age that he couldn't get what he dreamed of in life without that. But standing outside your door, knowing there was a chance you might not let him in, was different. This wasn’t a conversation he could charm his way through. There was no crowd to distract him, no confidence to hide behind, no easy smile that could make everything feel alright.
For once, the mature Jude Bellingham had no idea what to say.
When you finally pulled the door open, he looked nothing like the man you were used to seeing. He wasn’t carrying that effortless, nonchalant confidence he wore around everyone else. There was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue, no playful grin to soften the tension between you.
Jude just stood there, framed in your doorway, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders tense as his dark eyes immediately found yours. They were red around the edges, a little swollen. You could tell Jude had spent the entire drive over fighting back tears or had already lost that battle before he reached your door. It was unsettling seeing him like that, to say the least.
“Can… we talk?”
You stared at him.
For a second, you hated that your first instinct was still to let him in. You hated that even after everything, after seeing those photos and convincing yourself you were finally done, some part of you still softened at the sight of him looking this lost. Stop, you won’t give in.
You didn’t move, instead, your face hardened. “You came all the way here just to fucking talk?”
His expression tightened slightly, and his lip trembled. “I know—I know how this looks.”
A quiet laugh escaped you. Not that anything was funny, but because you couldn’t believe his audacity.
“No, Jude. You don’t.”
The words left your mouth before you could soften them. Jude’s eyebrows pulled together immediately, a small crease forming between them as if he genuinely couldn’t understand why you were pushing back. His lips parted, ready to argue, but there was no confidence behind it.
“I do.”
You shook your head slowly. “No, you really don’t.”
Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the door, the only thing keeping you from crossing your arms or stepping back completely. You needed the barrier. And needed the reminder that he was standing on the other side of it for a reason.
“Because if you did,” you continued, your voice growing steadier despite the ache building in your chest, “you wouldn’t be standing here acting like this is just a misunderstanding.” Jude’s expression shifted. You watched the realisation settle in his face. “You wouldn’t show up whenever you decide you’re ready to have a conversation and expect me to just forget everything that happened. Or that it’s okay to treat me like shit.”
As you spoke, you realised you knew Jude too well. You knew every small change in his expression, every hesitation, every moment where he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“That’s—that’s not what I’m doing.” His voice was quieter now. You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no amusement behind it.
“Then what are you doing?”
For a moment, Jude just stared at you. His mouth opened slightly; he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered away from yours for half a second before returning, and somehow that frustrated you even more.
Because Jude always had something to say. He was quick with his words. Always knew how to lighten the mood, how to make you roll your eyes when you were trying not to smile. He could talk his way through almost anything.
But now, when he was standing in front of you, seeing the hurt he had caused and realising there wasn’t a simple explanation that would make it disappear.
For once, Jude didn’t have the right words. And maybe that was because, for once, there wasn’t an excuse good enough.
“I was worried.”
You blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow in confusion. You hadn’t expect him to disregard you. “What?”
“I was worried when you stopped answering me.”
The words almost made you laugh again. “You were worried?”
“Yes.”
“You were worried!?” You repeated it, shaking your head. “Jude, do you know how many times I was worried about you?” That shut him up. “Listen, you don’t get to just come to my fucking house and act like you’re the one who got hurt because I finally stopped putting up with your bullshit. You just can't.”
“I know what you saw.”
The words came out suddenly, almost like he couldn’t keep them trapped inside anymore. You looked at him, and Jude immediately shook his head, taking a small step forward before catching himself. His hands slipped from his pockets, fingers dragging through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the right way to explain himself.
“The photos,” he said, voice strained. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Jude watched as you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. “She wasn’t what you think.”
A bitter laugh left you before you could stop it. “Jude—”
“No, please. Please. Just let me explain.” There was something different about the way Jude said it. No confidence. No attempt to brush it off, but rather pure desperation. He was begging you to hear him out. “She’s my mate. That’s it.” The words spilled out of him quickly, like he was afraid you’d interrupt before he could finish. “She’s been my mate for years. She’s, like, literally ten years older than me, and I have never looked at her like that. Not once. There has never been anything romantic between us.”
His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that you believed him.
“The dinner was exactly what it looked like. Dinner.” He swallowed, settling on that. “I told her I’d make it up to her after she couldn’t come to the gala. That was all it was. I swear, I swear.”
You stayed quiet, and the longer you did, the more unsettled he became. He was worried you’d leave him alone one and for all, that this was the nail in the coffin. That you’d never talk to him again, never forgive him, never let him back in over a miscommunication. That you’d would never accept one more idiotic action of his. And Jude couldn’t blame you one bit.
“I know how it looks,” he rushed out. “I know, God, I’m fucking daff. I know you saw those pictures and the first thing you probably thought was that I’d been leading you on.” His voice faltered, his expression twisting sour; he was fighting back tears. “And I—I understand why you would think that.” For a second, he looked away, jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. “But please don’t think that.”
His eyes found yours again, all red and glassy. “Don’t think that I was sitting there with someone else while you were just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “While you were nothing to me.” The last sentence seemed to hurt him more than anything else he’d blurted out. “Because you were never that.”
His voice cracked, trembled and shook. “God, you were never that.”
Jude dragged a hand down his face, frustration and regret mixing together until he looked like he didn’t know what to do with either.
“I know I’ve given you reasons to doubt me. I know I’ve made you feel like you weren’t important enough, like you were just someone I could come back to whenever I wanted.” His voice shook as he spoke. “But it was never because of someone else. It was me being a fucking right dickhead.”
You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his breathing had become uneven, the way his fingers kept flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the guilt he was carrying. Jude had always been someone who held himself together. The person who found a way to keep going, even when things got difficult. He was stubborn like that, always convinced he could handle everything himself. Right now he looked completely worn down. And honestly, it had worried you. Deep down, you always would love and care about him, which is why you took everything so hard. And also why you kept coming back.
“Jude,” you sounded quietly, his eyes frantically lifted to yours. “Hey. Look at me, it's alright.”
For a second, Jude didn’t move. Then he shook his head, dragging a hand over his face as he let out a rough breath. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, like he was trying desperately to pull himself together.
“No, no,” Jude pursed his lips. “It's not alright.” You frowned slightly at the correction. His eyes flickered back to yours, red around the edges, his expression twisting with frustration. “It’s not fucking alright because I know what I’ve done.”
His voice cracked slightly, and you could hear how much he hated admitting it.
“I know I can explain the dinner. I know I can tell you she’s just a mate,” He shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure you understood. “But that’s not even the point, is it? I was a proper idiot.” The words were so simple, so unlike him, that they almost hurt more. “I should’ve realised sooner. I should’ve seen what was right in front of me instead of convincing myself I was doing the right thing.”
Your expression softened slightly. “Jude…”
“Stop!” He shook his head immediately. Not angry, rather desperate. “Don’t do that.”
“Wh—Do what?”
“Make it easier for me.” Jude’s voice dropped. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed this up. I fucked up.”
You reached for him slowly, your hand resting against his arm. “Jude, please, it’s okay.”
He looked down for a second, breathing out shakily before looking back at you.
“It’s not.” His fingers curled around your hand carefully. He felt like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold onto you anymore. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to just forget because I’m standing here apologising.”
His eyes searched yours. “I want to actually fix it. Let me make it up to you.” His voice was quieter now, almost a plea. “Please.”
You faintly smile and it’s so, so sad. He feels his heart crack and his eyes burn. He wants to make the warmth of happiness touch your features once more. He has let you down so much lately. Jude wanted to make it right, wanted to show you how much he did really care about you. And something in him shifted, you could tell. His gaze held yours, darker now, not with anger, but with a kind of certainty you hadn’t seen from him before. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifted, sliding up and down your shoulder.
Jude feels like he’s sinned and you are the only one who can absolve him of it.
“I—I need to make it up to you," he chokes out, and he is painfully aware it’s not that late and that the two of you are standing in your apartment doorway. Therefore, anyone could walk out of their door and see Jude Bellingham was begging for forgiveness. But he couldn’t give a shit. You need something to soothe the hurt. He can give that. He would give anything. His pride is minimal when it comes to you, especially now.
"Just tell me what to do," he breathes as he steps closer, toe to toe now, large hands cradling the sides of your face.
“Be only mine,” you whisper, and there isn't even a warble in your voice. That’s all you could say, that’s all you wanted him to do. And he could grant that wish. He can see it from the heat and challenge in your eyes. So, he kisses you.
He kisses you with that need that burns him from the inside out every time he sees you, with long and possessive sweeps of his tongue that make your knees weak. He steals your breath greedily and you moan in response. Then when your fingers curl into his shirt, he knows immediately where he needs to take you next.
The two of you barely stumble in through the door of your apartment before he grumbles, “Hold on tight.”
He hooks your thighs around his waist, the deep timber of his voice has you doing as he commands without hesitation. Your teeth latch onto the tendon in his neck as he jumps you against the bulge of his cock. The two of you make it down your narrow hallway to the bedroom. He hisses his approval as your mouth worries that sensitive area, bruising him for the future.
"Mine," you growl against him, and Jude quietly chuckles. He loved this sudden possessiveness you had over him—perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was relief that you knew he had let you into his heart.
You don't want him to think about anything right now; you felt rather selfish. You want his thoughts to be only of you. That's the least Jude could do after all of this shit he put you through.
Suddenly, he groans before he drops you on the bed; you know that sound by heart. It’s the sound he makes when everything is too overwhelming and you have him wrapped around your finger. It’s the sound he makes when he is trying to control himself, when his cock is kicking and threatening to spill. You knew it all too well.
You sigh, your fingers eagerly making work of his T-shirt. Meanwhile, his hands snap the elastic of his sweats, making you shiver as he slowly peels them off himself.
You bite your lip as you fall back against the mattress, watching him slip out of his boxers easily and prowl towards you. Seeing Jude naked and his cock hard, flushed at the tip and sticky with precum, is such a fucking beautiful sight to behold. You could never get tired of this.
No matter how many times you promised yourself you would walk away, you always ended up back here, because, really, you couldn’t get enough of Jude.
Not the version everyone else saw, but this one. The one who let his guard down with you. The one who showed up on your doorstep, begging for your forgiveness. The raw, authentic Jude Bellingham.
And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Because slowly, you began to forgive him as you realised this wasn’t Jude trying to keep you as something convenient. He was just a man who had been too stubborn, too afraid, and too blind to recognise what had been right in front of him the entire time.
Jude undresses you slower. Each sliver of skin he exposes is blessed with his mouth, kisses, licks, bites, and scrapes of his teeth. He worships you just like you wanted, just like you deserve. He spells his apology out in silent words against your sternum. He whispers his love against the softness of your stomach, he says how beautiful you are with deliciously slow kisses on the inside of your thighs.
"You are so perfect. More than I ever fucking deserve, I swear," Jude huffs, dragging his cheek along your pelvic bone. “Thank you, thank you.”
Light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with Jude’s fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours—but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.
You were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan. Your hand flew to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.
Jude was watching you as if you were God’s gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut, head falling back against the wall.
“You’re soaked already, baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.
“For you,” you breathed out—not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the footballer smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.
Suddenly, it was becoming hard to keep quiet, with strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession. Which made Jude’s hard-on strain against the bed. But that was the last thing on his mind, preferring to hold you against the mattress with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.
His name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so Jude thought no one else should ever speak it again—nothing could compare to you. He got it now, God, he was stupid.
“Look at me, please,” Jude’s demand was so gentle you almost missed it, eyes still fluttering shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. Despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.
Jude’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. So it was when his free, large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that’s when your eyes shot wide open.
His eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gauge a reaction to the action. Your lips parted despite having no pressure applied. Though it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.
The slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and Jude could only hum in content. Jude could die right here, and he'd die a happy man, he thought. You were so fucking perfect.
It was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly. Your eyes poured into him as you struggled to form words. “S’close,” was all you managed out; Jude’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers, your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.
You were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.
“Let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.
Jude had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. Your beauty truly knew no ends—and he was now more eager than ever to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.
Admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer down at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.
“You’re incredible,” Jude couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard. “You are so perfect—so patient with a right idiot… I—I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
The sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his toned frame as he stood again at the foot of the bed. You quickly felt overdressed, seeing Jude’s naked body. Your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the Brit.
You could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your naked body as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. The man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows. No matter how many times he saw you, you never ceased to render him utterly speechless.
Jude was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he’d practically whined, your fingers finding the back of his head once more. You could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.
“Want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip—the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him. Even when he swore this was about you, you felt the need to make him feel oh-so good.
Jude simply shushed you, however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head smacking against the pillow as you tried to control your breathing—left to stare with wide eyes at the ceiling momentarily.
“I feel amazing already,” Jude spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking. Your eyes flickered down, not expecting to meet his brown ones. He looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core ache. He offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.
“Jude,” you whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “Please,” the plea left you in desperation.
“Oh, baby,” Jude just clicked his tongue in reply, leaning up to give you a delicate, sensual kiss to silence your pleas. He pulled away, eyebrows twisted exasperatedly. “I should be the one begging you.”
Then, his tongue follows, tracing a flat path down your lower stomach to your throbbing clit. He nips sharply at your hip and relishes your breathless squeal. This time when he licks you, the tip of his tongue presses inside your fluttering walls. Then the width of it slips all the way up to your mons. He laps over every pearl of your slick; he savors every moan and sigh he pulls from you.
“Oh, fuck, Jude! S—so good,” you groan while you twist beneath him. Jude’s strong grip latches onto your arms, pinning you down.
“Ah, don’t run away from me, babe, please,” Jude whines against you. He sounded so inebriated, so desperate, so needy. All for you. It made your mind spin—you could feel your sanity slipping away. Everything. The photos, Jude showing up and sobbing at your door, his admission, his devotion to you, the way his tongue felt against you—it was all too much for you to handle right now.
Jude’s lips wrap around your aching nerves and pull blood to the surface with a strong suction. It makes you squeak and gasp, trembling. Your skin dances with heat that spreads across your body. With each roll of his tongue and suckle of his mouth you feel your mind whirl away just a bit more. You are fracturing under his guidance. He coaxes you with touches and murmurs, all languid.
"C'mon, baby. Y'know what I want. Tip over that edge for me," he smirks in a dragging purr, looking up at you through your legs.
It pulls your breath from your strangled lungs; it makes your hips buck futilely against his hold. You’re shaking with the sensations he is bringing to the surface now. Your hands move from grasping at the sheets to gripping his coiled hair. You think about pulling Jude away, but rather you instinctually hold him still while you grind softly against his mouth, shoving his face further down. Jude groans with approval and takes it. He flattens his tongue against you and instead of pinning you, he holds your waist so he can provide leverage for you.
You shudder and tremble at his allowance. At the way he bends and molds for you to take your pleasure from him. Normally, when you both had run-ins together, he would be in control, rough and leading. Though, that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you, and giving you everything you want and how you want it on a silver platter.
Jude realised what worshiping you means, he knows he is begging for forgiveness for dragging his feet when it came to you. And he will do everything in his power to lift you higher, even as you come for the first time that night on his tongue. Because you gave him everything—and, well—ignored his naivety. But at last, Jude finally understood what that meant to you, and what you meant to him.
It was a blur, the next few moments, you were not really present while Jude shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto the bed. Though once you realised the sight in front of you, it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.
“You good?” Jude’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. You nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. You just wanted to feel all of him.
“Perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. It was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again, tasting yourself on his mouth. You just wanted more and more, and the way Jude’s hands flew to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.
You pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now—it didn’t take much force; Jude was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.
Jude moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you both entered your room.
Jude struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure. Fuck, you could get used to that image.
“C’mon baby,” Jude rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips, guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, yeah? Would you do that? For me?” Despite his usual dominance, his gentle, submissive voice laced with his northern accent made you shiver with thrill. Your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.
The pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.
You stilled, needing time to adjust to his size, even after being with him for so long—and Jude had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him making him content.
“You feel s’fucking incredible,” the man rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.
“So—ah—fucking big,” you moaned; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving. You gazed at him hard, slowly riding him.
The closeness and intimacy would usually scare you. Hell, it would normally terrify him.
The vulnerability of it. The weight behind every lingering touch, every confession, every moment where there was no room left to pretend this was something casual. Jude had spent so long convincing himself that keeping things undefined was safer, that putting distance between what he felt and what he admitted was the only way to protect both of you.
But now, Jude accepted it. In fact, he wanted it.
He wasn’t pulling away when things started to feel real. He wasn’t searching for a reason why it couldn’t work or finding some excuse to keep you at arm’s length. For once, he wasn’t fighting the feeling that had been there all along.
He was letting himself have it. Letting himself choose you.
Your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, Jude’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you—letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.
“Fuck, Jude,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling. The sound of his own grunts and moans only added to the pleasure.
“Doing so good for me, baby,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. You sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow. “So fucking good.”
It wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything, a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.
You hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and Jude didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.
You were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.
“Oh—Oh my God, Jude, fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. So perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.
“Take it baby, y’doing so well.” Jude grunted, and you nodded so quickly, like you could ever disappoint him. Fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin—his thrusts harsh, not slow, but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.
Your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him, which Jude made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments. But as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.
“Open your eyes, please,” he practically insisted, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes blinking open to look at him.
His stamina was still so impressive, unsurprising, especially anymore, as he bounced you on his cock like you weighed nothing. Though the way Jude’s breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.
“Who’s making you feel this good?” Jude’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. Wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state, that you still wanted him. Your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.
“You, Jude, you,” you whined out in response. You felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “Feels so good,” you told him, squeezing him as you did so.
Jude groaned at the feeling, almost having cummed on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.
“Y’want to cum again, yeah? That you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.
His breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your bottom. He used the plush of your ass as his grip on your body instead.
“Wanna hear you say it,” Jude begged, head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.
You were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like, so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said. Instead, you just screamed out a moan.
“Too fucked out to form words baby?” Jude teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. You had your Jude back. “Want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.
“Wanna—oh, fuck—cum, agh, again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “Please—please let me cum.”
The man’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.
Your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warmth as you came on his cock, practically screaming his name as you did so.
Jude came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more, only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.
You were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his bare shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; loud, heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.
Jude’s hand gently moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation. Both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say, what to do. This was unexpected, to say the least.
After everything that had been said, after all the apologies and truths that had finally been dragged into the open, neither of you really knew what came next. It was strange, sitting here with the person you had spent so long trying to let go of, only to realise that neither of you had ever truly wanted the distance.
Jude’s fingers slowed slightly, his eyes dropping to where his hand rested before looking back at you.
“I’m sorry.” The words were softer this time, though his voice was hoarse after everything. Not rushed, not desperate. Just honest. “I’m so sorry.”
You could hear the weight behind it. Like no matter how many times Jude said it, he still felt like it wouldn’t be enough. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he looked at you.
“I know I’ve said it already—and I’m probably ruining the mood—but I mean it.” There was a small pause as Jude chuckled. “I should’ve done this sooner.” His gaze softened, “I should’ve stopped being scared and just told you what I wanted.”
His thumb brushed against your hand, clearing his throat. “So… would you be mine?”
And finally, you heard the words you wanted to hear all along from his lips. You didn’t have to think about it. Not because everything that happened suddenly disappeared. Not because the hurt wasn’t real or because forgiving him had been easy.
But rather somewhere along the way, you had realised Jude wasn’t asking you to forget what he’d done but he was asking you to believe he could do better. And that was the difference.
You squeezed his the nape of his neck gently, watching the tension slowly leave his shoulders as he looked at you.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
A small, boyish smile beamed across his face, almost disbelieving. “Yeah?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yes. Yes, Jude.”
And for the first time in a long time, there was no uncertainty between you. No wondering where you stood. No trying to decipher what his actions meant.
Just him. Just you. And finally the quiet understanding that this time, you were finally choosing each other.
Summary: Jude and Reader have been together since his Dortmund days. Now Jude was planning to propose after the World Cup but since getting kicked out by Argentina he doesn’t feel like he deserves you or anything. But what happens to make Jude finally pop the question?
A/N: Please Follow, Like, and Reblog
Jude had been carrying the ring for almost three months. It sat hidden in the back of his dresser, tucked inside a small black velvet box. Every time he looked at it he smiled excited to finally ask you to be his forever. But after England’s World Cup campaign ended with a heartbreaking loss to Argentina he couldn’t bring himself to even touch it.
You noticed the change immediately. You usually can tell when Jude wasn’t himself. The usually confident, teasing boy you’d fallen in love with was too quiet. You found him one evening sitting alone on the balcony of your home. His elbows rested on his knees as he stared out into the night.
“You’ve been out here for an hour.” He looked over and smiled weakly. “I know.” You sat beside him and neither of you spoke. You simply rested your head on his shoulder. Something you’d done ever since you were teenagers. Back then when football wasn’t nearly as loud. When your biggest worry was missing the train after school.
“Hey Jude do you remember our first apartment?” Jude laughed quietly. “The tiny one?” “Yeah, the one where the washing machine sounded like it was about to explode.” Jude chimed in. “And the heating barely worked.” You smiled. “We had one pan and two plate thinking we were living in luxury.” Jude chuckled. “We really did.”
“You know what I remember most?” He looked at you.“What?” “You.” He frowned. “Me?” “You coming home after training so tired you could barely keep your eyes open but you’d still help me make dinner.” Jude smiled.“I remember we almost burned down the apartment once.” “Hey we tried.”
The laughter slowly faded and the silence settled between you again. Finally Jude spoke up again. “…I’m sorry.” You looked at him. “For what?” “For letting everyone down.” “You didn’t.” “We were supposed to win.” “You tried.” “And it wasn’t enough.” You gently reached for his hand. “I hate seeing you blame yourself.” Jude looked down. “I just…” He swallowed hard. “I feel like I failed.” “You didn’t.” “I did.”
“You’ve been with me since Dortmund.” He smiled sadly. “When I was just a seventeen trying to prove himself.” “I know.” “You’ve celebrated every goal, every transfer, every trophy, and every loss.” He looked away.“I don’t deserve that...I don’t deserve you.” Your heart broke.
“Excuse me?” “I don’t deserve you.” The words came out so quietly you almost missed them. “You deserve someone who wins.” You stared at him in disbelief.“Jude.” “I’m serious.” “You deserve someone who doesn’t come home feeling like this.” You turned toward him completely taking both of his hands. “Look at me.” He hesitated but he did.
“When I met you, you weren’t Jude Bellingham the superstar. You were just a sweet boy who kept apologizing because he thought his jokes were terrible.” A laugh escaped him despite himself. “They were terrible.” “Believe me Juju they were. I didn’t fall in love with trophies.” You squeezed his hands. “I fell in love with the boy who walked me home after practice. The boy who gave me his hoodie because I was cold and forgot my own jacket. Who laughed at me saying he told me there was going to bring rain. You also stayed up all night helping me study even though he had training at seven the next morning.” Tears filled Jude’s eyes. “I don’t care about medals Jude I care about you.”
“You think one match changes how much I love you?” He shook his head slowly. “No it doesn’t.” “Not even a little.”
A few days later Jude finally visited home. His parents had invited everyone over for dinner. It was exactly what he needed with no cameras or interviewers in his face. Just him and his family.
Halfway through dessert Jude brother spoke up, “Jude?” “Yeah?” “When are you gonna marry Y/N?” The entire table went silent with you nearly choked on your drink. Jude looked up. “…What?” His brother looked completely serious. “You’ve been together forever.” His mom tried to hide a smile behind her glass and his dad suddenly became very interested in his plate. Jobe looked between the two of you.
“You know when people love each other…” He shrugged innocently, Jobe knew his brother was planning to propose he just wanted to help. “They get married.” Jude looked over at you and you smiled shyly. “No pressure.” The conversation did end and everyone moved on talking about something new. But something about those simple words stayed with him.
Later that night the two of you took a walk through the neighborhood. Just like when you two were younger with no destination but ti be with each other.
“Y/n can I admit something to you?” Jude suddenly stopped. “What is it?” He smiled nervously. “I’ve been carrying something around for months.” You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” “I was supposed to ask you after the World Cup.” “…Jude?” He laughed softly. “But then…”He looked down. “I convinced myself I wasn’t enough.”You stepped closer. “You’ve always been enough.” He smiled. “You really believe that?” “I’ve believed it since I was seventeen.”
Jude reached into his jacket pocket and your eyes widened instantly. “No way…” He pulled out the little velvet box. “I kept thinking…” He laughed. “‘Maybe after the next win or after the next trophy. Or when I finally when I deserve her.’” He looked at you. “But…”He shook his head. “If these last few weeks taught me anything…” His eyes never left yours. “It’s that life doesn’t wait for perfect moments.”
He slowly lowered himself onto one knee. “I’ve loved you since we were just two teenagers in love. You’ve seen every version of me.” His voices cracked. “And somehow you’ve loved every single one.” Tears streamed down your cheeks. “I don’t know what the future holds or how many trophies I’ll win or even how many matches I’ll lose.” He smiled through watery eyes.
“But I do know one thing. Inever want to face any of it without you.” He opened the box. “Y/n L/N, Will you marry me?”
You didn’t answer right away instead you dropped to your knees in front of him taking his face in both hands. “You never had to earn me.” Your voice trembled. “You already had me.” You kissed him softly and when your lips parted you rested rested your forehead against his. “My answer would’ve been yes after the World Cup, before the World Cup, In Dortmund, anywhere.” A laugh escaped through your tears.
You smiled. “Yes, Jude a thousand times yes.” He slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands. The second it was in place he pulled you into the tightest hug he’d ever given you. “I love you.” “I love you too.” He laughed. “Our old selves would never believe this.” You smiled. “The ones sharing one tiny apartment? And the ones eating burnt food?” “The very same.” He grinned. “I think they’d be pretty proud of us.”
You intertwined your fingers with his, admiring the ring sparkling under the streetlights. “I think they’d just be happy we found our way back to each other.” Jude smiled before kissing your forehead. “And no matter how my career goes…” He looked at you with the same lovestruck expression he had all those years ago. “coming home to you will always be my greatest victory.”
warnings:18+ MDNI, smut, nipple sucking, cowgirl, cute nicknames, established relationship,
wc: 1k!
jude was already inches deep when your boss rang.
you froze at the ringtone, legs still on either side of judes hips. his back resting up straight against the bed frame, hands on your waist, smirking up at you, "go on, pick it up love"
you thought about it for a few seconds before reaching for your phone. getting dicked down by jude was more important than your job right now. and your boss has been calling you outside of work hours lately and you were getting fed up with it to be fair.
"hello ?" you answered in a chirpy voice. you boss would never guess your pussy was filled with footballer dick right at this moment.
"yes, y/n sorry to bother you again. i'm gonna need you to work on a document if you have time ?"
as you rolled your eyes, jude's eyes shone in mischief. his large hands slipped from your waist to your hips. before you could try anything, you shot him a warning look and shook your head 'no'. sure, your boyfriend was already buried to the hilt when you picked up but it's still your job, you're not going to keep having sex with him when your boss was on the line.
jude put his hands up, eyebrows shooting up, in an attempt to pleading 'innocent' resting his hands back on your thighs. once he was in the clear, he leaned in and stuck out his tongue against one of your nipples making you stop in your sentence.
"of course. what exactly needs to be done with-- with the document ?"
his tongue swirled around the flesh, making both nipples pebble and goosebumps rise in pleasure. jude smiled against your breast at your reaction. he loved teasing you.
you glared at him and gave him another firm shake, but the squeeze of your pussy sucking jude in harder showed him just how turned on you were.
"i need you to complete it, file it away and send it to the client. it's a bit urgent, if you could do it before the end of the day ? i'm so sorry for doing this again. it's a bit hecti.."
when your boyfriend closed his mouth around your nipple and started sucking hard, you started tuning out the voice from behind the phone. you bit your lip to keep quiet, but your breathing became harder. jude watched you the whole time, ego boosting at how easy it was to distract you.
when your ears picked up that your boss's voice stopped, you hummed absentmindedly in agreement, basking in the pleasure of jude's glorious lips on your boobs. he lifted his hand to give attention to your other nipple, but you knew better. if he touched you even more, you wouldn't be able to keep quiet. so before answering your boss, you lifted from his dick a little bit and slammed back down on his hips, hard. the feeling had jude back down, letting out a quiet breathless moan and resting his head against the bedframe in pleasure. oh how he was holding himself back from fucking you senseless right now.
"yeah, no problem, send it to me, i'll let you know when it's done."
jude brought his tongue hard against his cheek, thinking of ways to get back at you because he had to keep quiet as well. his willpower was slipping little by little, and watching you dominate him like that only made him want to shut you up and put you back in your place as his little subby princess.
his hands slid from your thighs to your hips, and he started lifting you up and down on him slowly, making you gasp at the sudden friction.
"thank you so much y/n. you're a lifesaver. let me look for the file." your boss hummed on the other line as he browsed through his messy desktop, looking for the document. jude took the opportunity to snatch your phone, quickly mute your microphone and flipped you over.
"jude!" you squealed. the tables had totally turned. jude was looking down at you with a smirk, your head resting on the fluffy pillow. "ooh baby, don't worry, it'll be quick."
before you could respond, he hooked your legs on top of his shoulders and started out slowly, pumping in and out of you and gradually going faster, just how you like. you were a moaning mess and hearing your boss whisper, "damnit, where is it?" on the speaker made you cover your mouth with your hand. jude tutted, "sorry princess, that's not how it works." your boyfriend grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above your head, using the new position as leverage to fuck you even harder.
he watched hungrily as you moaned. the neighbours could definitely hear.
there you were. his beautiful moaning girlfriend who can't even get through a simple phone call without cock.
"aha ! here it is. sending it you right now." your phone dinged as you received the email.
jude smiled down at you, a sheen layer of sweat covering his body, "you can do it love." he encouraged before leaning down and unmuting the microphone.
as you opened your mouth to answer, jude brought his hand to your clit, circling the nub skillfully.
finally jude could hang up. he immediately pressed the red button and chased after your lips, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. tongues fighting against each other, sucking, biting, as he simultaneously brought you over the edge with his hand. the squeeze of your pussy milked jude of his cum and he filled you up
author's note: hi,,,,,, 1st writing and posting here,,, kinda nervous
heyyy could you write something about richard rios surprising you with your name tatted?i think it’s such a cute idea!!! especially if it’s quite spontaneous
A Permanent Surprise
A/N: Please Follow, Like, And Reblog
You knew something was off Richard had been smiling to himself all day. Not his usual smile but it was one that meant he was hiding something. “Whats gotten you so happy?” He looked up innocently. “What?”“You’ve been smiling at me for like… twenty minutes.” “I have?” “Richard.” He laughed. “Maybe.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What did you do?” “Nothing.” “Richie.” He looked away. “You’ll find out.”That answer only made you more suspicious. Throughout dinner, he’d randomly glance at you and smile. When you asked why he’d just shake his head. By the time you got home, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay.” He looked over from the couch. “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” “What you’re hiding.” He smiled. “I’m not hiding anything.” “Liar.”
He laughed before standing up. “Come here.” You crossed your arms. “I’m scared.” “You’ll survive.” He reached for your hand and slowly rolled up the sleeve of his hoodie. You frowned. “What am I looking at?”“The inside of my arm.” You leaned closer and froze.
There In neat, elegant handwriting was your name. A freshly tattooed still covered with a protective bandage. You looked at him and at the tattoo, “…Richard.” He suddenly looked very nervous.
“I know I probably should’ve told you.” “You…” “It was kind of spontaneous.” “You got my name tattooed?” He nodded. “…Yeah.” “Without telling me?” “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
You didn’t say anything which led to Richard immediately started overthinking. “If you don’t like it” “It’s okay.” “I can always” “You idiot.” You threw your arms around him holding him so tightly he almost lost his balance. “I love it.” “You do?” You laughed against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you.” “I was so scared you’d hate it.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “When?”“This morning.” “This morning? But I thought you were busy with training?” “I had a free hour and I know you’ve been asking me so I decided to get your name tatted” He smiled sheepishly.
You shook your head, laughing through happy tears.“You’re unbelievable.” “I know.” Carefully, you took his arm looking at the tattoo again. Tracing your finger over the writing looking at every little detail.
“It’s beautiful.” “You think so?” “I know so.” Richard smiled. “I wanted something that reminded me of home.” You looked at him as he smiled at you again. “You are home and I never and ever will forget that.”Your heart melted.
Without thinking, you leaned down and gently kissed the skin just above the fresh tattoo. Richard’s ears immediately turned pink. “You know…” “What?” “That made getting it hurt a lot less.” You laughed. “You’ve already survived the painful part.” “I know.” “But that definitely helped.” “Does this mean I’m stuck with you forever?” Richard pretended to think about it. “Hmm…I’d say you’re the one who’s stuck with me.” You gasped dramatically.“The audacity.” He laughed before pulling you back into another hug.
Later that night the two of you were curled up on the couch. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the outline of your name through the protective wrap. “You keep looking at it.” Richard smiled. “I still can’t believe I did it.” “I still can’t believe you did it either.” He looked over at you. “Too much?” You shook your head immediately.“No.” You lifted his hand and kissed it softly. “It’s one of the sweetest surprises anyone’s ever given me.”Richard smiled, relief washing over his face. “Good.”“What?” “Because I was terrified you’d be mad.” You laughed. “I could never be mad.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you.” “I love you too.” “And now…” He glanced down at the tattoo with a proud grin.
“I get to carry a little piece of you with me everywhere I go.” You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his. “You always did.” “But now,” he teased, “it’s in writing.” You rolled your eyes, laughing as you rested your head on his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.” Richard chuckled. “I know.” “And I plan on reminding you every day.”
Summary: How Would Mbappe Handel being jealous seeing someone hit on you?
A/N: Please Follow, Like, And Reblog
Kylian wasn’t normally a jealous person at least that’s what he told himself. Was he a confident man? Protective of what he loves? Yes and definitely. But jealous not usually atleast not until tonight.
The charity event was supposed to be simple. You two were to show up, smile for photos, talk to sponsors, and go home. Instead, Kylian found himself standing across the room watching some guy flirt with his girlfriend. For the last twenty minutes. Not that he was counting because he definitely wasn’t.
“Kylian.” One of his teammates nudged him. “Hm?”“You’re staring.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I’m literally not.”The teammate looked over at you and back at Kylian.“That guy is flirting with Y/N.” Kylian’s jaw tightened. “I know.” “You know?” “I have eyes.” The teammate immediately started laughing. “Oh, you’re jealous.”Kylian looked offended. “I am not jealous.” “Sure.” “I’m not.” But his attention was taken away by your laugh. It was the stranger was now making you laugh and Kylian didn’t like that.
The thing was you were just being polite and Kylian knew that. You weren’t flirting or encouraging anything. You were simply too nice and unfortunately, some people interpreted kindness as interest.
Across the room, you were desperately trying to end the conversation. “Well, it was nice meeting you—” “So do you live around here?” You internally screamed. “Oh, um—” “And are you coming to the event next week?” You smiled awkwardly. In your mind you are begging for anyone to save you by this point.
As if hearing your thoughts, a familiar arm wrapped around your waist. And instantly you felt comfort and relief as if you were back home. You looked up and saw Kylian who was smiling politely almost too polite.
“Hi, Mon amour.” The pet name made your heart melt. Along with his arm around your waist squeezed slightly. The stranger immediately looked confused. You smiled. “Hi.” Kylian leaned down and kissed your forehead and then your cheek. He looked back at the man still smiling at him. “Sorry.” His voice was calm.“Am I interrupting something?”
The stranger suddenly looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No not at all.” “Good.” Kylian’s smile never moved. Because somehow that made it worse.
“Oh!” The stranger finally realized. “You’re Kylian Mbappé.” Kylian nodded and the man laughed nervously looking between you both. “Oh.” Another pause. “Oh.” You almost felt bad for him. Key world Almost.
The stranger quickly excused himself and the second he disappeared into the crowd, Kylian looked down at you. “Having fun?” You burst out laughing. “There it is.” “There what is?” “The jealousy is all over your face.” “I wasn’t jealous.” You immediately laughed harder.“Kylian.” “What?” “You’ve been glaring at him for twenty minutes.” His eyes widened. “How do you know that?” “Because I saw you out of the corner of my eye waiting for you.” Kylian groaned.
“You know I wasn’t flirting, right?” “Bébé ” “You know I love you?” “Bébé.” “You know I was trying to escape?”That finally made him laugh. “Bébé you know I’m not mad at you.” You wrapped your arms around him.“Good.” For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The noise of the party faded into the background. Kylian rested his forehead against yours. “You know what annoyed me?” You smiled. “Tell me love.” “You looked really pretty tonight.” You stared. Then immediately started laughing. “That’s your reason?”“Yes.” “That’s ridiculous.” “No.” “It makes no sense.” “It makes perfect sense.” You laughed so hard tears formed in your eyes. “You’re impossible.” Kylian shrugged. “And yet.” “Yet what Mr? He smiled. The cocky smile that always got him into trouble.
“And yet you’re still my girlfriend.” You rolled your eyes before pulling him down into a kiss. A kiss that instantly made him forget every ounce of jealousy he’d felt all night. When you pulled away, Kylian looked entirely too pleased with himself. “You did that on purpose.” “What?” “The kiss.” “No.” “Mon Amour.” “Nope.” Kylian laughed and wrapped both arms around your waist.
“Good.” “Good?” “Now everybody knows.” You shook your head. “Knows what?” His grin widened. “That you’re mine.” Your face immediately warmed. And judging by how happy Kylian looked, that was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
Summary: How Is Jude Bellingham Going To Confess To You?
A/N: Please Follow, Like, and Reblog.
Jude Bellingham wasn’t nervous very often. Champions League match? Fine. England match? No problem. Thousands of people watching? Easy. But asking you out? That was somehow terrifying.
His teammates had noticed. “You’ve been staring at your phone for ten minutes.” Jude looked up. “I have not.” “You just typed something.” “I deleted it.” “You typed it again.” “So” His teammate laughed. “Just ask her.” Jude sighed. “It’s not that simple.” “Why not?”“What if she says no?”
You, meanwhile, were completely unaware. You’d been friends with Jude for months. Texting almost every day. Coffee after training when schedules lined up. Late night phone calls and movie nights with mutual friends. You thought he was one of the sweetest people you’d ever met. You just never thought he liked you like that. Because look at him he’s Jude Bloody Bellingham and you are just…you.
That afternoon, Jude texted you.
Jude: Busy?
You: Not really
Jude: Can you meet me?
You: Sure
When you arrived at the little café the two of you always went to, Jude was already there. He stood up the moment he saw you. “Hey.” “Hi.” You smiled. “You look nervous.” He laughed awkwardly. “Do I?” “Just a little.”
The two of you ordered your drinks and sat outside. For a while, everything felt normal. You two were talking about the latest show you were binging. Laughing at inside jokes you two have. Teasing each other like it was second nature. But soon through all the laughter and talking Jude got quiet and even if you were talking it didn’t go unnoticed by you.
“Hey Juju you okay?” He nodded. “Yeah.” A pause. “Actually…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really.” You frowned. “What happened?” He smiled nervously. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you something.” “Oh?” He laughed softly. “And I’ve completely overthought it.”
You tilted your head. “What is it?” Jude looked down at his coffee and then back at you, “You know…” He smiled. “I think you’re amazing.” Your cheeks warmed up a bit. “And…” He took a deep breath. “I really like spending time with you.” “I like spending time with you too.” He laughed. “Good.” Another deep breath and he looked you right in the eyes. “Can I take you out?” You blinked. “Like a date date?” He smiled shyly. “Like a date.”
For a second you just stared at him which made Jude immediately started panicking. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t feel the same.” Before he could finish, you started laughing not because it was funny. Because you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.“You’ve been nervous over that?” He nodded. “For weeks.” Your eyes widened. “Weeks?” “I’ve asked my teammates for advice.” “Oh no.” “It was terrible advice.” You laughed. “I can imagine.”
Jude smiled nervously. “Is that a no?” You looked at him and reached across the table. Taking his hand into yours as you looked at him. “I’d love to go on a date with you.” And for a second Jude smiled than it got bigger. “Really?” “Really.” He let out a relieved laugh. “I thought I embarrassed myself.” “You kinda did.” You laughed as Jude covered his face. “But you were adorable.”
The waiter walked over. “Anything else?” Jude looked at you and grinned. “Actually…” He intertwined your fingers with his. “No I think we’re good.” You smiled. “I think you’re right.”
As you walked out of the café together, Jude couldn’t stop smiling. “What got you all smiley?” He looked over. “I just can’t believe I almost talked myself out of asking you.” You bumped his shoulder playfully. “I’m glad you didn’t.” He smiled. “So am I.” Without thinking, he reached for your hand again.This time, you laced your fingers through his. Neither of you let go for the rest of the walk home.
Summary: How Would Jude Feel About Someone Hitting On His Tennis Player GF??
A/N: World Cup!!! Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
Jude loved watching you play. Yes, he’d been to football finals and champions League nights. And even World Cup matches but watching you on a tennis court made him just as nervous.
You were already at the training center by the time Jude arrived. He smiled when he spotted you across the courts. You hadn’t noticed him yet because you were rallying with another player. Backhand. Forehand. Volley. The rhythm was smooth. Jude leaned against the fence, quietly watching. And he couldn’t help be think of how incredible you looked. But the other thought on his mind was the guy you were with. He had never really seen him around here and you haven’t mention anything to him.
Your coach walked over seeing Jude, “She was the only one here early.” Jude looked over. “Hm?”“The other guy asked if she’d warm up with him.” “Oh.” That made sense. You were just helping someone out nothing more. Still when the guy laughed, a little too hard, Jude’s eyebrows furrowed.
A few minutes later, the ball rolled to the net. The guy jogged over to you. Jude couldn’t hear the conversation. But he could see you laughing politely. Then the guy smiled again and said something with you shaking your head, smiling awkwardly. While Jude folded his arms.
Your coach noticed immediately. “You alright?” “Yeah.” “You don’t look alright.” “I’m fine.” The coach looked toward the court. “Oh I see…” He chuckled. “No need to be jealous.” “I’m not jealous.” “Mhm.”
Practice continued and the guy kept talking. With every change he got even if it was water break or a quick pause. Jude tried to ignore it he really did until..“You’ve got a beautiful smile, you know?” Jude heard that one perfectly and his jaw clenched. You laughed awkwardly. “Thanks…” Then you looked toward the fence and you felt relieved because Jude had finally arrived. You smiled brightly turning to the guy real quick, “Wanna excuse me for a second?” Before the guy could answer, you jogged toward your boyfriend.
“Hi!” You wrapped your arms around Jude while he hugged you back immediately. “You came.” “Wouldn’t miss it.” He kissed your forehead but something felt a bit off. You leaned back slightly, “Everything okay babe?” “What?” “You’ve got that face on.” “What face?” “The one where you’re pretending everything’s fine.” Jude sighed. “I’m fine.” You narrowed your eyes.“Liar.”
He glanced toward the other player. “…Does he always talk that much?” You followed his gaze. “Oh.” Realization hit instantly. “You thought…” Jude rubbed the back of his neck. “I know he’s probably just being friendly.” “But?” “But…” He looked away. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” Your heart melted.
“He asked if I wanted to get coffee after training.”Jude’s head snapped toward you. “He what?” You couldn’t help laughing. “I told him I have a boyfriend.”“…You did?” “I pinky promise I did” Jude blinked. “I said, ‘The very tall and hot footballer that’s my boyfriend.’” Jude covered his face. “Oh my God.”
“You know…” You reached for his hand. “I only warmed up with him because no one else was here.” “I know.” “I wasn’t flirting.” “I know.” “I was actually trying to end the conversation.” “Don’t worry dear I know.” You smiled. “So…” “So?” “Can you stop looking like you’re about to sub yourself into a tennis match?” Jude laughed. “I wasn’t that bad.” “You looked ready to challenge him to a completely different sport.”
As if on cue, the other player walked past. He smiled politely. “It was nice hitting with you.” “You too!” Then he noticed Jude. “Oh.” He smiled awkwardly. “You must be her boyfriend.” Jude nodded. “I am.” The player smiled. “She’s talked about you a lot.” Jude looked at you. “You have?” You shrugged. “Maybe.”The player laughed. “Trust me, she made it very clear she was taken.” With one final wave, he headed toward the locker rooms.
The second he was gone, Jude looked at you. “I owe him an apology.” “For what?” “I may have judged him a little.” “A little?” “…A lot.” You laughed. “Don’t worry I noticed.” He smiled sheepishly. “I just…” He intertwined your fingers with his. “I don’t like people flirting with my girlfriend.” You stepped closer. “I can’t really help if someone tries.” “I know but I can help this.” “What?”
He leaned down and kissed your lips wrapping his arms around your waist. Once Jude pulled away he smiled. “There.” You laughed. “What was that for?” “So everyone here knows.” “Knows what?” Jude grinned, gently squeezing your hand. “That you’re mine.” You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.“Possessive much?” “I told you I can’t help it.”
You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. “As long as you remember…” “Hm?” “I chose you.” Jude’s smile softened immediately. “I know.” He kissed the top of your head one more time. “And I’ll never stop feeling lucky that you did.”
I have an idea because lando keeps saying "that's life"
people always tell y/n that she is naive and always will stay on his side no matter how much of an idiot he might be. she never listened to that but after he kinda ignores her from his life and only doing his stuff alone she realizes and also goes for a girls trip or something. He is of course not being happy about it after seeing pics of her at a club with other men. So he's trying to get her back not understanding why she does all that now and she's just like "well that's life lan" finally being able to show him her rebellious but also toxic side
That's life
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader(y/n)
Warnings: emotional neglect, jealousy, toxic behavior, angst with a happy ending
Summary: After Lando constantly ignores you, you escape to Ibiza to live your own life. Seeing you move on breaks his pride, forcing him to spend weeks proving he will never take your presence for granted again.
Requested: Yes/ Anon
Word count: 6693
Author's note: Heyy, I absolutely loved writing this rebellious era for you. Let me know what you think, enjoy xx
Masterlist
The relentless hum of the paddock was something you had grown to love, or perhaps it was just something you had grown used to. For the past three years, your life had revolved around the Formula One calendar, dictated by race weekends, qualifying sessions, and the mercurial moods of Lando Norris. You had been there through the podium droughts, the frustrating technical failures, and the glorious victories, always standing just outside the immediate spotlight, ready with a water bottle, a warm smile, and an unwavering belief that he was the best driver on the grid.
Everyone around you, from the marketing team to the mechanics, and even some of your closest friends back home, told you the same thing. You were naive. They said you would stay by his side no matter how much of an idiot he might be, no matter how many times he forgot your anniversary because of a simulator session, or how often he brushed off your plans to hang out with his gaming friends. You never listened to them. You always defended him, telling them that they just did not understand the pressure he was under, that he was just a boy living his dream and you were happy to be his safe harbor.
But lately, the safe harbor felt more like a deserted island.
The shift had been subtle at first. A dinner canceled here, a text message left on read there. Then, it became the norm. Lando started doing everything alone or with his new circle of high profile acquaintances. He went to golf tournaments without inviting you, flew out to fashion shows in Paris while you stayed at his apartment in Monaco to feed his plants, and spent his rare weeks off surrounded by people who only knew him as Lando the F1 driver, not Lando the boy who used to get nervous before media briefings. When you tried to bring it up, to ask if something was wrong between you two, he would just shrug his shoulders, offer a distracted smile, and say his favorite phrase.
“That’s life, babe.”
He said it when he forgot your birthday dinner because he was stuck in a engineering meeting that had actually ended three hours prior, though you found out later he had gone out for drinks with the team instead. He said it when he decided to stream until four in the morning when you had an early flight the next day. It was his ultimate shield, a way to dismiss your feelings without actually having to address his own shortcomings.
The turning point came on a Tuesday in late May. You had spent three hours preparing a home cooked meal, his favorite, to celebrate a rare three day break before the triple header began. The clock ticked past eight, then nine, then ten. When he finally walked through the door, his eyes were glued to his phone, his thumb flying across the screen as he laughed at something someone had sent him.
“Hey,” you said, rising from the couch where the food had already gone cold on the table. “I made dinner.”
Lando did not even look up. “Oh, sorry, I already ate with Max and the guys. We grabbed burgers after the sim. I am absolutely exhausted, I am just going to go straight to bed.”
You stood there, looking at the plates you had meticulously arranged, and felt something snap inside you. The naivety that everyone had warned you about did not vanish, but it transformed. It turned into a cold, hard realization that you had spent years pouring your energy into a cup that had a hole in the bottom. You looked at his retreating back, the slouch of his shoulders that you used to find endearing, and realized you were entirely invisible to him.
The next morning, while he was still fast asleep, you packed your bags. You did not leave a tearful note, nor did you throw a tantrum. Instead, you called your three best friends, girls who had been begging you for months to join them on a trip away from the racing world.
“Is that offer for Ibiza still open?” you asked the moment your friend picked up.
“Always,” she replied, her voice filled with sudden excitement. “Are you finally coming?”
“I am at the airport in an hour,” you said.
By the time Lando woke up and noticed the apartment was unusually quiet, you were already boarding a flight to the Balearic Islands. You turned your phone on flight mode, leaning back against the headrest, and for the first time in three years, you did not feel the crushing anxiety of wondering if Lando needed you.
The first two days in Ibiza were a blur of sunlight, salt water, and absolute freedom. Your friends did not mention Lando once, respecting the unspoken boundary you had set by simply showing up without him. You spent the afternoons lounging on yachts, drinking sangria, and letting the warmth of the sun burn away the lingering resentment. You bought new clothes, dresses that were far shorter and more daring than anything you wore in the paddock, where you always felt the need to look presentable and modest as the supportive girlfriend.
On the third night, you went out to one of the most exclusive clubs on the island. The bass vibrated through the floorboards, the lights flashed in vibrant hues of purple and gold, and you felt alive in a way you had forgotten was possible. You wore a backless black silk dress that clung to your curves, your hair fell in loose waves, and your eyes held a new, sharper spark.
You were standing at the VIP bar, waiting for a round of shots for your friends, when a couple of guys approached you. One of them was a handsome Spanish promoter named Mateo, with a quick smile and an easy charm. He struck up a conversation, and for once, you did not politely mention your boyfriend within the first thirty seconds. You laughed at his jokes, let him lean in close so you could hear him over the music, and when your friend pulled out her phone to take a flash photo of the group, you did not shrink away. You posed, leaning against Mateo with a drink in your hand, a mischievous, smoky smile on your lips.
Your friend posted the photos on Instagram, tagging the location, tagging you, and ensuring the world could see exactly how much fun you were having.
Back in Monaco, Lando had just finished a brutal training session. He was sitting on his couch, scrolling through his phone out of sheer habit, expecting to see a text from you asking how his day was or telling him what time you would be home. There was nothing. His brows furrowed. He had noticed you were gone, of course, but he had assumed you were just visiting your parents or doing some shopping. He had sent a lazy text yesterday saying, where are you, to which you had simply replied, out with the girls. He had shrugged it off. That’s life, people do their own things.
But then he opened Instagram.
The first post on his feed was from your friend. Lando froze, his thumb hovering over the screen. The image was bright, loud, and entirely unfamiliar. There you were, looking absolutely stunning, but it was not the version of you he knew. This version looked wild, untamed, and very much single. You were laughing, your hand resting casually on the forearm of a tall, dark haired man who was looking down at you with unmistakable interest.
Lando felt a sudden, sharp pang in his chest, a sickening drop in his stomach that he usually only felt right before a high speed crash. He stared at the man’s hand, which was hovering just above your waist. Who the hell was this guy? Why were you in Ibiza? Why had you not told him?
He immediately tapped on your contact and hit call. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail. He switched to WhatsApp, typing out a message with furious speed.
“Where are you? Who is that guy in the photo? Call me right now.”
The blue ticks appeared almost instantly. You were online. But no reply came.
Lando paced up and down his living room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt a burning anger, mixed with a terrifying wave of insecurity. You did not do things like this. You were the sweet, dependable girl who waited for him. You were the one who tolerated his absence and his moods. You did not go to Ibiza and let foreign men touch you in crowded clubs.
He did not sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flash photo of you smiling at someone else. By the next afternoon, unable to handle the silence any longer, Lando did something he rarely did during a race prep week. He booked a private charter straight to Ibiza. He told his manager it was an emergency, ignoring the raised eyebrows and the warnings about his schedule. He needed to find you. He needed to fix whatever this madness was.
Through a mutual acquaintance who knew the club scene, Lando managed to find out which villa your group was renting in the hills of San Antonio. By the time his rental car pulled up the winding driveway, the sun was beginning to set, casting a deep crimson glow over the infinity pool.
You were sitting on a sun lounger, a book in your lap, wearing a white bikini and oversized sunglasses. You heard the gravel crunch under the tires, but you did not stand up. You knew exactly who it would be. Your friends had already gone inside to get ready for another night out, leaving you alone by the water.
Lando slammed the car door shut and marched across the terrace. He looked disheveled, his curls wild, his eyes bloodshot, and his usual easygoing demeanor entirely replaced by a tense, vibrating fury.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, stopping at the foot of your lounger.
You slowly lowered your sunglasses, looking up at him with total calmness. The naivety they all talked about was completely gone from your eyes, replaced by a cool, detached amusement.
“Hi, Lando,” you said, your voice smooth. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a simulator session tomorrow?”
“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You vanish for four days, you don’t answer my calls, and then I see you all over social media with some random guy in a club. What are you playing at? Who is he?”
You picked up your drink, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “His name is Mateo. He is very nice. He actually listens when I talk, which is a refreshing change of pace, to be honest.”
Lando flinched as if he had been slapped. He stared at you, his chest heaving. “Are you doing this to hurt me? Is this some kind of revenge because I was busy last week? You know how hard the season is right now. You know I have to focus.”
“I do know,” you said, leaning back against the cushions. “And I decided to let you focus. I am just doing my own thing now, Lando. I am living my life.”
“By grinding on strangers in Ibiza?” his voice cracked, a mixture of anger and desperation breaking through. “That is not you. You don’t do this. You are supposed to be home. You are supposed to be with me.”
You let out a soft, mocking laugh that cut him deeper than any shout could have. It was a sound he had never heard from you before. It was sharp, a little toxic, and entirely unbothered.
“Supposed to be?” you repeated, tilting your head. “According to who? You ignored me for weeks, Lan. You pushed me out of your life because it was convenient for you, because you thought I would just sit around forever waiting for you to notice me again. Well, I got bored.”
Lando took a step closer, his hands dropping to his sides, his expression shifting from anger to a pleading confusion. He truly did not understand. In his mind, he had just been busy being a Formula One driver, doing what he always did. He did not see how his neglect had eroded the foundation you had built.
“I didn't mean to ignore you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, trying to find the charm that usually worked on you. “You know how it is. It is just the way things are right now. The pressure, the media, the team. It is just life, you know?”
You stood up then, stepping out of the lounger. You were shorter than him, but in that moment, as you looked him dead in the eye with a cold, beautiful smile, you felt entirely dominant. You reached out, patted his cheek gently, a gesture that was patronizing and entirely deliberate.
“Well,” you whispered, your eyes glinting with a dangerous, rebellious light. “That’s life, Lan.”
Lando froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. He recognized the phrase instantly. It was his own weapon, his own excuse, used against him with devastating precision. He watched you walk past him toward the villa, the white fabric of your cover up swaying with every step.
“Wait,” he called out, turning around to follow you. “You can’t just say that. We need to talk about this. You can’t just change overnight.”
You stopped at the glass sliding doors, looking back over your shoulder. “I didn’t change overnight, Lando. You just weren’t looking. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go get dressed. Mateo is picking us up in an hour.”
“You are not going out with him again,” Lando said, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, though he stopped himself before making contact, sensing the invisible wall you had built around yourself.
“Watch me,” you said smoothly, and with a final, devastating smile, you walked inside and slid the door shut, leaving him standing alone by the pool as the darkness settled over the island.
Lando stood on the terrace for a long time, the cool evening breeze doing nothing to soothe the burning chaos in his chest. He looked through the glass doors, but the sheer curtains were drawn, blocking his view. He could hear the faint sound of music and laughter from inside, the muffled voices of your friends as they got ready. He felt like an outsider, a spectator to a life he used to own the starring role in.
He did not leave. He walked back to his rental car, sat in the driver’s seat, and waited. His mind was spinning. How had he lost control of this so quickly? He had always assumed you would be there. You were the one constant in his chaotic world. When the engineers yelled at him, when the fans criticized him, when the pressure became too much, he always knew he could come home to your quiet, unquestioning support. He had taken that support for granted, treating it like a piece of furniture that would always be in the room no matter how many times he rearranged the rest of the house.
An hour later, the front door of the villa opened. Lando sat up straight, his eyes widening.
You walked out first. You wore a striking red dress that cut low at the front and had a daring slit up the thigh. It was a loud dress, a statement dress, something that screamed for attention. Your friends followed you, all of them laughing and talking excitedly. A sleek black SUV pulled up the driveway just then, and the driver’s door opened.
It was Mateo. He looked just as handsome in person as he did in the photos, wearing a crisp linen shirt and tailored trousers. He smiled warmly as he saw you, stepping forward to open the passenger door.
Lando could not sit in the car anymore. He pushed the door open and stepped out into the driveway, the gravel crunching loudly under his sneakers. All eyes turned to him. Your friends stopped talking, their expressions turning uncomfortable, while Mateo simply looked confused.
You, however, did not look surprised at all. You turned your head slowly, looking at Lando with that same detached amusement.
“Lando,” you said, your voice carrying easily across the quiet driveway. “Still here?”
“We need to talk,” Lando said, ignoring the others entirely. He walked toward you, his eyes fixed on your red dress. “Please. Just five minutes. You can’t go out like this.”
“Like what?” you asked, tilting your head. “I think I look great. Don’t you think so, Mateo?”
Mateo looked between you and Lando, sensing the heavy tension. “Yes, you look beautiful. Is there a problem here?”
Lando glared at the Spaniard, his jaw clenching. “Yeah, there is a problem. I am her boyfriend.”
You let out a soft, sharp chuckle, stepping into the space between Lando and Mateo. “Were, Lando. You were my boyfriend when you actually remembered I existed. Right now, I am not really sure what you are. An uninvited guest, maybe?”
The toxicity in your tone was intoxicating to yourself, but agonizing for him. For years you had been the bigger person, the mature one, the one who swallowed her pride to keep the peace. Now, you realized how much power there was in simply not caring, in throwing his own negligence back in his face. It felt good. It felt liberating.
“Please,” Lando whispered, his anger melting away into pure desperation. The presence of another man, the reality of you leaving in a car with someone else, broke through his stubborn pride. “Just come back to Monaco with me. We can fix this. I will change, I promise. I will make time.”
You looked at him for a long moment. For a split second, a tiny part of the old you wanted to give in, wanted to hug him and tell him it was okay. But then you remembered the cold dinners, the ignored messages, and the dismissive phrase he used to wipe away your tears.
“You had months to make time, Lan,” you said softly, your voice devoid of the anger he expected, leaving only a cold finality. “Now, I am making time for myself.”
You turned around, stepping into the passenger seat of Mateo’s SUV. Your friends quickly scrambled into the back, none of them daring to look at Lando. Mateo gave Lando a wary, final glance before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
Lando stood in the driveway, watching the red taillights of the SUV disappear down the dark, winding road. He was completely alone.
The next three days were a living hell for Lando. He did not return to Monaco. He checked into a hotel in Ibiza, spending his days staring at his phone, waiting for a message that never came, and his nights trying to find out which clubs you were attending. He caught glimpses of you a few times, always surrounded by people, always laughing, always looking radiant and completely detached from him. Every time he tried to approach you, your friends would form a barrier, or you would simply walk away into the VIP section where he could not follow without causing a public scene that would ruin his career.
He was losing his mind. The realization that you could survive without him, that you could actually thrive without him, was a concept he had never considered. He had been so secure in your love that he had let it die from starvation.
Finally, the trip came to an end. Lando found out through a contact at the airport what time your flight back to Nice was. He checked out of his hotel, boarded his own private flight, and made sure he landed just before you did.
When you walked through the arrivals terminal at the Nice airport, your bags in tow, you were tired but happy. The trip had been exactly what you needed to break the spell Lando had cast over you. You felt strong, independent, and entirely in control of your own destiny.
You didn’t expect to see him standing near the exit, leaning against a pillar, looking exhausted and worn out. He was wearing a simple hoodie, his cap pulled low, trying to avoid recognition from the public, but his eyes were locked onto the sliding doors, waiting for you.
Your friends saw him first and sighed. “Do you want us to stay?” one of them asked softly.
“No,” you said, looking at Lando. “Go ahead. I can handle this.”
You walked toward him, your suitcase rolling smoothly behind you. As you approached, Lando stood up straight, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and fear.
“You’re back,” he said, his voice raw.
“I am,” you replied, stopping a few feet away. “I live here, remember?”
“Can I please take you home?” he begged openly, not caring about his pride anymore. “Just let me drive you back to the apartment. Let me talk to you properly, without the clubs, without your friends, without anyone else.”
You looked at him, assessing the damage. He looked truly miserable, a complete contrast to the confident, cocky driver who had dismissed you just a week ago. You felt a twinge of satisfaction, a dark, toxic thrill that you had been able to break him down just by doing exactly what he had done to you.
“Fine,” you said casually. “You can drive me home.”
The car ride back to Monaco was silent. Lando tried to start a conversation several times, asking about the flight, asking if you were hungry, but you gave him short, one word answers, keeping your eyes fixed on the scenery outside the window. You were not going to make this easy for him. The naive girl was dead, buried under the white sands of Ibiza.
When you finally arrived at the apartment, you walked in and set your suitcase by the door. The place looked exactly as you had left it, the plants you had watered before leaving still green against the modern decor.
Lando closed the door behind him and immediately took off his cap, throwing it onto the counter. He turned to you, his eyes pleading.
“Tell me what I need to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t lose you, y/n. I realized it this week. The apartment is empty without you, my head is completely messed up. I can’t even focus on the simulator. I need you.”
You walked over to the kitchen island, leaning against it with your arms crossed. You looked at him, your expression unreadable.
“You need me?” you repeated, your voice dangerously soft. “Or you need the version of me that sat in this apartment like a loyal dog, waiting for you to throw me a scrap of attention between races?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, reaching out to touch your hand, which was resting on the marble counter. This time, you did not pull away, but your hand remained cold, unresponsive under his warm palm. “I need you. The real you. I am sorry I was an idiot. Everyone told me I was taking you for granted, and I didn’t listen. I thought we were fine. I thought you understood.”
“I did understand,” you said, looking down at his hand on yours. “I understood that I was at the very bottom of your priority list. Behind the car, behind the team, behind golf, behind your streaming friends, behind everything. And I accepted it because I loved you. But then you started doing it all alone. You didn’t even want me around for the ride anymore.”
“I was just trying to manage everything,” Lando argued, his voice rising slightly in defense before he caught himself and softened it again. “It is so hard, y/n. You have no idea what it is like out there. The pressure from Zak, the pressure from the fans, the constant media scrutiny. It drains me. When I come home, I just want to shut down.”
“And you shut me out in the process,” you countered, your eyes lifting to meet his, flashing with a sudden, sharp anger. “You used your career as an excuse to be selfish, Lando. And every time I tried to tell you it hurt, what did you say to me?”
Lando opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He knew exactly what he had said.
“You told me it was just life,” you said for him, a cold smile touching your lips. “You told me that’s life, Lan. Over and over again. You used those words to invalidate everything I felt, to make me feel like I was the one being unreasonable for wanting a boyfriend who actually looked at me when I spoke.”
“I am sorry,” he whispered, a tear finally escaping his eye, tracking down his cheek. He looked completely defeated, his shoulders slumping. “I am so sorry. I won’t ever say it again. Just please, don’t go back to Ibiza. Don’t go back to that guy.”
You looked at the tear on his cheek, feeling a strange mixture of pity and power. You liked this power. You liked knowing that you held the steering wheel of his emotions now, the same way he had held yours for years. You stepped closer to him, closing the distance between your bodies. You could smell his familiar scent, a mix of expensive cologne and the faint trace of hotel soap. You reached up, your fingers gently wiping the tear from his cheek, your touch soft but your eyes remained entirely calculated.
“I might go back,” you murmured, your voice a teasing, toxic whisper right against his ear. “Mateo said he would love to show me Madrid next month. During the summer break, actually. When you are supposed to be off.”
Lando gripped your waist tightly, pulling you flush against his chest. His eyes were dark, fierce with a possessive desperation. “No. You are staying here. With me. I will take you wherever you want to go. We can go to Madrid, we can go to Bali, anywhere. Just don’t leave me.”
You looked up at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the frantic, rapid beat of his heart. You had won. You had broken through the armor of the golden boy of Formula One, showing him that you were no longer the naive girl he could pick up and put down at his convenience.
But you weren’t ready to make it completely better just yet. You wanted him to sweat a little longer, wanted him to feel the lingering insecurity that had been your constant companion for the past year.
“We will see, Lando,” you said, pulling back slightly, breaking his grip on your waist with an easy, fluid movement. You picked up your suitcase, turning toward the bedroom. “I am tired from the flight. I am going to take a shower. Don’t disturb me.”
Lando stood in the middle of the kitchen, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, watching you walk away once again. He knew he hadn't fully won you back. He knew the relationship had changed forever, that the power dynamic had shifted in a way he could never reverse. You had shown him your rebellious, toxic side, and the worst part for him was that he knew he deserved every single bit of it.
He sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands, the silence of the apartment louder than it had ever been before. He had no choice but to wait, to play by your new rules, and to hope that eventually, you would let him back into your heart. But for now, as he looked at the empty hallway where you had disappeared, he could only think of the words you had thrown at him by the pool.
That’s life, Lan. And for the first time in his life, he absolutely hated it.
The silence that settled over the apartment that evening did not lift for a long time. Lando stayed on the couch for hours, his head resting in his hands, listening to the faint sound of the shower running from the master bedroom. For the past three years, that sound would have brought him a sense of peace, a sign that you were home and that his world was in order. Now, it just felt like a countdown to an uncertain future. He knew he had pushed you to the brink, and the cool, detached version of you that walked out of the bathroom an hour later, wrapped in a plush gray robe with your hair up in a towel, was proof that he could not use his old tricks anymore.
You did not look at him as you walked into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. You did not ask him if he had eaten, nor did you offer to make him anything. You simply took your glass, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door firmly behind you. Lando did not try to follow. He slept on the couch that night, the tight leather beneath him a harsh reminder of the distance he had created between you.
The next morning, the real work began for him.
When you woke up around eight, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries was already drifting through the apartment. You walked into the living area, fully dressed in a casual linen shirt and denim shorts, ready to head out for a walk by the harbor. Lando was standing by the kitchen island, his hair messy, wearing his training gear, but his phone was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was carefully arranging a plate of warm croissants and fresh berries that he must have walked down to the local bakery to get at dawn.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice quiet, almost timid as he looked up at you. “I made coffee. Exactly how you like it, with the oat milk and just a tiny bit of honey.”
You stopped, looking at the spread, then at him. The old you would have smiled, hugged him around the waist, and thanked him profusely. The new you simply walked over, picked up the coffee cup, and took a sip.
“Thank you,” you said, your voice polite but entirely neutral. “It is good.”
“Are you going out?” he asked, his eyes scanning your outfit, a faint hint of nervousness in his posture. “I don’t have to be at the factory until midday. I thought maybe we could take a walk together. Just down by the water. No phones, no racing talk.”
You looked at him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until he began to shift his weight from one foot to the other. You liked seeing him like this, a little desperate, completely eager to please. It was a sharp contrast to the boy who used to grunt answers at you while staring at a screen.
“Sure,” you said casually, setting the coffee down. “You can come.”
That walk was the beginning of a pattern that Lando maintained with fierce discipline over the next four weeks. The triple header of races was grueling, with events in Spain, Austria, and Great Britain back to back, but the way Lando managed his time shifted entirely. In the past, a triple header meant you barely saw him except for brief FaceTimes where he looked exhausted and distracted. Now, things were different.
During the Spanish Grand Prix weekend, he flew you out to Barcelona, but instead of leaving you in the hospitality suite to fend for yourself while he hovered around the engineers, he made sure you were included in everything that was not strictly confidential. Before the media sessions, he would find you in his private room, sit next to you on the small couch, and just talk. He would ask about your day, ask what book you were reading, or tell you a stupid joke just to hear you laugh.
“I have to go do the TV pen now,” he said on Friday afternoon, standing up and reaching for his cap. He paused, looking down at you, his hand hovering over yours. “Will you be here when I get back? It should only take twenty minutes. I told the PR team I am not doing any extra interviews today.”
You looked up at him, a small, knowing smile on your lips. “I will be here, Lan. Go do your job.”
He smiled, a genuine, relieved expression that brightened his entire face, before quickly heading out the door. True to his word, he was back in exactly nineteen minutes, turning down an invitation to an extra sponsor event so he could take you out to a quiet seafood dinner in the city.
At the restaurant, sitting outside under the warm Spanish night sky, you watched him closely. His phone remained faced down on the table the entire evening. When it buzzed with a notification from one of his gaming friends, he didn’t even glance at it. He just pushed it further away, focusing his entire attention on you as you recounted a funny story about your friends back home.
“You’re really trying, aren’t you?” you asked suddenly, swirling the white wine in your glass.
Lando froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down, his expression turning serious, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, though you refused to let it show.
“I am,” he said softly, reaching across the table to cover your hand with his own. This time, you did not pull away, letting the warmth of his skin seep into yours. “I told you I would. I know I was an idiot, y/n. I know I almost lost you. The thought of you going off to Madrid or Ibiza with someone else, the thought of you just not caring about me anymore, it terrified me. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. And I don’t ever want you to feel the way I made you feel.”
You looked down at his hand, feeling the first real crack in the icy armor you had built around yourself. The toxicity you had enjoyed wielding in Ibiza was starting to melt, replaced by the familiar warmth of the affection you had always carried for him. But you still kept a small part of yourself guarded. You needed to be sure.
“Words are easy, Lando,” you murmured, looking back up at him. “We have had good weeks before. It is the consistency that matters.”
“Then let me show you,” he pleaded, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles. “Just give me the chance to keep showing you.”
And he did. In Austria, despite a stressful weekend on track that involved a frustrating penalty and intense battles, he did not lock himself away in his room to sulk. After a tough Sunday race, he walked straight back to the motorhome, found you sitting in the corner, and simply buried his face in your neck, letting you hold him while he decompressed. He did not push you away, he did not say that’s life to dismiss the bad result, he just stayed close to you, drawing strength from your presence.
By the time the British Grand Prix arrived, the tension that had defined your return from Ibiza had almost entirely evaporated, replaced by a new, tentative tenderness. He spent his few days off before Silverstone entirely with you at his house in the English countryside. There were no high profile guests, no large groups of friends, just the two of you cooking together, watching movies, and taking long walks through the green fields.
On the Thursday evening before the track action began, you were sitting on the back porch of the country house, wrapped in a large knitted blanket as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of deep orange and pink. Lando walked out, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate, and sat down on the bench beside you. He slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, and for the first time in a month, you did not hesitate. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
“Just how much has changed in a month,” you admitted, watching the shadows lengthen across the grass. “If you had told me four weeks ago that we would be sitting here like this, I probably would have laughed and booked another flight to Spain.”
Lando tightened his grip on you, a small shudder running through his frame. “Don’t joke about that. I still have nightmares about that red dress you wore.”
You let out a genuine laugh, the sound clear and bright in the quiet evening air. “It was a great dress, Lan. You have to admit that.”
“You looked beautiful,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a soft, vulnerable whisper. “But you looked like you didn’t belong to me anymore. And that was the worst part.”
You turned your head slightly, looking up at his profile in the fading light. The sharp, rebellious edge that had driven you to Ibiza was still there inside you, a new sense of self worth that you knew you would never lose again, but the desire to punish him was gone. He had proven himself. He had spent every single available second of the last month making sure you knew exactly how important you were to him. He had learned his lesson, and you had learned yours, you would never let yourself become invisible again.
“I never belonged to you, Lando,” you said softly, causing him to look down at you with a sudden flash of worry in his eyes. You reached up, placing your hand against his cheek, your fingers tracing his jawline. “But I chose to be with you. And I think I am ready to choose that again. To start over. Properly this time.”
Lando blinked, his breath catching in his throat as your words sank in. The heavy weight he had been carrying in his chest for weeks suddenly lifted, replaced by a rush of pure, unadulterated relief.
“Really?” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “You mean it? You are giving me another chance?”
“Yes,” you smiled, your eyes softening completely as the last of the icy distance disappeared. “A real chance. But the moment you start ignoring me for a simulator or telling me that’s life when you forget our plans, I am back on a tight flight to Ibiza. Do you understand me?”
Lando let out a breathless, happy laugh, his entire face lighting up as he wrapped both arms around you, pulling you tightly into his lap, burying his face in your shoulder.
“I understand,” he promised fervently, his voice muffled against your neck. “I swear, I understand. No more ignoring you. No more stupid excuses. Just us.”
You held him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against yours. The road ahead would still be challenging, the F1 calendar would still be demanding, and he would still have his moments of stress and distraction. But as you sat together in the quiet English countryside, watching the stars begin to appear in the night sky, you knew things were different now. You were no longer the naive girl waiting in the shadows, and he was no longer taking your presence for granted. You had started over, on your own terms, and this time, you were both all in.
lando takes you clubbing to the raspoutine in paris, and a cheeky shirt switch leads to an even better night for the both of you.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 2.5k ୨୧ warnings : SMUT (f oral, semi-public – club bathroom), clubbing / drinking, munch!lando (yes its a warning) is exactly where he wants to be ୨୧ note : if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog!
part of the lando's heart series.
lando loved taking you out to clubs – especially ones that were extremely hard to get in to without the right connections. you think he does it to show off, like a male peacock trying to impress the female one by showing off its feathers. that's exactly how you would describe lando.
even after almost four years of knowing and dating him, lando still felt prideful in himself to show off for you. and lando always seemed he thrived off of impressing you – taking you places you haven't been, clubs you've never heard off because of how exclusive they are.
you know... just millionaire boyfriends things. nothing too extreme.
and even after three constant years of traveling all over the world with lando – some things really do still amaze and impress you.
like the raspoutine club he's managed to drag you to. the entire club was bathed in a deep red lighting and immediately when you walked in, lando holding onto your hand tightly, you could feel the bass vibrating through your whole body. every step you took in your heels sent another vibrating shockwave through your bones.
lando was just a step ahead of you, guiding you through the crowd of people, the smell of alcohol, expensive perfumes, and faint scent of smoke filled the air. you seen your boyfriend look over his shoulder you – checking to make sure you were doing okay, his bright smile painting his grin when you make eye contact. he then manages to move to where he's right next to you, his hand resting on your hip. which is warm against your skin, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down on the sliver of skin that is peaking between your blue set you're wearing.
when you two get past the dancefloor and the crowd starts to dwindle a little, lando presses his mouth against your ear so you can hear him over the music. "did i tell you, you look absolutely gorgeous, princess?"
you don't even bite back the smile as you turn to look at him, "yes, about three times at the hotel and two more on the way here." you tease before pressing a kiss his cheek. his hand comes down to grab a handful of your ass before playfully smacking it.
"hey! there he is! lando, how are you!" someone calls out once you both near the back of the club where red velvet booths line the wall. lando steps away from you to quickly greet the icy blonde male before his hand is reaching blindly towards yours. you grab lando's hand and let him guide you back next to him. "you must be y/n! pleasure to meet you, i'm matt!" he says, doing the usual european cheek kiss greeting that you've grown so accustomed to over the last eight years.
when matt turns around, back to you, talking to lando and trying to get you both to sit down – that's when you notice the back of matt's shirt. well... more like what it says.
because in big colorful font reads: EAT PUSSY, IT'S VEGAN.
you can't help but laugh at the text, lando giving you a side glance as he has you sit down next to him on the booth seat. however, you can he noticed the seat too from the faint smirk on his lips. you and lando sit shoulder to shoulder, his arm resting behind you as the assortment of drinks being to appear on the table in front of you all.
between the drinks and shots, you and matt start to strike up a conversation. the two of you talking about fashion and the industry after learning that matt is a model. lando chimes in here and there, the two of you sharing a few drinks, and you can't help but bite back a smile whenever you feel his lips press against your bare shoulder.
"so, matt," you say leaning over the table, a wide grin on your face as your body flushes with warmth from the alcohol starting to run through you. "what is up with that shirt? i just have to know!" you finally ask, making the french model laugh and shake his head.
"just something fun that i threw on. you like it?"
you laugh, nodding your head, "i need to know where you got it! lando needs one for sure!"
you completely miss how your boyfriend almost chokes on his drink when he hears you. but matt catches it and laughs as he watches lando try to recover.
"is lando vegan?" matt asks, a smirk on his lips and the question makes you laugh again, hands clapping together as you lean back into lando.
"hm," you say, looking at your british lover with a fond look. the red lights casting him in a beautiful glow as your hand reaches up to brush his hair back – even though it definitely wasn't needed, but neither of you care. "yeah, something like that."
the icy blonde male shakes his head, grin on his face before he looks at lando. "i'll tell you what– let's trade shirts! you can have it for free since y/n likes it so much."
lando knows he should probably deny the offer, but he's too far into tonight – and you – to deny it. he can deal with repercussions from his pr team at a later date, he thinks. his eyes shift over to you for a moment, taking in how he's totally enamored with you under the lights.
and then he's standing up before you can even fully process what's happening as lando is taking his shirt off in the middle of the club. matt lets out a hollered laugh before he's doing the same. you don't pay any attention to anything but lando, your hand casually reaching out to touch him. he turns his head and looks down at you with a wide, confident grin on his face as he switches shirts with matt – the two grinning and hugging even.
you feel something shift inside you as you watch lando throw on the other shirt. a heat running through you and settling in your stomach, but this is different from the one you've been feeling all night. no, this is one you get before you usually let lando rock your shit. and he is now wearing the rather iconic, in your complete opinion, shirt.
and of course he puts it on backwards, the big bold "eat pussy, it's vegan" written straight across his chest. he looks down at you, wiggling his eyebrows which earns a laugh from you as he smooths the shirt down. when he sits back down, lando doesn't hesitate to pull you into him. your chest flush against his side, looking at you before he's giving you a chaste kiss.
"you like my new shirt, baby?" he asks, your hands gliding across his shoulders before you're leaning close to kiss him again.
"yeah... i think it really suits you," you tell him, his hand coming up to grip your thigh in a way that sends another wave of heat over you. literally, taking your breath away, letting out a stuttered gasp as he kisses you. not caring who is around or that the two of you could end up all over twitter by daylight. "lan~" you giggle out, cupping his face as you both look at each other.
"don't you think this shirt gives good advice?" he asks, his hand trailing up your thigh and playing with the hem of your skirt.
"i do," you tell him with a smile, leaning over to the table to grab another drink. but instead of drinking it yourself, you hold it to his lips and lando happily lets you pour the drink into his mouth – the liquid burning down his throat. "don't you think..." you start to saying, earning his fully attention – as if you didn't have it already, "take the advice? you know... since you're good at following rules and regs and stuff."
"and stuff?" he repeats with a smile, his hand squeezing the flesh of your thigh. his lips press against your neck and the feeling sends a rush of adrenaline to between your legs. "are you gonna punish me if i break the rules?"
"well, i mean– when have you ever been denied the opportunity to eat pussy, lan?"
he chuckles, shaking his head, "you've got a point, princess." he's then standing up, taking a hold of your hand to help you stand up. "we'll be back!" he calls out to matt and the few others at the table and without looking back he guides you away.
you let lando guide you through the crowd of people, completely trusting him even if you have no idea where he's taking you. the two of you head in the direction of restrooms before lando is leading you down a hallway – everything still bathed in that red light. you learn rather quickly that raspoutine is a labyrinth, but lando seems to know exactly where he's going. only because seconds later he's pulling you into one of the single-occupancy restrooms hidden away near the very back of the club.
your british lover slams the door, locking it with a sharp click before he's pressing you against it. inside the bathroom, you can only focus on lando who is pressing his body flush against yours – his hands gripping your hips tightly before he's kissing you. you immediately kiss back, a low moan escaping your throat as his lips move passionately against yours in a deep, bruising kiss. his tongue slipping inside your mouth easily, and tasting the premium, expensive vodka on your own tongue.
you felt lando's hand move to grab your thigh, bringing it up to rest around his waist – his cock hard and throbbing in his pants, rubs against your clothed core. soft, desperate moans sound against his mouth as your hands come up to tightly grab the back of his shirt to anchor him close to you.
"f-fuck, lan~" you moan out when lando suddenly hoists you up, your legs around his waist as he moves the short distance from the door to the marble counter. the counter is cold against your otherwise heated skin and the contrast as you try to anchor yourself closer to him.
lando looked down at you, chest heaving as he ran a hand through his messy curls. his hazel eyes scanning over your body, the sequin and hanging jewels on your two-piece set gleaming under the pinkish hue lights that starkly contrast against the deep, lustful red of the rest of the club.
"so..." he trails off, hands sneaking underneath your short skirt to grab at the hem of your lacy panties. he doesn't pull them down yet, but you wouldn't be surprised if he accidentally ripped them from how tightly he's gripping them. "you gonna let this vegan have his dinner?"
you can't help but let out a small lighthearted laugh, "i guess i can feed this poor vegan~"
lando kisses you again, pulling your panties down past your knees and over your heels. he pulls away to dangle them in between the both of you – a wicked smirk on his face before you're watching him pocket them.
"that's my princess," he says, spreading your legs wider, skirt bunching up to reveal your center to rather humid air of the bathroom. lando sinks down to his knees, not seeming to care that he's getting his pants dirty as he's level with your dripping pussy. "as the french say, bon appétit."
he then leans forward and buries his face directly between your thighs.
lando's tongue does a broad wet stroke from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. one of your hands immediately grabs onto his hair as you throw your head back as a loud, unfiltered moan rips from your throat. your other hand holds onto the edge of the counter like a lifeline – like you're trying to keep yourself anchored to reality.
his large palms come up to cup your ass, lifting you slightly off the counter to get a better angle as you feel his tongue slip inside before he's licking up again to suck on your clit. you were dripping onto his lips as lando switched between flattening his tongue, swirling it tightly around clit, and flicking inside so it could gather your juices up. he could feel you running down his chin, but lando could care less about the mess he was making – drinking you up like a man dying of thirst.
or a hungry vegan.
you felt your hips twitch against his mouth, trying to buck up but lando's hands grip you tightly and stop you from doing so. the pleasure was overwhelming – the small restroom filled with the sounds of your moans and the wet sounds of his mouth against your pussy. it was completely and utterly driving you over the edge.
"lando, please– fuck, fuck, fuck! lando, lando, i-i'm gonna–" you choke out as you feel him insert two fingers into you. pumping them fast and hard before he's curling them and rubbing your sweet spot. his lips locked harshly onto your clit, and you can feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the pleasure.
you managed to look down, locking eyes with lando who is staring at you with those piercing hazel ones. he gives his fingers another few good pumps and his tongue drawing sloppy figure-eights until you're finally coming.
vision turning white as you feel your walls clenching violently around his fingers as your orgasm rips through you. you let out a loud moan mixed with his name as you feel your thighs shake from the force of the orgasm. especially when lando refused to pull away – drinking up all your juices. he stayed right there between your trembling thighs, tongue flattening against your folds, his hands holding you as steady as he could until you could finally feel yourself come down from your high.
slowly, lando finally lifted his head before standing to his full height. chest heaving and face flushed even under the pink lights. you could also see his lips and chin glistening with your wetness – the sight itself making you a little shy as the realization that he just ate you out in a club bathroom. with a shaky hand, you reached out towards lando to pull him closer to you.
your boyfriend leaned over you as you felt his hands wrapped around your waist. he gives you a firm kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue, as he pulls you off the marble counter. holding your close as he trails his lips down your neck and fixes your skirt.
"guess i need to do this vegan diet more often," he whispers into your ear – breath hot and smug as his hand lazily strokes your back. "but i think i was already addicted to your pussy for a while."
"shut up," you mumble with a laugh, hiding your face in his neck and arms around your waist as you couldn't feel anything but completely and utterly ruined and in love with him.
lando norris doesn’t do mornings. then again, neither do you.
pairing: lando norris x reader
contents: romance/suggestive, friends(ish) with benefits, they’re both bad at relationships, slightly toxic tendencies maybe but they mean well, jealousy, title from revolving door by tate mcrae, loosely inspired by this really old moodboard of mine. my masterlist.
word count: 3.1k
Moonlights slants through the window, caught in the space between blinds. The covers are already halfway legs; still, there’s a warmth settled behind you. An arm loosely draped over your waist. Nose nuzzled against the back of your shoulder. Evened breaths tickling your neck.
Your eyes blink slowly, sleep still lingering in the edges of your body. His room is dark—messy, too, though not as badly as you’ve known it to be. You vaguely spot the outline of his helmets, of weights that have strayed too far from his training room, of the chair the two of you knocked into earlier.
You close your eyes. Exhale. Through the blinds, you can see the glow of street lights and the quiet night awaiting outside.
He breathes softly behind you. A steady, quiet sigh capable of lulling you back to sleep just as easily. And it’d be so easy, pretending this away. Pretending you never woke up. That you never saw the clock on his nightstand reading 6:01 AM in bright numbers. That the boy with his arm curled around you is something else than what he is.
The fact that his room is starting to feel familiar is a realization that trickles in slowly at the back of your mind. Not a hotel, like you used to. No—as of late, his apartment seems to have become a fixed point in your nights.
You know the steps to this dance far too well already.
Lando Norris doesn’t do mornings. Then again, neither do you.
(The first time was back in your hotel room in Barcelona. Ages ago, really—before he started seeing that second-to-last girlfriend of his. You had barely stepped into the shower, the feeling of his lips still lingering on your skin, when you heard the door closing behind him).
Falling back into old habits is a slippery slope. One enough friends have warned you about. It’s routine by now—watching him date for a few months, break-up, invite you out, and end up in his bedroom all over again. You’re rebound, you know that. Except after Lando’s latest very public, though quietly messy breakup, he wasn’t texting you the following morning. Wasn’t liking year-old posts of yours on Instagram. Wasn’t sending you innocent messages that eventually became a casual invite out devolving into anything but. You assumed rumors were true— “slag summer” or whatever that means. You’d seen enough videos of him partying with people whose faces didn’t ring a bell, leaving with girls you forbid yourself from looking up.
It was three of your friends that made the decision for you. Made you a Raya account, told you that you could do better than some fuck boy with a love for expensive cars. And you did go on dates—just a few, most for the sake of your friends, though some for yours. It’s not like you and Lando were ever serious, much less exclusive. Just sex and a good time. A mutual benefit to getting rid of pent up frustration.
You went on a date with a tennis player. An actor from some upcoming series on Hulu. A handful of influencers. The farthest you got was three dates with a handsome football player. It only took one casual picture with him posted on your story before someone else ended up finding you on Raya.
lando: i think i have an evn better pic of you on my travel cam from that same day
lando: want me 2 send it to u?
lando: might not b approved under rayas guidelines tho ;)
He’s a bad habit you can’t seem to shake off. A revolving door that sends you right back to where you started.
You exhale. Shift on the bed to try and locate your clothes, all strewn across the floor of his bedroom. His shirt is nice on you, though. And if you’ll allow yourself something, maybe you’ll decide to keep it—just because it’s cute and expensive.
Once you spot your top and your shoes, you move to get up. Lando’s grip around your waist tightens, a mumbled protest hummed against your back.
Your hand curls around his, gently trying to lift each finger off. In response, he buries his face deeper into your neck.
“Trying to get away already?” Lando asks, voice hoarse and sleep-worn.
“It’s late,” you say quietly, not wanting to rouse him any more than you have. You wanted to avoid waking him up all together—make it a quick, swift exit. “I should go.”
His arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His nose tickles your neck, lips ghosting against your skin.
“Lando—”
“Stay,” he hums, voice dragging against his throat. His chest rises and falls evenly behind you, like he hasn’t quite managed to wake up just yet. “It’s dark out. I’ll drive you in the morning.”
Your fingers mindlessly tangle through his curls, pulling a content sigh from him. “You don’t mean that.”
Lando mutters something you don’t quite catch. Before you can ask, though, you feel his lips press against your neck in a quiet, bargaining trail. You shiver when his teeth catch on your collarbone. “You can wait a few hours if you wanna leave so badly,” he mumbles, words punctuated by kisses on the slope of your neck—like he’s making it his mission to kiss away the tension caught in your shoulders. “S’it so bad to be seen with me?”
You huff, though there’s no real bite to it. You vaguely register Lando pulling the covers over the two of you. “You’re being unfair,” you murmur back, though your body has already made up its mind, relaxing in his hold.
“Maybe,” Lando says, and you can feel that stupid smile pressed against your skin. Like he knows he’s won. “You love it, though.”
“I’m not calling an Uber in broad daylight,” you say resolutely. His breaths have already evened out.
“Said m’gonna drive you home. Promise,” he yawns.
You turn around, meeting his gaze now. His blue-green eyes are droopy, blinking slowly as he tries to keep himself awake. Your lipstick is still smudged on the base of his throat, curls muzzed with sleep and your own work from early in the night.
“What?” he asks, his fingers trailing mindless patterns on your back.
“I didn’t know that was an option,” you say, brushing away his curls with your thumb. He preens under it, leaning into your touch like he’s starved for it. You think you like this Lando—the one that’s not quite awake yet. “You driving me home.”
“Always has been,” he sighs contentedly. “You just like t’leave before there’s a chance.”
The impulse is to argue. But his eyes are already closing, and sleep is starting to creep up on you too. And he’s not wrong—not really. Every night you’ve spent together—whether at a hotel or here in Monaco—you’ve left long before the sun comes up. A force of habit, maybe.
“Stay,” Lando mumbles, eyes closed and peaceful.
“Okay,” you respond—or maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s just a half-formed, fleeting thought that passes by before you fall asleep.
The next time Lando opens his eyes, sunlight filters through his blinds. He squints, an annoyed half-gran scratching against his throat. He cuts himself off as soon as he notices the warm body next to him.
Your chest rises and falls evenly, hair strewn around your head like a halo. He rubs the back of his palm over his eyes, careful not to disturb you. His apartment already feels warmer—usually, the first thing he would do as soon as he wakes up is open his window before his room starts to feel like a dutch oven. He can’t make himself detach from your side.
Lando shifts, settling back into you when he feels you stir. He pauses. Closes his eyes for good measure.
A beat passes. Two.
“I know you’re awake, Lando.”
Lando clicks his tongue, pouting as you rise from his pillow, his hand dropping from around you. He should’ve been quieter—let this golden morning stretch like melted sugar.
“There’s no hurry,” Lando hears himself saying before he can help it. He watches as you stretch your arms over your head, his shirt riding up slightly. Lando straightens, trying to go for casual. “Unless you’re supposed to be meeting someone.”
Oh, yeah, real smooth. Really good job there.
You look at him over your shoulder, raising a brow. “Meet someone?”
Lando’s words get stuck in his throat. This is what you look like when you’re waking up. It hits him unexpectedly how domestic this feels—how easy it would be to become used to this.
He clears his throat. “I don’t know.” Lando sits up against the headrest, one hand struggling to fix the mess that is his hair. You’re only partly to blame—his mistake was ever letting you know that he likes it when you tug at his curls.
He scrunches his nose, annoyance filtering in. “That rugby player from the other day might be waiting to hear back from you.”
You look unimpressed, though he doesn’t miss the faint blush by the tips of your ears. “He’s a football player.”
“Ah,” he says, and his face does nothing to hide the flare of irritation he feels. Lando can’t help it—not when that picture of yours still sits fresh in his mind.
His chin propped over your shoulder, hands around your waist. Casual. Maybe too casual.
“You’re being petty,” you say, scanning his face carefully. And his stare pointedly lands on the curve of your neck, where a trail of bruised hickeys is already blooming.
Lando meets your gaze. “I’m not petty, I’m jealous.” He shrugs, catching the brief surprise that crosses your pretty eyes. He exhales, letting his body loosen. “Kinda don’t have a right to be, though.”
“Yeah,” you say, and it makes him stiffen, the way it lands when you say it. “You don’t.”
Lando tries to go for nonchalant when he asks, “How many dates has he taken you on?”
You hesitate. Briefly. “Three.”
“Oh, must be getting serious.”
You look away, jaw ticking—and Lando knows then that he’s accidentally stepped into a sore spot. He fleetingly wonders whether the guy you’re seeing doesn’t wanna get serious with you. The thought makes something bitter churn in his gut. Though it’d be hypocritical of him to say it infuriates him even a little.
But then he pictures the guy’s pearly-white smile. His dark brown eyes and fuckin’ perfect hair like he’s never had bedhead a single day of his life.
So, yeah, maybe he’s checked your Instagram.
“It was gonna be four,” you say, but your voice catches—like the words slipped out before you could stop them. Four dates. Your eyes find Lando’s, and he hates that his heart skips a beat. Something about the intensity of the way you’re looking at him—somehow both entirely different from last night and all too similar. Like you wanna pull him closer. Like you resent him for it. “Before you texted.”
It lands close to his ego, knowing that you chose him over the lad from Real Madrid. You don’t look too pleased about it, though.
“Interrupted date night then, did I?” Lando asks. He watches as you turn away with a huff, annoyed. And it is annoying—that he still finds you hot when you’re mad at him. “Sorry. Sounded like a dickhead.”
“You are a dick, Lando.”
“I don’t mean to,” he says, easily. Leans closer to you and props his chin on the curve of your shoulder and neck. Maybe to use up any space your date may have taken. His mind wanders, and the thought trickles into his mind—has he kissed you? Have you hooked up? Maybe he’s not that great at sex if you’d rather have Lando over him. He feels tempted to kiss your neck again, find that spot that makes you whine, erase any trace of anyone other than him.
Just to test the idea, Lando’s lips press against the slope of your neck, teeth gently nipping at the tender skin. His voice is a deep hum buried at the back of his throat. “Forgive me?”
He feels you relax under him for a second—just a second. Then, you’re pulling away from him like he’s stung you. “You’re doing it again,” you say, unreadable. You mutter something under your breath, moving to stand up. “I should go.”
His chest rattles. His hand latches onto your wrist before he can help it. And Lando’s supposed to be suave and smooth. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is a strangled, “Don’t.”
Your brows twitch. “Lando…”
“No, look, I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it—maybe more than you know. “I am.”
He looks at you like he’s dreading watching you walk out his apartment. Maybe because you stayed past the night—and instead of feeling like a new door’s opening, it all feels like the end of the line is closer than he expected. Maybe this gold-dipped morning was just a way for the universe to soften the blow.
You look conflicted, searching his gaze like you’ve lost something in it.
“Did you just text me because I was going out with someone?” you ask, voice like forged steel. Lando blinks, brows pinched together. “Or because you just broke up with your girlfriend?”
“It’s not like that,” he’s quick to say. It’s not, he swears, though he’s not dull as to not know how it looks. He releases your wrist. “I mean, I was jealous. Am. Whatever—but that isn’t, this isn’t—”
“Isn’t what, Lando?” you ask, and it’s impossible to miss how exasperated you sound. “Isn’t serious? I know that. But there’s someone out there I might actually get serious with, and I need to know what this is meant to be.”
Whatever he was about to say gets stuck in his throat. His mind loops your words like a record scratch. “You—You wanna go official with him?”
You look away, like his question’s caught you off guard. “I-I mean—I don’t know, not yet, I don’t…” You shut your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. “This can’t carry on forever, Lan. Not like this.”
Maybe it’s the way you say his name. The first time you said it wasn’t actually in this bedroom, like a breathy whine while he was eating you out—though you have used it several times since. The first time you called him that—Lan—was actually at Max’s birthday last year. Nothing happened between the two of you then. You didn’t take his hand and had him drive to your place like you’d done more than once before. Instead, you’d been sipping on piña coladas and margaritas all night, and by the time he found you again, you were sitting by the stairs of the yacht, staring at the hardwood floors like they were the ones to blame. He ended up sticking by you the rest of the night, your head leaning against his shoulder while you toyed with the rings in his fingers.
“Y’know,” you’d mumbled, toying with a silver band. “You can b’sweet when you want to, Lan. S’a good look on you.”
And he’d just sat there, thankful you were too tipsy to notice the blush climbing up his cheeks.
So, yeah—maybe it’s the fact that you used that stupid nickname that makes his heart flutter whenever you say it. Maybe it’s the fact that he knows this might be his last chance—that if he doesn’t get it out now, he never will.
“I don’t know how else to talk to you.”
As soon as he says it, he feels pathetic. His cheeks are hot, and the look you’re giving him doesn’t make it any better.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he complains, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’ve tried inviting you out like fifteen times already, and you always—always shoot me down.”
Your face twists. “What? I don’t shoot you down.”
“Then what was that last week, when I invited you to hang out with a few friends in Nice?”
“That was different.”
“I sent you paddock passes in May.”
“Your team sent them.”
“I sent them.”
A light sparks in your eyes. “You had a girlfriend in June.”
“I did,” Lando concedes, sitting straighter. “And do you know how fucked it is to have to be catching myself before I called her by your name?”
He watches his words land. Your expression sours. “That’s not on me.”
Lando shakes his head. “No, it’s on me.” His hands tangle through his hair. “Because even when I was with her, you would still find your way into my head.” His jaw tightens, like he’s been dreading saying it out loud. “I didn’t break up with her and then go find you.” Lando feels his body brace, akin to when he feels the rear tire lock and knows the crash is incoming. “I kept… I kept looking for you while I was with her.”
You look at him with true, raw surprise. Feels fair, given that Lando feels like he’s exposed himself. Left his skin tender and vulnerable. No lies, no smiles to hide behind anymore.
“Look, I’m not… I’m not asking for an answer,” he hesitates, struggling to find the words. “I’m just asking you not to disappear on me.”
You study him slowly. “I can’t keep being an almost, Lando.”
It feels like the door opens just a creak. He nods in earnest. “Don’t be.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“But we can try, right?” Lando says. “It’s a start.”
And this time, when he kisses your temple, it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to cross out someone else’s touch, or rewrite his own mistakes. There’s no greed there, no lust. Just a start. A first line being penned of a long, long story.
“Let me drive you home,” Lando murmurs into your temple, voice still rougher with sleep. This time, he feels you lean back into him.
“Okay,” you say. When you meet his watercolor eyes, he relishes the small, near imperceptible smile tugging at your lips. Gold-dipped. Sunlight in a bottle.
He nods once. “Okay.”
deuxmoi DEUXMOI EXCLUSIVE …… 📸 Mclaren’s Lando Norris spotted this morning getting cozy with a mystery woman in Monte Carlo. Source alleges Lando was “dropping her off” before the picture was taken, leading to speculation on the nature of their relationship.
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user1 slag summer!!!!!!!
user2 yeahhh the chances of lando getting into a serious relationship r probably the same chances of williams getting a podium 👎👎 sorry pal
user3 admin might wanna check their sources cause you do know this is LANDO we’re talking abt right 😭
lando hey so can you piss off pls
lando ur gonna fuck this up for me delete
these comments have been deleted!
eve’s notes: what if i said the football player she went on a date with was jobe bellingham. what then. reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
A/N: Thank You For Requesting. I Hope You Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
Halftime was supposed to be your chance to breathe. Instead, it felt like the walls were closing in around you. You sat alone on a bench in one of the quieter locker rooms, your hands trembling as you tried to steady your breathing. It wasn’t working. The pressure had been building for months.
Being the only woman on the Mexico management staff wasn’t easy. Most days you handled it well. You worked hard, kept your head down, and proved yourself over and over again. But some days were harder than others. Especially after hearing whispers earlier that morning.
“Are we sure she’s ready for this?” “She’s under a lot of pressure.” “This is a World Cup, not some internship.” They probably didn’t mean for you to hear but you did. And now every mistake you’d ever made was replaying in your head.
Your chest tightened. Your vision blurred. Suddenly breathing felt impossible. You pressed a shaky hand against your chest. “No, no, no…” Please not now.
The team would be returning soon. You couldn’t let anyone see you like this. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to force yourself to calm down. Instead, your breathing became faster and faster. A panic attack. Great.
You buried your face in your hands. The last thing you wanted was someone finding you like this. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side. The locker room door opened. You immediately wiped at your eyes. “I’m fine,” you blurted out automatically. You looked up and froze Memo Ochoa stood in the doorway with his brows furrowed immediately.
“Oh.” His voice softened. “Y/n.” Of all people why did it have to be him? You’d worked with Memo long enough to know he was one of the quieter players. Kind, respectful, but never overly expressive. Which was exactly why the concern on his face surprised you.
“Hey,” you forced out. Memo didn’t move. “Are you okay?” The answer was obvious. You laughed weakly. “Do I look okay?” His expression softened even more.“No.” The simple honesty nearly made you cry again. “I promise I’m fine,” you tried. “No, you’re not.” You looked away as you could feel your chest tightened again. The room started to feel too small. Memo immediately noticed.
Without saying anything, he quietly shut the door behind him. Then he walked over and sat beside you. He wasn’t too close or too far but just enough to show he is there for you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but it was patient. Like he was waiting for you to decide what you needed.
After a few moments he spoke. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” You shook your head then nodded but then shook it again. Memo couldn’t help smiling slightly. “One of those days?” You laughed through your tears. “One of those years.” That earned a small chuckle from him and for a moment neither of you spoke.
Then everything came spilling out of you. The pressure. The expectations. The comments. The fear of making mistakes. The feeling that everyone was waiting for you to fail. You hated how emotional you sounded but Memo listened to every single word. He didn’t interrupt or try to fix anything. He simply listened.
When you finally finished, you felt exhausted. The room was quiet again. Then Memo spoke. “You know what I think?” You shrugged. “I think you’re harder on yourself than anyone else.” You stared at him and after a small moment of silence he continued.
“You work longer hours than most people here.”“Memo” “You care more than most people here.” You blinked. “And every player trusts you.” Your throat tightened. “You don’t know that.” “I do.” He gave you a small smile. “We talk, you know.” That surprised a laugh out of you. “About me?” “Sometimes.” “I hope good things.” “It’s good things I promise .” You covered your face. Memo laughed quietly. His laughed always sounded warm and comforting.
“You belong here, Y/N.” The words hit harder than they should have. Because part of you had spent months wondering if you did. Memo noticed your eyes watering again. Without thinking, he reached over and gently took your hand. You looked down and then back at him. For a second he almost seemed surprised he’d done it too. But he didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.” His voice was barely above a whisper and something inside you cracked. Not in a bad way more in a way of a dam finally breaks after holding back too much water. You started crying it wasn’t ugly sobbing like before but it was quite tears.
The kind that came from finally feeling safe enough to stop pretending. Memo squeezed your hand. “It’s okay.” You laughed weakly. “This is embarrassing.”“No.” “Yes, it is.” “No.” You rolled your eyes and that made him smile. “There she is.” “Who?” “The person that’s usually bossing me around.”
You couldn’t help laughing. For the first time all day, breathing didn’t feel impossible. The panic slowly faded and the shaking stopped. And somehow the world didn’t seem quite so overwhelming anymore. Several minutes later, you finally stood up.
“Thank you.” Memo stood up too. “Anytime.” You smiled. As you walked toward the door, his voice stopped you. “Y/n?” You turned and you can see his expression softened. “You really do belong here. Your eyes stung again. This time for a completely different reason. And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.
Can I request a Jaafar Jackson x reader fic? Reader and Jaafar's siblings visit the set of Michael but before she and his siblings got there, they all agree that reader will hide somewhere while they prank Jaafar by telling him reader couldn't be bothered coming with them. When Jaafar sees his siblings walk onto the set, he's happy but also sad because reader isn't with them. Jermajesty sticks to the plan and tells Jaafar that reader had better things to do 🤭. A few minutes later reader walks in and catches Jaafar off guard by hugging him from behind and trying to act like a crazy fan girl by disguising her voice just like she did in the prank calls but Jaafar knows his girl all too well.
She Had Better Things To Do
A/N: Haven’t Posted Jaafar In A Minute. Thank You For Requesting. I Hope You Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
Filming had finally slowed down for the afternoon. Jaafar had just finished shooting another scene when one of the crew members called for a short break. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat down, scrolling through his phone. You hadn’t answered his last text yet.
Jaafar: Miss you already.
No response. He frowned. Normally you’d reply with a heart or some sarcastic comment within minutes.
Meanwhile outside the studio you were trying very hard not to laugh. Standing beside you was Jermajesty and Prince. Jermajesty looked at you both and started to talk, “Everyone remembers the plan?” You and Prince nodded. “You hide.” “You two tell him I couldn’t be bothered coming.” “And then?” You grinned. “I surprise him.” Jermajesty rubbed his hands together dramatically. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
A production assistant led everyone onto the set Jaafar looked up and his face immediately lit up. “Hey!” He stood and hugged his sibling and cousin one by one “What are you guys doing here?” “We wanted to visit.” Jaafar smiled. “Where’s Y/n?” And they both exchanged quick glances. Jermajesty stepped up. “Oh man, how do I say this?” Jaafar’s smile faded. “What?” “She didn’t come.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Why not?” Jermajesty shrugged far too casually. “She had…better things to do I guess.” “…Better things?” “Yeah.” Prince had to look away to stop himself from laughing. Jaafar looked genuinely disappointed. “Oh.” It was quiet for a moment. “I thought she’d want to see the set.” Jermajesty nodded sympathetically. “Apparently not.” Jaafar looked down at the floor. “…That’s okay.” But everyone could hear the disappointment in his voice.
Behind one of the large set walls you felt awful. “Oh no baby…” You said to yourself as Jermajesty had sold the prank a little too well. You thought to yourself, “I feel like I committed a crime. Igotta abort this mission.”
You quietly walked around the corner with Jaafar still not noticing you. He was talking to Jermajesty and Prince though he seemed quieter now. You smiled and tiptoed behind him.
Without warning you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Oh my goodness!” You disguised your voice as dramatically as possible. “I’m your biggest fan! I’ve loved since forever! Can I get your autograph?!” Jaafar froze for exactly one second. Then a smile slowly spread across his face.
Without even turning around, he placed his hands over yours. “Nice try.” You gasped dramatically. “What?” He laughed. “I’d know these hugs anywhere.” You pouted.“I changed my voice!” “You did.” “I sounded convincing.” “You sounded ridiculous.” You could hear Jermajesty and Prince burst into laughter leaving you two alone for a minute.
Jaafar finally turned around and the second he saw your face every bit of disappointment disappeared. “There she is.” You smiled sheepishly. “Hi baby.” He didn’t even let you explain Jaafar just immediately pulled you into a proper hug. The kind where he rested his chin on your head. “You know…” His voice was quieter now. “I actually believed them.” You looked up.“You did?” He nodded. “I thought you didn’t want to come.” Your smile immediately disappeared. “I would never leave you baby.” “I know that now.” You frowned.“I’m sorry.” Jaafar smiled softly. “You got me.” “I feel bad.” “You should.” You lightly smacked his arm as he laughed. “I’m kidding.”
Jermajesty walked over. “So, Was it believable?” Jaafar looked at him. “No.” Prince raised an eyebrow. “No?” “I mean…” Jaafar smiled. “For about thirty seconds.” Jermajesty celebrated anyway. “I’ll take it.”
You slipped your hand into Jaafar’s. “Hey baby.” “Yes love?” “Can I finally see the set?” He smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” He intertwined your fingers with his. Then started leading you around. “This is where we filmed yesterday.” “Oh!” “And over there is—” He suddenly stopped talking. You looked up. “Baby?” He was smiling at you. “Are you good?” He shook his head. “Nothing.” “You’ve got that smile.” “What smile?”“The one that says you’re thinking something.” Jaafar laughed softly. “I was just thinking…” He squeezed your hand. “I’m really glad you came.” You leaned against his shoulder. “There was nowhere else I’d rather be.” He smiled. “I’m thankful.” Then he looked toward his Jermajesty and Prince. “You guys are never helping her prank me again.” Jermajesty laughed. “No promises.” “I mean it.”
Prince shrugged innocently. “It was pretty funny.” Jaafar rolled his eyes. “Not when you’re the victim.” You giggled. “Oh, come on.” He looked down at you.“You owe me.” “For what?” “For making me think my fiancée had ‘better things to do.’” You smiled sweetly.“I’ll buy you dinner.” “Hmm…” “And dessert.” “Keep going.” “And…” You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll never miss visiting you on set again.”Jaafar smiled, unable to hide it. “Deal.”
Jermajesty groaned dramatically. “Great.” “What?”“They’re being all lovey dovey again.” The entire group laughed as Jaafar wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you deeper onto the set, refusing to let go of your hand for the rest of the visit.
hii! a cute long story with richard rios? any storyline you want! ive finished everything richard tios on here lol
Forever Starts Today
A/N: Finally Got A Request Out. Thank You For Requesting. I Hope You Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
Richard wasn’t acting like himself because normally he was calm and collected. He is the kind of person who could handle thousands of fans screaming his name without breaking a sweat. But Today? He’d check his pockets every five minutes. His brother noticed first.
“You’ve touched your pocket more than you’ve blinked today.” Richard looked up innocently. “What?” “The ring.” “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He laughed. “Richard.” He sighed. “…Is it that obvious?”“You’ve been nervous since buying that ring.”
Meanwhile you had absolutely no idea. As far as you knew, Richard had simply planned a day off together. No training, no games, no interviews, no cameras, or fans, just the two of you. Which was exactly how you both liked it.
The day started with breakfast at your favorite little café. Then a walk through the city while stopping at little bookstores. Buying snacks from a street vendor and laughing over absolutely nothing. Every few minutes Richard would quietly smile to himself. You finally noticed. “Everything okay?” “Hm?” “You keep smiling.”“Do I?” “Yes.” He shrugged. “I’m happy.” Your heart melted. “So am I.”
By the afternoon you found yourselves walking through a botanical garden. It was peaceful with only the sounds of birds singing and the fountain in the distance. You slipped your hand into his and he immediately intertwined your fingers. It was like second nature to you two.
“You know…” Richard looked over. “What?” “I’ve always wondered something.” “What’s been on your mind amor?” “Why me?” He frowned. “What do you mean?”“There are so many people who admire you.” “So?”“So…” You smiled shyly. “You picked me.” Richard stopped walking completely as he turned toward you. “Can I answer honestly?” “Always.” He smiled.“Because when I’m with you” He squeezed your hand.“I don’t have to be Richard Ríos the footballer.” You listened quietly. “I just get to be Richard.” Your eyes softened. “And that’s my favorite version of myself. I get to really be myself with you.”
He laughed quietly. “You make every place feel like home.” You looked away, trying to hide your smile. “You make me laugh when I don’t want to, you calm me down, you celebrate every little win with me.” He paused. “And you somehow make ordinary days feel important.” You felt your eyes sting. “Awe Richard…”“I’m not finished.”
He led you toward a quiet overlook filled with flowers. You didn’t think much of it until he stopped walking.
He took a deep breath then smothering with his hands shaking slightly. You noticed it immediately. “Are you okay?” He laughed nervously. “Not really.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Babe are you okay?” He looked down and then slowly reached into his jacket pocket. You felt your heart skipped.
“No way…” He smiled. A nervous smile. The kind you’d never seen before.
“I had this whole speech planned.” You laughed through the tears already forming. “I’ve practiced it” He shook his head. “…probably a hundred times.” You smiled. “And now? I forgot all of it.” You both laughed.
Richard slowly lowered himself onto one knee as you both felt the world around you disappeared. Leaving it with just him, just the two of you.
“I don’t think I’ll ever find the perfect words.” His voice trembled. “But I know this.” He looked up at you. “I want every morning to start with you. I want every celebration with you. Every very hard day, every victory, every ordinary Tuesday. I wasn’t all of it.” He opened the little velvet box and inside sat the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen.
“You’ve been my best friend long before you became the love of my life.” Tears are freely rolling down your cheeks now. “And if you’ll let me…” He smiled through his own tears. “I’d love to spend forever making you smile.” He took a shaky breath. “Y/n, Will you marry me?”
You couldn’t answer and not because you didn’t want to. It was because you physically couldn’t. And the reason was that you were crying too hard. Richard immediately looked panicked. “Amor are you okay? Do you need me to-.” You laughed through your tears. “No!” He blinked. “I’m sorry I mean…” You nodded rapidly. “Yes!” His face lit up instantly. “Yes?” “Yes!” You laughed. “Richard, yes!”
He stood so quickly he almost dropped the ring. You both laughed. His hands were still shaking as he carefully slid it onto your finger. It looked so perfect on you like it had always belonged there.
The second it was on you threw your arms around him. Nearly knocking him backward. “I love you sooooo much.” Richard laughed into your hair. “I love you more.” “Well I love you the most.” “Impossible.” You rolled your eyes.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “So~” “So?” “When did you plan this?” He smiled sheepishly.“…About six months ago.” Your jaw dropped. “Six months?!” “I wanted everything to be perfect.” You could feel your cheeks burning. “You’ve been keeping this secret for six months?” He nodded proudly. “I almost told you every single day.”
Up Your phone buzzed then Richard’s then yours again it sounded almost like a weird melody. You both looked at each other and he laughed. “My family.” You smiled.“They knew?” “They’ve known for weeks.” You gasped.“Is that why your mom kept asking me what kind of rings I liked?” Richard grinned and you already knew the answer. “You all lied to me.” “We omitted the truth.” “That’s still lying.” He shrugged dramatically.“Worth it.”
That evening, after calling your families and celebrating with the people you loved most, the two of you finally made it home. You were sitting on the couch, still absentmindedly staring at the ring. Richard noticed.“You’ve looked at it at least fifty times.” You smiled. “I know.” He gently took your hand, turning it so the diamond caught the light. “I was so scared you’d say no.” You looked at him in disbelief. “Richard.” “What?” “I would’ve married you if you’d proposed with a candy ring.” He laughed so hard he had to lean against you.“Good.” “What you mean by good?” “Because I almost dropped the real one.” You burst into laughter. “You did not.” “I absolutely did.” You shook your head, smiling as you rested your head on his shoulder.
For a while, neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to. His fingers were intertwined with yours. The ring sparkled under the warm living room lights. And every now and then, Richard would glance down at it, smile to himself, and gently kiss the back of your hand. As if he need to prove that it was real, he still couldn’t quite believe you had said yes.
Summary: You Are Setting Up A Small Birthday Surprise For Your Boyfriend.
A/N: Sorry It’s Taking Me Awhile To Post Request But I Should Be Back To Posting Tomorrow. I Wanted To Post Something For Lamine Birthday So Here We Go. I Hope You All Enjoy. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
You quietly checked the time seeing it was 5:47 AM. You smiled to yourself getting up seeing how your plan is going perfectly. And before leaving your shared bedroom you checked to see Lamine who was still asleep.
You smiled to yourself before carrying the last gift into the kitchen. The table was covered by many things like wrapped presents you hidden for months, his favorite snacks, and a bouquet of pink and white flowers. There was also a stack of handwritten letters tied together with a ribbon.
And right in the middle of it all was a homemade cake you made last night. It wasn’t perfect you can point out some flaws but it was for him.
Next came your favorite part as you quietly taped streamers around the bedroom door. The balloons were blue, pink, purple, and gold. You also had a “Happy Birthday” banner stretched across the hallway. And tiny photos of the two of you hung from string with little clothespins. Pictures from vacations of you and Lamine looking hopelessly in love. Late night drives you would take when either of you couldn’t sleep. Some after his matches, if he wins or loses he’s just happy you are there. And some random selfies capturing your lives. For example even one where Lamine had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder during a movie. You smiled thinking to yourself, “He’s never living that one down.”
Everything was finally finished now all that was left was waking up the birthday boy. You carefully climbed back into bed gently brushing his curls away from his forehead.
“Lamine~” He groaned. “Hmm?” You laughed quietly.“baby.” “Mhm?” “Happy birthday~” His eyes slowly blinked open and for a second he just smiled sleepily. Then it clicked in his head as he sat up, “…It’s today.”“It is.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead.“Happy birthday baby.” He smiled so wide your heart melted. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” You held out your hand. “I have a surprise.” He looked suspicious. “Do I need to be worried?”“Maybe.” You laughed a bit. “You say that every time.”“And yet you still trust me.” He laughed. “Fair.”
Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Lamine followed you toward the bedroom door. The second he opened it he froze seeing the balloons, pictures, all of the decorations you put up.
He looked at you. “You did all this?” You smiled. “Keep going birthday boy.” He slowly walked into the kitchen and stopped again with his mouth actually fell open. Seeing more of the decorations you put up and all the gifts you got him.
For a long moment he didn’t say anything as he was to busy taking in everything you done for him.
“You made the cake?” You nodded nervously. “I tried.”Lamine walked over slowly looking at every little detail. Taking in everything ribbon, ballon, smiling at the photos with memories rushing to him.
Then he turned back toward you, “You did all this for me?” You nodded again. “I wanted to make your birthday special and I also wanted to surprise you.” His eyes softened immediately seeingyour smile.
Without saying another word, he walked over and wrapped both arms around you. Holding you tighter than usual and you gave him a hug in return smiling into his shoulder. “So…” “Yes Amor?” “Do you like it?”He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Like it?” He laughed softly. “I love it.” He glanced back at the table then at the slightly crooked cake.
“You know…” “What?” “It looks really good.” You laughed. “It’s literally leaning.” “So?” He smiled. “You made it.” Your heart immediately melted.
You lit the candles placing the cake in front of him. Singing happy birthday to him. “Make a wish.” Lamine closed his eyes. You watched him smile before blowing out every candle in one breath.
“There.” “What’d you wish for?” He looked at you. “If I tell you it won’t come true.” You rolled your eyes.
“Fine.” He laughed before taking your hand. “You know” “Hmm?” “I think my wish already came true.”You tilted your head. “How so?” He squeezed your hand gently. “I have you.” You felt your face warm instantly. “Oh…” “And then I woke up to you and walked out to all this.” He looked around the decorated kitchen one more time. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this loved.”
You smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Lamine leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Best birthday ever.” “…You haven’t even opened your presents yet.”He grinned. “I don’t have to.” “You should still open them.” “Probably.” “But first…” He picked up a fork and cut himself the very first slice of the slightly lopsided cake.
He took one bite then smiled. “It’s actually really good.” You smiled. “Actually?’” “I mean…” He quickly took another bite. “You’ve definitely got a future if your career doesn’t work out.” You gasped dramatically.“Lamine!”
He burst out laughing as you lightly shoved his shoulder, The sound of your laughter filled the apartment, and before either of you touched another present, you were already taking pictures of the decorations, the cake, and each other. By the end of the morning, his Instagram story featured one photo of the decorated kitchen, another of the homemade cake, and finally a picture of you smiling behind it.
A/N: I Want To Post Something As I Am Finishing Up Request I Promise I Am Almost Done. Saw This Trend On Insta And TikTok. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog. My Request Are Open.
You have been scrolling on instagram seeing this new and decided to see how your boyfriend would react so you asked for some help and while your boyfriend wasn’t looking you set up the prank.
Lamine Yamal
Lamine had only gone to grab a drink. He came back just in time to see one of his teammates holding out a piece of fruit for you. You leaned forward and before you could take a bite you heard your boyfriend speak up.
“…What’s going on?” The room went quiet and you looked over innocently. “What?” Lamine pointed at his teammate. “Why is he feeding you?” “He offered.” “And you couldn’t use your hand?” You bit your lip to keep from laughing. His teammate immediately started grinning.
“Relax, bro.” Lamine folded his arms. “I am relaxed.”“You don’t look relaxed.” You couldn’t hold it together anymore and started laughing. Lamine looked at your phone. “…You’re recording?” You nodded as he let out a dramatic sigh. “I should’ve known.”
His teammate laughed. “I thought he was about to sub me off the team.” Lamine shook his head with a smile before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Next time,” he teased, “wait for me. I’ll feed you instead.” You laughed, slipping your phone into your pocket.“Deal.”
Pedri
The team had just finished lunch when one of Pedri’s teammates offered you a fry. You smiled. “Thanks!” Right as you leaned forward to take it Pedri looked up. “…Excuse me?” The teammate froze and you took the fry anyway. Pedri slowly looked between the two of you.
“You have hands.” You burst out laughing. “I know but he does too!” “No man should be feeding my girl.” When he spotted your phone recording, he sighed. “…oh I’ve been pranked.” Pedro said as you hugged him laughing as you pecked his lips.
Gavi
One of Gavi’s teammates held out a spoonful of dessert. “Try it.” You leaned in but before you could even get the treat close to your mouth someone stormed over.
“GIVE ME THAT.” Everyone turned to see what the yelling was about. Gavi had somehow appeared out of nowhere. “Gavi?” He took the spoon from his teammate. “I’ll feed my girlfriend.” The entire table erupted into laughter and you couldn’t stop laughing either. “You are so dramatic.” “Only for you cariño.”
João Félix
João walked back from grabbing drinks just in time to see his teammate holding out a piece of fruit for you. He stopped trying to register what’s going on infront of him. “…What’s happening?” You smiled innocently.
“I’m trying his fruit.” João blinked. “With his hand?” Silence. The teammate immediately started laughing.“You’ve been set up, mate.” João noticed your phone.“…No way.” You nodded and João shook his head with a smile as he walked over to you. “I can’t believe I almost fell for that.” “So wanna fed me this cherry.” “Please.”
Richard Ríos
Richard didn’t say anything at first. He simply watched as his teammate held out a chip. You leaned forward while Richard calmly walked over. Richard took the chip then fed it to you himself.
“There.” You laughed. “Problem solved?” He smiled.“Exactly.” When he noticed you recording, he laughed.“I knew something was suspicious.” “I’m sorry Richie.” “Don’t worry mi vida just don’t let anyone else feed you beside me.” “I promise.” You said as you both kissed each other with a smile.
Anthony Gordon
Anthony came back to the table carrying your drinks then froze. One of his teammates was holding out a bite of dessert. Anthony looked confused. “…Am I interrupting?” You shrugged. “I was just trying it.” Anthony looked at his teammate then back at you.
“You couldn’t wait ten seconds?” The teammate started laughing. “Dude, it’s a prank.” Anthony spotted your phone. “I knew it.” “No, you didn’t.” “…Okay, maybe I didn’t.” You laughed leaving a kiss on his cheek.
Jude Bellingham
Jude returned just in time to see his best friend offering you a bite of food. He stared. “…Really?” You smiled. “What wrong Juju?” “My teammate?” You tried not to laugh. “What’s wrong with that?” Jude looked at his friend. “Out of everyone here?” The teammate immediately cracked up.
“You should see your face.” Jude looked at your phone. “Oh, you’ve got jokes.” “Come on you love em.”
Virgil van Dijk
Virgil walked over quietly He watched the whole thing for a second. Then smiled. “Is it good?” You blinked.“Huh?” “The food.” You nodded.
Before anyone could react, Virgil took another bite from the plate and held it out to you himself. “There.”You laughed. Virgil finally noticed your phone. “So that’s what this is.” “Did you atleast like the prank.” “Babe only I can fed you okay.”
Memo Ochoa
Memo had only stepped away for a minute. When he came back, one of his teammates was holding out a fork. You leaned toward it and Memo raised an eyebrow.
“…Really?” You looked over. “Mi amor” He smiled politely at his teammate. “I think I’ve got it from here.” He took the fork, thanked his teammate, and offered the bite to you himself.
You couldn’t hold the laugh in anymore. When he saw your phone recording, he chuckled. “You two planned this.” “Maybe.” Memo smiled, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.”
Could I request a Memo Ochoa x gn reader 🫣 I don’t have much in mind, but I’ve been OBSESSED with him alllllll over again bc of the World Cup. Maybe just simple fluff?
Very domestic, cuddling in bed, playing with hair, cute tooth rotting fluff beacuse I’m down bad for a man twice my age💔 i wanna fall asleep in this man’s arms so bad you have no ideaaaaaaa. Thank you:3
Five More Minutes
A/N: Thank You For Requesting. I Hope You Enjoy. My Request Are Open. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
The first thing you noticed was warmth. The second thing you noticed was that you couldn’t move. Not because you were trapped but because a very large, very comfortable goalkeeper was currently wrapped around you like a human blanket.
You smiled without even opening your eyes. Memo’s arm rested securely around your waist while his face was buried somewhere near your shoulder. His curls tickled your cheek every time he breathed. For a moment, neither of you moved. The room was quiet with the curtains still drawn. As the world outside could wait. You carefully turned your head and you saw Memo was asleep or at least you thought he was.
His curls were completely messy, sticking out in every direction. Not that you’d ever tell him that. Actually, scratch that. You told him all the time. Slowly, you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. Immediately, the arm around your waist tightened. A sleepy mumble came from somewhere near your neck. You laughed quietly. “So you’re awake.” “No.”
His voice was rough with sleep. “You literally answered me.” “No I didn’t.” You smiled. “Memo.” “Nope.” “You are awake.” One eye cracked open. “Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help laughing. The sight of sleepy Memo was one of your favorite things. The legendary goalkeeper who had played in multiple World Cups somehow transformed into the world’s grumpiest morning person. He buried his face back into your shoulder.
“We’re sleeping.” “It’s almost noon.” “So?” “You’ve been awake.” “No.” “You just admitted you were awake.” “That sounds fake.” You laughed again and Memo groaned dramatically. “Stop moving.” “I’m not moving.” “Your laughter is moving.” “What does that even mean?” “I don’t know.” The answer was immediate. Neither of you could stop smiling.
Eventually you started absentmindedly playing with his curls again. That got a reaction and Memo practically melted. You can see his shoulders relaxed as he leaned even closer.
“Oh.” You smiled. “Oh?” “Keep doing that.” “There it is.” “There what is?” “The real reason you woke up.” Memo pointed at you without opening his eyes. “Don’t expose me.” You laughed. He always pretended to hate being spoiled and every single time he lost the battle. Especially when it came to you playing with his hair.
You continued gently combing your fingers through his curls. Memo made a noise suspiciously similar to a happy sigh. “You like this way too much.” “No I don’t.”“You absolutely do.” “No proof.” You raised an eyebrow.“Memo.” “No proof.” The confidence in his voice disappeared the second you stopped. Immediately, one eye opened.
“…Why did you stop?” You burst out laughing. “Exactly.” His betrayal was visible. “You were setting me up.” “I did.” “You manipulated me.” “Manipulation really?” Memo narrowed his eyes then he pulled you closer. The squeak that escaped you made him grin.
“Now we’re even.” “You are impossible.” “And yet here you are.” The room fell quiet again but it was a comfortable quiet. The kind that only existed between people who knew each other completely. Outside, the world kept moving with cars passing and people working. Inside your bedroom, though, none of that mattered. Not when Memo was tracing lazy circles across your back. Not when his curls were tickling your chin or when his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. You felt him press a kiss against your forehead. You laughed. “What was that for?” Memo shrugged. “Felt like it.” “You just gave me a bid kiss.” “Maybe there are more.” “Is that a threat?” “A promise.” You couldn’t stop smiling and neither could he.
After a few moments, you felt his breathing begin to slow again. Sleep was winning as you gently brushed a curl away from his face. His eyes opened just enough to look at you. There was something so soft in his expression that it nearly made your heart burst.
“I love you.” The words came naturally. Memo smiled immediately. A smile he only ever showed a handful of people. “I love you too.” Then he pulled you impossibly closer. “Now stop talking.” You laughed. “Why?”“Because.” His eyes were already closing again. “We have at least five more minutes before we have to be responsible adults.”
“Five minutes?” “Maybe ten.” “Ten?” “Don’t push your luck.” You smiled and settled comfortably against him. His arm tightened around your waist. A sleepy kiss landed in your hair. And somewhere between your fingers tangled in his curls and the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you realized there was absolutely nowhere else you’d rather be. Not now or tomorrow or even ever. Just here safe in Memos arms.
