faith

ERLING HAALAND

his face slackens. did you just call him friend? he couldn’t believe it. moving his eyes off the camera, he looks at you. you continued on like nothing happened, smiling happily into the camera while you showed off the new clothing items you bought.

“friend?” he says with evident disgust that makes your stomach drop. “I’m not your fucking friend.” he glares at you, heat spreading up and down your body under his glare.

“it’s just a prank, baby.”

“better fucking be.” he snaps, his thumb pressing the button to stop recording, “I’m about to show you how unfriendly I am. get on your knees.”

KYLIAN MBAPPE

“who?” he turns in both directions searching for this “friend” who was going to help you unbox your pr. coming up empty, he looks back at the phone camera, and points at his chest, “I’m the friend?” he asks, alarmed.

“well yeah we’re friends.” you say, turning your back to the camera and looking up at him. he’s seated on the couch behind you. his eyes are piercing into yours with anger and confusion.

“I’m your boyfriend, I’m not some casual friend.”

“babe, it’s just a prank.”

“redo the video, I’m not letting anyone see you call me friend.”

JUDE BELLINGHAM

“huh?!” he nearly jumps out of his own skin at the word. he could’ve sworn years ago he asked you to be his girlfriend, but now standing beside you in a video, he can’t help but wonder if it was all in his head.

“you know I’m your boyfriend.” jude whispered, just loud enough for the camera to pick up the words, but soft enough for you to stop what you were doing.

“but we are friends?”

scoffing at your innocence, he shakes his head, “I don’t think friends do what we do in bed—“

“jude!” you smack him with your hand, face turning bright red.

“yeah,” he points his index finger at the camera, slightly shoving you out of view, “that’s my girlfriend, we are not friends.”

JOHN STONES

looking down at the expensive silver medal wrapped around his finger, he looks up into the camera with confusion. sure, you vowed to be friends and more intimately, life partners, but there was no way in hell you were just friends.

“rewind for a sec,” he puts his hand out as a gesture of pausing, “aren’t we married?” he looks down at the gigantic diamond resting on your finger that nearly blinds him every morning in the sunrise. he sure as shit didn’t cry to you in a white dress just to be friends.

“yeah?” you ask, playing confused.

“so why the fuck am I your friend?”

laughing, you shake your head, “it’s just a prank, John.”

relief washes over him as he presses his hand to his pounding heart, “thank fuck.”

LAMINE YAMAL

he instantly picks his head up from his phone. friend? he was the only person in the room, there was no one else here beside your boyfriend.

“what did you just call me?” he asks. you were out of view from the camera, changing into one of your outfits that was an option you’d show the camera to wear to his upcoming match.

“my friend. you’re going to help me decide what to wear.”

shaking his head, he threw down his phone in frustration, “is this because I wouldn’t massage your feet?” he asks, thinking this was such a weird way to get back at him but he wouldn’t be surprised if so.

“what? no, it’s just a prank.” you laugh. walking over to him, you sit down on his lap, “though now come to think of it, you should massage my feet or else I’m posting the video.” you point to the phone that’s been recording the entire conversation.

"That's me not getting fuckin' laid tonight," Jordan grumbled from beside him, pulling John's attention back to the three men in the hot tub. His chin jutted upwards, gesturing to the drunken state of his missus, as he swigged his beer. "Fuckin' state of 'em," he rolled his eyes.

"Oi," John responded with a gravelly laugh, "your room's next to mine. There'll be no fuckin' shaggin' at all." He took a mouthful of his own beer. "I'm not listening to that."

Jordan opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by another chorus of high-pitched laughter.

All three pairs of eyes — John, Jordan and Dan — snapped to the direction of the patio. You and Jordan's missus had stood from the sofas, and were making your way towards the hot tub, where they'd been sat for the better part of an hour. Your hair was down for once and flowing in the rare breeze. You wore a t-shirt, that definitely wasn't yours and had been tied into a cropped style, over your bikini. The red straps peeked above the collar around your neck, and you'd slipped out olf your denim shorts early in the afternoon. A pair of gold, hoop earrings dangled from your ears as you carried a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka in your hand. Jordan's missus carried five shot glasses.

"Here we fuckin' go, lads," Jordan let out a huff of air as he watched his missus walk along the astro turf. He raised his voice and gestured with a point of his finger, "fuck off out of 'ere with the shots." His words were rough but there wasn't an ounce of heat in them whatsoever.

You laughed at his playful taunt and slipped out of the t-shirt. You were pretty sure it was John's t-shirt. John was positive that it was his t-shirt.

"What's that, Picks?" you teased with a low laugh, as you stepped over the edge of the hot tub and into the bubbling water, "you want three shots?"

The first step was fine, but the second took you off guard. It was deeper than you expected. No second step. You were already unsteady as it was, your balance subpar from the alcohol, and you slipped. An instinctive squeal ripped through your throat as you felt the cold and sticky wet of the flavoured vodka spill down your front, falling backwards.

John's sturdy arm moved to your back in an instant — his response swift but the action somewhat nonchalant. His muscles tauted, taking the weight of your clumsy body, as the warmth of his palm spread across your spine; and, more importantly, was the rigid support holding the back of your head from cracking against the wooden frame of the hot tub. His concerned eyes flicked from the TV screen down to you, but when he saw your features upturned in amusement — and heard the devilish sound of your cackle — he eased up.

After a brief second to steady yourself, you slowly lowered yourself back, your ass finding the edge of the seat under the bubbles. His hand guided you backwards slowly in a gentle gesture until the back of your head rested against his broad shoulder. You kept the open bottle of vodka upright to avoid anymore spillages.

You tipped your head back, an audacious smile on your lips, and peered up at him with doe-like eyes. Oh, you were wasted. "Who's playing?"

"Spain and Argentina," he said and takes another swig of his beer.

"Who do we want to win?" you asked, curiousity laced within your tone. You didn't give a second thought to football usually — but John, Jordan, Dan, and the other two men who'd been roped into the trip did.

"Not fuckin' Argentina," Dan responded for the collective.

"What's Neymar ever done to you?" you pouted playfully with a furrowed brow and turn your head to look at Dan. Your cheek brushed against John's shoulder with the movement, the stray wisps of your hair tickling his skin.

"Not play for Argentina for a start," Dan snorted.

"That sounds like you need a shot." A wicked grin twisted your features as you straightened your posture, gesturing for the shot glasses that Jordan's missus was holding.

You poured everyone a generous shot and handed them out. Shot glasses clicnked together in a quick toast before the liquid was gone. Jordan flinched at the burn, Dan coughed, and John screwed his stubble-lined features up.

"Pussies," Jordan's missus teased.

A mischievious glint brghtened your glazed-over eyes as you turned your head to Dan. You held the bottle up, gesturing a pouring motion — offering him more.

"Fuck off," he laughed.

Your eyes shifted to Jordan and you raised the bottle even more.

"Not with your fuckin' clumsy hand," Jordan declined not so politely. He knew what you were getting at.

Then, your twisted your silhouette all the way around once more so your hazy eyes landed on John. A challenging smirk quirked the corners of your lips upwards as you batted your eyelashes at him expectantly.

John let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. No.

It didn't last long, though. You raised the bottle even higher, an almost pleading looking in your wide eyes. That was all it took for him to cave.

He tipped his head back and opened his mouth. You let out a filthy giggle as you held the bottle of Grey Goose above his mouth, then tipped it. The vodka poured into his mouth, and he let you carry on pouring probably more than he wanted to, before nudging the bottle way with his knuckles. The clear liquid spilt down his face and throat, but at least it wasn't his mouth. He swallowed and let out a groan at the burn.

Your giggle echoed through the garden space once more. Oh, you looked so pleased with yourself.

"Give me that—" John reached for the now almost empty bottle, "—you've lost your privileges." He took the bottle from you with ease, despite your attempts to hold it out of his reach, and passed it over a safer pair of hands.

Then, he dropped to his knees before you — his fitted dress pants straining against his muscular thighs. He knew what he was doing. His hands found your inner thighs almost immediately, nudging them apart. His hand grazed lower, finding the bend of your knee, and hooked it over his broad shoulder.

Like a starved man, his lips leave a trail of heat up your thigh. His teeth nip and bite along the sensitive skin, an eager smirk quirking his lips upwards. He pushed your lace thong to the side, his nose nuzzling at the soft fabric as his lips find your sensitive bud immediately. There's no easing you in. He sucks at your clit, tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let out a breath, a low purr rumbling through your chest as your head tips backwards against the floor-to-ceiling window. You allow yourself to indulge in the feeling of his tongue relentlessly working your clit. Jordan doesn't let up — he continues sending ripples of pleasure through your body, lapping at your folds. He sucks hard, then licks again — never easing up, as he holds your hips in place with a firm grip.

A low, sultry moan slips from between your lips as you push your hips forward, desperate for the friction. "Ohhh," you can't help the way the sound just rolls off your tongue with such a dirty, filthy, grit to it.

You feel his smirk against your pussy; he loved you like this. He loved the way you so unapologetically indulged in the pleasure — in him. He loved when you found your confidence. He loved the way in which your hips would push against his mouth, fervently seeking out the sweet relief of pressure against your clit; and the saccharine taste of you on his tongue as you came undone.

He let out a dirty, almost depraved, laugh against you — the vibrations sending ripples through you. "Fucking love when you get like this."

Then, with a salacious nip to your inner thigh, he pulls himself to his feet. His hand remains glued to your curves, sliding along your silhouette as he straightens up. His steel-like eyes find yours, locked in an intense, unforgiving gaze, as he hands find his belt. The sounds of the buckle being undone echoed around the hotel room.

He lifted his chin — his stubble highlighted by the city lights, as he tugged on the zipper. You thrived under his searing stare, and after a moment of shuffling, you could feel the tip of his cock pressed against your folds. Your shoulders flattened flush against the window, grounding yourself, as he pushed inside. "Ohhhh," you purred lowly — your hips drawn like a magnet to his.

You feel the palm of his hand on your waist, his grip tight. Possessive, almost. He knows what he wants. Then, it trails purposefully down to your knee and pulls upwards with a distinct lack of patience. Your thigh wraps around his waist naturally, and he finds the angle he was looking for. His head tips backwards and his lips part, a brusque grunt slipping out.

His hips pick up their pace, pounding into you, as his lips find the crook of your neck. You feel his nose graze over your collarbone in a brief moment of affection before his teeth are grazing along your throat. He feels the distinct beat of your pulse as you swallow, and a low moan ripples through your vocal chords. "Fuck," he groans, voice like gravel, as his fingers dig into your waist and his otherr palm presses against the window.

The depraved dance between you both gets rougher, sloppier, as he finds that sweet, sweet spot that had you purring like the engine of a Ford Thunderbird. He nips at your neck, hips pushing forward with a delightful force, as you get louder.

His feet pad gently against the carpet as he makes his way into the kitchen, the tiles a welcomed cool. He opens up the fridge and pulls out another bottle of beer, followed by a can of the blue raspberry vodka mix that you'd been drinking all night. He pops the cap off his beer with ease, takes a quick swig, and then pops four of the rounded ice cubes out the tray, into your glass. He pours the cocktail over the ice cubes and garnishes with a slice of lemon. It was just how you'd been making your drinks all night.

John made his way back to the sofa. He placed your glass of blue raspberry cocktail down on the coffee table in front of you and settled back down on the cushions. He leant back into cushions and spread his legs, just as he had before. Your feet returned to his lap in an instant, and he accepted them without complaint as he rested his palm gently on your ankle.

The minutes drag on with the only sound between you both being the TV, that was playing an episode of a long-running police drama. Then, you twist your body, reaching for the glass on the wooden coffee table. The warmth of his hand on your ankle spreads as you move, his soft palm gliding along the curve of your shin unintentionally.

You twist back and then shift onto your back, your feet now pressed against the arm of the sofa once again. You're restless. You let out frustrated huff of air, your wrist flailing over your forehead. "I'm warm," you gripe with a heavy sigh and peer up at John through thick, dark lashes.

His grey-green eyes fall to you as one hand brings the half-empty beer bottle up to his mouth, and the other now rubs soothing circles over your shin. He takes a swig of his beer in the most effortless manner before reaching over the arm of the sofa to press the button on the fan. A flurry of cool air blows around the room — a welcomed respite in the stuffy living room. Although, your skin still seared in the wake of his absent-minded touch on your ankle.

You settled down, even if only for a moment. Your eyes closed briefly but fluttered open when you felt the gentle movement of John's fingers adjusting your gold anklet. It tickled softly as he carefully dragged the delicate chain into position, the clasp sitting just above your heel.

Another beat passes, and you shuffle into a sitting position. You let out another frustrated huff of air as your feet tuck beneath your legs. You gather your hair lazily and twist it into a something that resembles a bun, securing it with a claw clip — your tipsy eyes peering over your shoulder at John.

For a brief second, a calculation runs through your mind. You're drunk. You're warm. You're restless. And the boundaries in your friendship with John seems to be slipping as the night goes on.

With another one of those sulky huffs of air, your arm reaches around your back, and slips underneath your cropped t-shirt. You'd done well to last this long with your bra on but, now, it had to go.

You fumbled with the clasp for a second before you felt a warm hand nudge yours out of the way. John had leaned forward, from the comfort of the crease in the cushions, and had slipped his hand beneath your cropped t-shirt. His palm grazed over your skin, his touch warm but gentle. Then, with one effortless movement, John unclasps your bra.

You feel the band loosen instantly and slide the straps off your shoulders, your eyes peering over your shoulder once more with a look that says: you're far too good at that. He eases himself back into the comfort of the sofa cushions, shoulders relaxed, and simply gives you a nonchalant shrug in response. The rim of the bottle grazes his bottom lip — hiding the slight smirk that tugs the corners of his lips upwards.

You roll your eyes in a way that dismisses the hint of smugness etched into his features. He simply just takes another swig of his beer and adjusts his legs, spreading them more comfortably. His gaze is subdued, and a little hazy, as he watches your bra land on the arm chair.

He lets out a breath of a laugh, letting you settle back down. The soles of your feet land on his thigh, your knees bent. His hand finds your knee and slides gently down your thigh. The movment is slow and eventually comes to a stop mid-thigh, with his palm resting flat against your skin.

"Who's starting now?" your whist but playful voice fills the quiet room. He can almost envision the way the corners of your lips are turned upwards ever so slightly.

Jordan laughs with a breath again, his breath hitting the back of your neck once more. The hairs stand on end and a familiar buzz circulates through your half-naked body. His teeth nip at your skin, pleased with himself. He follows the nip up with a soft kiss, and grazes his fingertips over your inner thigh.

You feel his thumb circle your clit over the fabric of your thong. You can't help the soft sigh that slips from between your lips and the way your half-naked silhouette just surrenders to his touch. You're immediately pliant — your body molding against his as you lean backwards.

His takes his time in circling his thumb against your sensitive bud and dragging the pad over your folds. The damp fabric added to the sensation, sending a quiver trembling through your body. You breathe a little heavier, your hips moving ever so slowly with his thumb and let out soft, little whines of pleasure.

He switches his thumb out for two fingers as he slides them beneath your thong. He continues swirling, and caressing, and stroking, and circling your most sensitive of nerves until you're sufficiently wet.

Then, he pushes the sodden fabric to the side. His fingers are replaced with the tip of his dick, gently running along the length of your folds. A sultry moan rumbles through the back of your throat as you tip your head back, resting it against his shoulder. Your lips are parted and your eyes are closed as you breathe heavily.

He pushes himself inside and you let out a breathy moan. Your hips shift slightly, finding the perfect angle as he slides in and out of you lazily. Your breaths become shallow, whining, and quicker.

As he finds a steady rhythm, the palm of his hand slides back down to your knee. He carefully pushes your thigh upwards and holds it in place, allowing himself to push deeper into you. The angle he slides in at sends a rush of dopamine through you and a soft moan escapes your parted lips. You're unable to control the way in which your lips curl upwards in delight.

He's found that sweet spot that sends rush after rush through you. He hits it over and over again, still maintaining that painfully steady pace.

Then, eventually — between a chorus of heavy breaths, whining moans, and determined grunts — you reach your climax. A ripple of ecstasy floods through your body as you pulse around his cock, each squeeze just that little bit tighter. His overgrown stubble grazes your neck as he nuzzles into you and muffles a low groan. You feel the warmth of his release fill you and his rigid body soften.

Jordan, with a surprising amount of tenderness, lowers your thigh back down before letting his arm drape over your bare stomach. His face nuzzles into the nape of your neck, lips peppering soft kisses as he catches his breath.

roommate!becky who tells you it’s okay to see each other naked because you’re both girls and there’s nothing wrong with it.

roommate!becky who tells you it’s okay  for you two to kiss sometimes because you’re just really close friends and that’s what girl friends do with each other.

roommate!becky who likes to swap lingerie with you and tells you that it’s fine because good roommates share all their things.

roommate!becky who loves to touch your tits and ass sometimes but swears it’s okay because you’re just really close friends and she’s appreciating her beautiful roommate.

roommate!becky who likes to share showers with you and tells you it’s okay to because you’re both preserving water.

roommate!becky who takes opportunities in the shower to also touch you up, massaging your shower gel into your skin, making sure to take her sweet time around your breasts. 

roommate!becky who likes to get drunk with you just so that she can have her way with you, watching how you shiver and succumb to her teasing touches.

roommate!becky who accidentally walks in on you touching yourself and stalks by the door for a while just because she can as it’s also her flat too.

roommate!becky who tells you it’s okay to share a bed with her because you’re just girls and girls do that sometimes, even if it means she touches you under the covers.

roommate!becky who has no shame if you hear her pleasuring herself, if anything, she wants you to hear it as it’s you that makes her that way.

roommate!becky who likes to watch porn with you, telling you that it’s okay to have a bit of fun with your girl friends sometimes.

roommate!becky who buys you sex toys that she wants to use on you in your favourite colour, only for her to taunt you with them when they come to the flat, accusing you of buying them.

roommate!becky who has you grinding on a pillow on her bed as she does the same in front of you, telling you that’s it’s okay because you’re not touching each other.

roommate!becky who makes you share a vibrator with her so that you preserve the battery on your own toy.

mean!alfie who… meets you at a ukyt party after your friend Flo invited you as a plus one and is immediately infatuated with you.

mean!alfie who… is drawn in by how cute you are, how naive and aloof you seem to be.

mean!alfie who… lures you in with the promise of drinks on him, whispers of the dirty things he wants to do to you in your ear and a pill from his inner jacket “down for a good time girl?”

mean!alfie who… ignores you for weeks after, enough to make you forget all about him until a gift shows up at your front door with a note — ‘miss me? X’

mean!alfie who… turns up at your flat late at night and demands you let him in all fired up after seeing you with another man in a club, fretting about how disrespectful it is to him (you never question how he saw)

mean!alfie who… doesn’t quite get the message when you tell him you just want to be friends, that he’s too obsessive “i can be a bit much yeah, it’s calm girl…i’ll text ya” he doesn’t text.

mean!alfie who… disappears for a while, you don’t see him for weeks thinking you’d finally met a mature man who knew where he wasn’t welcome..meanwhile he’s had you followed everywhere, keeping tabs.

mean!alfie who… you only see at social events for the time being, all sweet and paying for your drinks, who grows on you and eventually you miss him (there’s no need to tell him)

mean!alfie who… barrels through your front door when he knows you’re about to go out for the night with a baggie, drinks and the promise of a night you won’t forget; you know you’re done for now.

mean!alfie who… gets you so addicted to him you’re begging on your knees every time he leaves, blowing up his phone when he’s filming.

mean!alfie who… despite making it seem like you were the only one obsessed and he could care less about you is madly fixated on you.

mean!alfie who… loves to rile you up as an excuse to ‘teach you a lesson’: leaves you on read knowing just how much you hate it, posts on instagram with girls he can’t remember the name of (or if they fucked, honestly), anything he knows gets you upset. he doesn’t really need an excuse, he knows you’ll take whatever he gives you anyway. he just wants to see you desperate.

mean!alfie who… hacks your phone, your social media, even your streaming apps just so he knows your wants, needs and all your plans.

mean!alfie who… spoils you rotten with everything he knows you can’t afford. “said you liked this Chanel bag, had to buy it didn’t i…i know i bought you shoes yesterday, what’s your point?”

mean!alfie who… leaves you financially dependant on him by messing with your bank behind your back, paying for your food shopping and ‘covering’ the extra hundreds on your rent you suddenly didn’t have.

mean!alfie who… drives you so crazy you have to quit your job.

mean!alfie who… even when he’s not around subtly controls all of your clothing choices, the things you eat, the places you go, the people you see.

mean!alfie who… breaks your heart over and over again by sleeping around and telling you all about how much better she was for him all while leaving you in radio silence.

mean!alfie who… disappears just long enough for you to get too vulnerable to say no when he comes back. (he always does)

mean!alfie who… constantly talks about how rude and disrespectful you are to him despite you never understanding what you’ve done. “getting sick of you acting like an ungrateful slut uno, not like i pay your rent is it? fix it.” you try your best to change you ways, but nothings good enough for him.

mean!alfie who… eventually knocks you up just so you can never leave him.

─── NSFW BELOW, MDNI !

mean!alfie who… makes it his mission to fuck you from the start.

mean!alfie who… gets you all high & buzzy on drinks the first few times under the guise of an extra good time to condition you to be addicted to him.

mean!alfie who… rarely ever has you in missionary because it’s too intimate for him.

mean!alfie who’s… favourite activity is slapping you with your cum on his hands just so it stings more.

mean!alfie who… will fuck you over and over without letting you cum just so you know it’s never about you “uh uh, who said you could cum you silly girl…what about me?”

mean!alfie who… has you wherever whenever he wants because you’re his to take even when you’re crying, begging, slapping him away.

mean!alfie who… makes you gag on his fingers instead of his cock because he knows it’s all you want and it’s easier to get you a sloppy disgusting messy.

mean!alfie who… makes you hump his shoe like a dog, sometimes even literally with a collar & a leash just to show much he truly owns you.

mean!alfie who… doesn’t let you touch yourself, even during sex because no one touches what’s his.

mean!alfie who… never uses a condom with you, pumping you full of cum every go desperate to breed you.

mean!alfie who… keeps a collection of photos & videos of you hidden in his phone for when he disappears and still desperate for you, cumming into his hand with videos of you crying on your knees for him forgotten on his phone:

mean!alfie who… shares them with his friends to brag about how obedient you are.

mean!alfie who… lets some of his nastiest friends use you in front of him when you’re getting too needy “so desperate for everything sweetheart, i couldn’t possibly keep up by myself, could i?”