💿

Then the fans started up with “Hey Jude” and you had to look away quickly, blinking hard. The pride you feel swells up so huge it doesn’t fit in your chest, it spills over into these stupid tears every single time you hear the song, no matter how many times you see him do something like this.

“He looks exhausted,” Denise says quietly, her arm still hooked through yours, squeezing a little.

“I know. Bless him. I don’t know how he’s still standing out there. He gave that absolutely everything.”

You take some deep breaths with his parents, gushing over his performance as usual and wait for him to finish with everything else he has to do after the final whistle.

Soon enough, you watch him walk over showered and changed into the usual post-match tracksuits, his hood half up already like he’s already trying to shut the world out. Even from a distance you can see the heaviness in his shoulders, the way he’s moving a bit stiffer than usual, his tall frame carrying the weight of a country for ninety-plus minutes. He looks happy though. So, so happy. His dark eyes scan the stands until they find you three, and you can see the sparkle in them as soon as he spots you. 

He hugs his mum first, extra tight, murmuring something that makes her laugh and pat his back. All week she’d been saying watch your language, watch your tackles, watch your face so he wouldn’t get booked. You could see how proud she was of him, her eyes closing when they hugged. It almost made your heart burst. 

Then his dad, the two of them clapping each other on the shoulder like they always do, that quiet father-son thing that always makes your chest warm. Mark kisses his cheek, and your smile mirrors Jude’s bashful one. Only after that does he turn to you.

“There she is,” he says, voice a little rough from the game, his accent coming through even stronger when he’s tired. He smiles down at you, exhausted but sweet, and you stand up to meet him.

You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone, your other arm sliding round his broad back. He’s warm, solid, still carrying the smell of the grass mixed with fresh shower gel. “I’m so proud of you, Jude. That looked so tough out there.”

He leans down and kisses you, soft and quick. He’s never one for big PDA with the cameras hovering, but he never lets you feel unloved. Then his hand comes up, gentle as anything, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear. His eyes go all soft as he looks at you, the intense match-day fire dialled right down just for you. “Thank you, baby. Yeah… it was hard. Proper hard. But we got there. It was rough though, I’m shattered.”

You sit back down and he drops straight onto the seat next to you, no hesitation. His head finds your shoulder immediately, heavy and trusting, like he’s been waiting for this exact spot the whole night. You slide your hand up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the way he likes, and feel him let out a long breath, sinking further into you. The relief in his body is so obvious it makes your heart twist.

His mum and dad chat lightly for a minute — something about the referee, how proud they are, the usual post-match debrief — and Jude mumbles along, half in it, half gone. His hand finds yours in your lap, fingers threading together lazily.

After a bit he turns his head, lips brushing your ear as he lowers his voice. “Are you gonna come visit me tonight?”

You snort, playfully nudging his head away. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, babe.”

He laughs then, loud and bright, teeth flashing, his eyes lighting up with the loving mischief that always gets you. “What? I can’t get cuddles from my girl? After that?”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “Cuddles?”

His lip twitches, smirk spreading slow and dangerous. “Cuddles,” he repeats, all innocent like. “And a couple of kisses. Just three or four…”

You tilt your head, giving him a look. He’s dead on his feet, shoulders slumped, yet still managing to look at you like that. You ignore the heat pooling in your stomach from the way he's looking at you and try to think logically. The semi-finals are midweek. “You’re gonna cramp up at some point and whatever idea you’ve got of cuddles and kisses is gonna be straight out the window.”

“Can I not enjoy my recovery with my girlfriend? Is that against the law now?” He huffs dramatically, but his hands are already stroking up your sides, warm and familiar.

You huff at him, already giving in. “You’re so spoilt.”

He grins wider, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You can never say no to me.”

And it’s true. You can’t say no to him. Not when he looks at you like that. Cuddles. Right. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself being led by Jude back to his room in the team hotel in Miami. They’d just had a squad dinner, winding down after the match. As soon as players started to retreat he’d texted you and met you in the lobby. Other England camps weren’t like this in the past, you were so grateful the rules had been changed to let you see him, even if he should be resting.

He’d showered again, you could already tell by the cologne and body wash mix you could smell as you followed him down the quiet corridor. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles every few steps. He still moved a little stiff from the game, the beautiful body of his carrying the bruises and the exhaustion, but there was this restless energy in him too, the win still buzzing under his skin.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop talking. He kicked his slides off, flopping back onto the bed as he kept going, voice low and rough but nonstop the way it always gets when he’s over-excited.

“...and then after the equaliser, I swear the pitch felt like it was moving, the humidity was mad out there. But the lads were buzzing, it was so loud on the pitch. Harry pulled me over after and was saying something about the run we’re on now, and I was just thinking the whole time about that last chance, how I nearly messed up the touch but it just fell right. Then extra time, my legs were gone but you just dig deep, don’t you? Mum’s texts were killing me the whole week about watching my face and my language, I nearly got booked just for breathing heavy at the ref at one point—”

He laughed at himself, running a hand over his damp hair, eyes bright even though his shoulders were sinking deeper into the pillows. You perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, the usual warmth spreading in your chest.

He reached out and tugged you closer by the wrist, still mid-story. “—and then I was like, nah, we’re not losing this one. You get me babe? And then I was like—”

“Jude, take a breath, love. I was there and watching the whole thing,” you chuckle, adjusting to lie next to him on the bed. His arm slipped under your head straight away, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb moved slowly across your cheek, warm and a little rough.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, half-laughing at himself again, voice dropping lower. “I’m just… excited. I don’t know. We left everything out there and…”

He trailed off for a second, eyes half-closed, but his fingers kept moving, tracing your jaw, then down the side of your neck, like he couldn’t quite settle even though his body was heavy with tiredness. Up close like this you could see every little detail: the faint sheen of sweat still at his hairline from how warm it was in Miami, the way his chest rose and fell a bit quicker than normal, a fresh bruise along his jaw starting to darken. You breathed in his warm skin scent that always made your stomach flip.

He shifted closer, leg hooking over yours casually, voice going soft and a little rough with emotion. “It’s mad innit? One minute you’re out there thinking your legs are done, next minute the ball drops and it just… happens. And now we’re in the semis. Semis, babe.”

His grin came back, tired but bright, the one that always made your heart do stupid things. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in like he needed it more than air. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were up there. Makes it all feel different.”

“I love you,” you whisper softly, thumb brushing his cheek, “and I’m so proud of you.”

“How proud?” he beamed, raising an eyebrow, a playful spark lighting up his exhausted face.

“Very proud. Like… prouder than you can even imagine. I think I’ve cried at nearly every game—”

Jude giggles, almost giddy, the sound low and warm in his chest. He loved praise, especially from you, it always turned him soft and a little cocky at the same time. “I know, my little crybaby,” he cooed, voice teasing and fond as he leaned in, pressing little kisses all over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one gentle and sweet, like he was savouring being close after the chaos of the match.

“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “You need to calm down, baby. You have to sleep.”

“My body’s tired,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lingering lower near your jaw, “but the adrenaline is just making me wired, man.”

You stroke his side, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palm, the faint tremor of leftover energy in his muscles. His tall frame was heavy against you, one leg tangled with yours, but his hands kept wandering. Sliding under the hem of your top to rest against your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles there. 

After a moment he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at you properly. The lamp on the bedside table casts a soft glow over his face, his beautiful brown eyes and pink lips slightly parted. He looks unfairly good for someone who just played extra time in a stadium that felt more like a sauna.

“So…” he starts, a smirk creeping back in. “About those kisses I was promised.”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile again. “I don’t remember promising anything.”

“Oi, don’t lie to me..” He leans in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your mouth. “I distinctly remember talking about three or four. Minimum.” His hand slides higher under your top, palm flat and warm against your ribs, thumb stroking just under the curve of your breast. “Come on, baby. I earned them, didn’t I? Scored two, dragged us to the semis… least you can do is give your man some proper kisses.”

He’s grinning again now, all cheeky and tired and completely devastating to your self-control . Before you can answer he dips his head and presses one slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear, lingering there like he knows exactly what it does to you. 

“You’ve just wasted two kisses…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

He groans in joking frustration, eyebrows furrowing to give you a little puppy dog look that always gets him out of trouble. “I just want cuddles and kisses before i sleep-”

He stops as you tilt your head at him, giving him another look.

“I swear, I swear! Baby, please…”

The pleading look on his face already has your stomach flipping, mouth a little dry. He’s so unfairly gorgeous like this. Tired eyes, messy damp curls,his toned body stretched out next to you, still radiating heat from the match. The way his tracksuit top has ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach… it’s ridiculous how much you want him even when he’s half-dead on his feet.

“Fine,” you say, trying to sound stern but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, “but you need to try and sleep too…”

He shifts slightly so you’re fully facing each other, one hand moving to your lower back, his leg still draped heavy over yours. “I can fall asleep kissing you.”

The kisses start off sweet and slow. Gentle presses of his lips against yours, his hand stroking your lower back under your top. His other hand in your hair, fingers loose and tired. Then they deepen.

Jude lets out a quiet, relieved sigh into your mouth as his lips part wider, tongue sliding in slow and warm. The kisses turn sloppy fast. Wet, lazy, unhurried in an exhausted way that somehow makes it hotter. His tongue moves heavy and deep, tangling with yours in long, messy strokes, licking into your mouth like he’s too tired to do anything but feel you. Every so often he sucks softly on your tongue or your bottom lip, pulling it between his before going back in deeper, slower, wetter. You can taste the faint mint from his post-dinner toothpaste mixed with the warm, familiar taste that’s just him. His breaths are heavier now, little groans vibrating against your lips as the kisses grow filthier. Your tongues sliding slow and slick, mouths open and messy, spit-slick lips catching every time you pull apart for air only to dive right back in.

He’s genuinely exhausted, you feel it in the heavy weight of his body against yours, the way his movements stay soft and sleepy even as they get more desperate. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you there as he kisses you like he’s trying to melt into you. Deep, lazy swirls of his tongue, slow sucks, the occasional sleepy grind of his hips against your thigh. He’s half-asleep and completely turned on at the same time, and it’s doing dangerous things to you.

Your hand slides under his top to rest on his ribs, and the soft, needy sound he makes against your tongue makes you shiver hard in his arms.

“M’so hard for you,” he whispers against your lips, breathing heavily. He presses his hips forward, grinding slowly so you can feel exactly how turned on he is, the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his joggers.

“You need me to help you, baby?” you murmur, letting your hand trail down his stomach until your palm cups the hard bulge. He’s so warm, so fucking hard already, twitching eagerly under your touch.

Jude’s breath hitches, hips jerking up into your hand as he lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “Please…”

“But you’re so tired, Jude.” You stroke him slowly through the fabric, teasing, because you love when he gets like this…all soft, sleepy, and whiny for you.

“Baby—” he whines, the sound high and needy, forehead pressed to yours. His hand moves down to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just a little. “M’never too tired for you… fuck, please touch me properly. I need it. Need you so bad..”

You push his joggers down just enough to free him and wrap your fingers around him. Jude’s whole body shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you start stroking him. You start slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head every time. He’s so thick and hot in your hand, veins pulsing, leaking steadily now. You’re transfixed by the sight of him.

“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he whimpers, voice all sleepy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as soft, desperate little sounds keep falling out of him. “Your hand feels so good, baby… don’t stop, please. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”

You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he jolts, hips bucking lazily into your fist, chasing the pleasure even though his body is heavy with exhaustion. Every whimper is quieter, needier. He’s almost submissive in the way he lets you take control, thighs trembling, fingers clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him.

You lift his shirt higher so you can see his toned stomach, selfishly maybe, but he looked so pretty. You keep going, stroking him faster, tighter, watching the way his abs clench and his chest rises and falls quicker. “So pretty Jude,” you whisper, and Jude lets out a broken whine, biting his bottom lip.

“Baby… I— fuck, I’m so close already,” he pants, voice cracking. “Your hand is gonna make me come if you keep— ah—”

You slide down his body before he can finish, taking him into your mouth in one slow, wet glide. Jude’s back arches off the bed with a loud, guttural moan, one hand flying to your hair, holding on tight as his fingers tremble.

“Oh my god— your mouth, fuck—” He’s losing it completely now, sleepy whimpers turning into desperate, broken sounds as you bob your head, tongue swirling around him, sucking him deep. “So warm… so fucking good. Baby, please— I can’t— you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep sucking like that.”

His hips twitch up gently, like he’s trying so hard to be good and not fuck your mouth, but his control is slipping. Whiny, breathy moans fill the room as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing along the underside. Jude’s thighs shake, hand tightening in your hair, voice hoarse.

“Baby… slow, please, I’m so sensitive— fuck, I love your mouth so much…”

You slow down and look up, making eye contact with him. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded with exhaustion and pure bliss, lips parted, chest heaving. The sight of you between his legs like this seems to ruin him even more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, voice cracking, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “My beautiful girl.”

He keeps watching you with that dazed, adoring look, hips rocking up in tiny, helpless movements as you suck him slow and deep. You swirl your tongue around the head, then take him all the way again, relaxing your throat until your nose brushes his stomach. Jude’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck— baby, look at you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and reverent. “Taking me so well… even when I’m this tired. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

His praise comes out soft and broken, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or a little whimper. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock throbs heavier on your tongue, the constant little twitches of his thighs, the way his fingers keep flexing in your hair like he’s fighting not to lose it. But he stays so good for you, letting you control everything, just moaning and whining softly every time you swallow around him or suck a little harder.

“Gonna make me come if you keep doing that…” he pants, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth is too good, love. Too warm and wet and— shit—”

You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock as you stroke him slowly with your hand instead. Jude lets out a wrecked, needy sound at the loss, hips chasing your mouth for a second before he catches himself. Before you can say anything, he’s tugging at you weakly, desperate.

“Too far away… come back up here, please.”

You crawl back up his body and he immediately pulls you in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your top, squeezing your waist, your hips, like he needs to feel all of you at the same time. The kiss goes on and on, lazy and filthy, tongues sliding slow while he whimpers softly into your mouth every time you stroke him.

You keep working your hand over his cock, slow and slick, and Jude’s hips rock up to meet every stroke, his breathing getting shakier. He breaks the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting.

“You don’t want to come yet?” you whisper against his lips, still stroking him lazily.

He shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanna be closer to you baby, wanna make you feel good.. wanna.. wanna— fuck.”

His sentence cuts off into a broken moan. For a long moment he just kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your body. His palm smooths over your stomach, then lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts like he’s giving you time to feel the anticipation. His fingers finally slip under the fabric, pushing your shorts and panties down your thighs in one clumsy but eager movement. He helps kick them the rest of the way off, big hands gentle on your skin the whole time.

Once they’re gone he settles between your spread legs, still kissing you slow and deep. His fingers drag through your folds and he curses softly against your mouth.

“You’re so wet for me, fuck…” He circles your clit slowly, almost lazily, but the way his breath catches tells you how much it affects him. “All this for me? After I played like shit for half the game?”

You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips against his hand, and he smiles a tired, crooked grin before leaning in to kiss you again. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on your clit, then dipping inside you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He’s still so hard against your thigh, twitching every time you moan.

Jude buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers work you open. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you around me. Wanna make you come first… then you can ride me slow while I hold you. I just— I need you close. So fucking close.”

He curls his fingers just right and you arch into him, moaning his name. Jude whimpers in response, pressing his cock against your hip like he can’t help it. 

“Please, baby,” he breathes against your neck, voice hoarse and shaky. “I need to be inside you. Can’t wait anymore.”

You nod, pulling him up for another deep kiss as he lines himself up. “If you get tired just say, Jude,” you whisper against his lips. He looked so exhausted — eyes heavy, shoulders slumped — and part of you still felt a pang of guilt that he was going to be the one putting in all the effort tonight.

“You’re such an angel,” he whispers softly, pecking your forehead with heartbreaking tenderness, then leaning down for another deep kiss. “As if I could ever be too tired to fuck you.”

The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as he starts pushing in. He’s so slow and careful, even though you can feel how badly he wants to bury himself.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Inch by inch he sinks into you, stretching you open until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. The sound he makes is relief mixed with pleasure, a long, broken moan that vibrates through his chest.

For a moment he just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against your lips. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, desperate for the full body contact. You can feel how tired he is, the way his muscles are trembling from the long match and the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. “You feel so good,” he groans. “Just for me, yeah? Tell me this pussy belongs to me. ”

“It belongs to you, baby. Only you,” you moan softly, clenching around him. “I belong to you.”

A shaky breath leaves him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking softly on your skin while he gives one slow, grinding roll of his hips. “Good girl… all mine,” he mumbles, the words slurred with tiredness. “I don’t share you with anyone.”

Then he starts moving with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, grinding deep instead of thrusting hard. Every stroke is deliberate, like he’s savouring every second even though exhaustion is weighing on him. His breaths are heavier, his arms shaking slightly as he holds you, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down his temple. Still, he doesn’t stop. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and Jude lets out a soft, whiny sound again that makes you clench harder around him.

“Baby… yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Feels too good. You’re squeezing me so tight— fuck.”

His mouth finds yours again, the kiss sloppy and tired, tongues sliding lazily while he keeps that slow grind going. One hand stays gripping your hip, the other slides up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, thumb brushing your nipple almost absentmindedly, like even his hands are running out of energy but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s so vocal, whimpering your name, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he needs you.

You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming a little more desperate. “I’m so close,” he whines against your mouth. “Come with me, baby. Please. Wanna feel you come around me.”

One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. The combination of his cock dragging deep inside you, his fingers, his soft sleepy moans, pushes you over the edge first. You clench around him hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you.

Jude follows right after with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he comes deep inside you, hips stuttering. “Fuck— love you, love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, trembling through it.

Afterwards he collapses on top of you, heavy and warm, still buried inside. His arms wrap around you tightly, face tucked into your neck as he catches his breath. Soft kisses press against your shoulder, lazy and sweet.

“Best recovery ever,” he murmurs with a tired little laugh, voice muffled. “But I’m never moving ever again.”

You run your fingers down the muscles of his back, smiling as both of your breathing starts to even out, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You kiss his temple, open your mouth to respond, but he's snoring softly before you can even reply.

You had been at this bar for three hours, knowing that your ex had told you that some of the players came here after games gave you a wicked idea. Your ex, the asshole had cheated with your best friend, now ex best friend but that's besides the point, he had told you repeatedly about his favorite player Brad Marchand and that Brad Marchand frequented this very bar. So you decided you wanted to sleep with Brad Marchand, perfect revenge to get back at your ex.

Brad had spotted you the moment he walked in the bar, he thought you were very attractive but it took him getting a few drinks in his system to work up the nerve to talk to you.

"Hey" he says as he approaches.

"Hey" you say back.

"I'm Brad, and you are?" He asks politely not wanting to startle you.

"I'm Y/N" you reply back, "And trust me I know all about you."

"You a fan?" He asks

"My ex is actually, your his favorite player" You reply.

"Ex, so your single?" Brad asks

"Yeah he cheated on me" you say.

"Asshole" Brad says.

"Would you mind doing me a favor?" You ask

"What's that?" Brad asks curiously.

"Sleep with me and get revenge" you say.

Brad smirks evilly, "Tonight?"

"Sure why not" you say.

"Let's go" he says offering his hand.

You take his hand and let him lead you out of the bar towards his car, he helps you in the car before walking around and getting in the drivers side.

"My place or yours?" He asks

"Yours" you say.

Brad doesn't have to be told twice, he starts the car and drives you two back to his place.

Once you arrive he leads you in the house and upstairs to his bedroom,

"You sure about this?" He asks

"Yeah your stupidly hot, I'd fuck you even if this wasn't for revenge" you say.

Brad chuckles, "Your hot as fuck baby."

Brad pulls you in for a kiss and clothes start flying almost immediately. It doesn't take long before you two are both naked, Brad lays you on the bed before kissing your neck.

"So fucking pretty" he says as he kisses and bites his way down your chest. Brad pinches your nipples as he kisses towards your heat.

"Brad please" you beg as he blows hot air on your dripping entrance.

"Such a pretty pussy baby" Brad says, "So wet to."

Brad doesn't waste any more time before diving in and eating you out. You moan as you reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, "Oh fuck."

Brad sucks on your clit which causes your hips to buck up and he places an arm across your stomach to pin you down.

Brad uses his other hand and takes two fingers and inserts them slowly, your moans encourage him to finger you faster.

"Brad I'm close" you say.

"Take a picture" he says.

"What?" You ask

"Take a picture and send it to him" he says.

You scramble for your phone before you snap a picture, it's very obvious from the picture who it is and you know that will rile your ex up. You moan before your cumming all over his face and fingers, Brad moans as he tastes your release.

"Taste so good baby" he says.

Brad pulls away from your cunt and kisses his way back up your body towards your lips, "you see that mirror beside you?"

You look to your left and see a mirror up against the wall, "Yeah what about it?"

"I'm going to fuck you facing the mirror and your going to take a picture and a video of me railing you to send to him" Brad says.

You moan at his words, "Brad."

"Make him jealous yeah?" Brad says flipping you over so your ass is in the air. He hands you your phone and you take a picture before starting the video.

Brad lines up with your entrance before slowly inserting his cock drawing a loud moan out of your mouth. Brad realizes that your probably going to struggle holding the phone so he finds a way to prop it up so it captures everything.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah move please" you beg.

Brad begins moving slowly before speeding up, you moan as he changes the angle of his hips and immediately finds your g-spot.

"Oh yeah thats the spot" he says as he watches your eyes roll back in the mirror.

Brad uses one hand to hold you up and the other to reach and begin circling your clit as he begins pounding into you.

"Oh fuck" you moan out.

Brad groans as you clench down on him, "So tight for me fuck baby."

"Daddy please I'm so close" you say.

Brad's hips stutter for a split second as he registers that you just called him daddy, he groans as he feels your orgasm approaching "Cum for me baby."

You moan as your orgasm rips through you, your body convulses and Brad has to grip your hip tighter to keep you from falling. He helps you ride out your high before he's stilling inside you and filling you up with a groan.

Brad reaches over you and grabs the phone ending the video, before he pulls out and turns you around in his arms. He hands you the phone and watches as you send your ex the pictures and the video before cutting it off and laying your head on his chest, "That was the best sex of my life."

Brad chuckles, "I'm glad, I think we should do that more often."

"Have sex?" You ask before yawning.

"Yeah now go to sleep" Brad leans down and kisses the top of your head.

You wanted to try it and get back at him by doing what he does to you each day. Dinner was supposed to be your first attempt. You dressed up nice. Too nice. The dress was one size smaller than you usually wore. Bought with his money, not that he cared. The straps were thin, barely able to hold your braless tits. Yes, braless. Your Hail Mary, the one thing that would always work if everything else fell short. Then it was the heels. 

The red-bottom stilettos that cost more than the first-ever down payment you put down on your first car. Christian Louboutins. Brad called them "Louies". They had to be his favourite of what you wore; most nights you did wear them, and you ended up having them on all night when he had you in bed.

He spent half of the evening in the restaurant, restless. He wouldn’t sit still, not even when the sommelier was busy pouring large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. You let him shift around, eyes watching over your glass as he cracked his knuckles three times within thirty seconds. How cruel you were, doing this to him. He leant in and whispered it over beef Wellingtons. Glaring with pointed eyes as you smirked. At some point you raised a leg and pressed the toe of your heel into his crotch. He chokes on his drink; customers from other tables turn to look, but he brushes them off with flushed cheeks. 

“Quit it," he implores, but uses the palm of his hand to push your shoe further into his pants. You feel it as he turns hard, twitching under your foot. You spend the rest of the night like that, and he manages to hold himself together when scratching a pen over the cheque. 

But now you’re really done for, legs looped over the leather seat of the driver's side. He's under you, self-satisfied like the way you see him all the time. 

“You’re not very nice to me, eh?” Far nicer than he deserves, but of course he doesn’t realise it. You grate down onto his length again, shivering as it shoots waves of pleasure up your brain. 

“Do you really want me to be nice?” You push down harder and nip at his jaw until he’s coaxed into unbuckling and pulling down his slacks. “Are you sure you deserve it?” 

He laughs into the crown of your hair, aiding you in tugging down your underwear with prying hands. The moment you're guided onto his length, it’s like a gust of wind passes over you. All the thoughts rush to your mind at once, but most of them remain unanswered. How did you get here? When did he pull over and pull you onto him? You know why it happened at first, but why did you do it? Was it worth it? 

He’s a lot bigger than you, far stronger. You’re caged into the steering wheel, back pressed up against the horn; one wrong move and it’s making that ear-piercing sound. In width it’s like he’s a brick wall, plains of muscle and power engraved into his flesh, leaving mounds to run your hands over. It’s hidden behind the cruel disguise of his white shirt; you want to bite the buttons off with your teeth. None of it compares to how big he is inside of you when your legs begin to ache with how long they've been in this awkward position. 

“Look, look at that.”

You do and nearly pass out at the sight. His cock bulges through the skin of your stomach, poking out with each thrust. It would seem like it’s painful, but nothing feels better than right now. His hand presses into the protrusion, and you fall into his arms. The shape of him is unequivocal; not even you can deny the truth.

“That’s all me inside you, yeah?” He pulls out a few inches and then thrusts up fast. "Does that feel nice?” 

He moves faster now, leaving no time for you to brace for it, hips snapping up with erratically controlled speed. You're crying into his skin now, beads of pleasured tears dampening his skin. When he comes, it happens only seconds after you; every pulse feels like energy falling away, exposing the hollow shell of hunger. Brad stays buried in you for a few minutes, twitching and shaking whenever you involuntarily squeeze down.

You were a big football fan, but you were certainly even more so of your man, one of the season's top scorers. The World Cup was something you'd dreamed of for a long time, but being in that stadium, feeling the vibration of the fans, was extraordinary. The crowd was divided between Brazilians and Norwegians; everyone had fully embraced the competition, and the support had surpassed what would be considered normal for matches.

"I can't believe we made it. Ødegaard was so worried about today's match." You heard Helene's voice, the Norwegian captain's wife, louder than her usual tone because of the noise of the combined "roar" from the Norwegian fans, while Haaland beat the drum, a cultural ritual of theirs. He seemed so happy, but you knew that was also a result of relief.

"Erling too, even though he didn't want to show it as much." Was your reply as you both watched the celebration and took some pictures to capture that historic moment.

"Look, I think we can go over there now." She pointed to the pitch, seeing that it was already open for family members. Then she extended her hand to you; Helene pulled you through the crowd. Most of the audience was Brazilian, but even so, the Norwegians didn't go unnoticed with their red shirts amidst the sea of green and yellow of the opposing team's colors.

You looked for Haaland even from a distance, as there were really a lot of people. You found him greeting the opponents and hugging some of his teammates. He was so sweet and lovable, perhaps more than people imagined given his tall stature and robust build, but you liked knowing that, knowing who you had by your side, and mainly knowing that he was yours.

He found you quickly while Ødegaard was beside him, pulling Helene into a kiss. Erling pulled you into a hug, his body sweaty from the effort of the match, but with that characteristic scent only he had, which left you completely lost and in love. "We won, love." The number nine pulled you into a soft kiss, even in front of some journalists waiting to interview him.

"I think I have the best Viking by my side." You replied, wrapping your arms around his neck, and received the number nine's hands on your waist. Everything was perfect between you two.

He let out a laugh, blushing slightly as he averted his gaze toward Ødegaard, who was hugging Helene from behind. They seemed completely in love with each other, and you loved the friendship you'd built. "For a moment I thought we were going to extra time." The captain said, bringing up the subject.

"I think we played a good match. I can say I feel relieved." Haaland replied, hunching his shoulders, showing his complete physical exhaustion.

"I always knew you guys would win." You said, giving the man a soft kiss on the lips. Players passed by, interviews were about to begin. You knew your husband would soon be pulled into that sea of journalists, but you wanted to enjoy the man's arms around you a little longer.

"I love your confidence in me." He said, looking at you lovingly, and you almost forgot there were thousands of people around. It was like a connection that existed beyond anything tangible.

"I forgot how mushy you two are with each other." Helene said provocatively, bringing you both back to reality at the East Rutherford stadium, causing a series of laughs among you.

"Look who's talking, sounds like you didn't spend the whole match talking about Ødegaard." You replied to the joke, making her blush at the statement. You both knew it was true. The teasing could have continued, but Ødegaard and Haaland were pulled away to answer some interviews as two of the main players of the match.

You stood a little behind the cameras as you watched them answer some questions. The journalist was a woman you hadn't seen at the other games, but the way she stared at Haaland made you uncomfortable, and you knew exactly what that was.

"Haaland, the public wants to know how you feel knowing we're going through the phenomenon you've caused." You watched your man turn his head, confused by the journalist's question. Of course you knew what she was talking about. The "Haaland phenomenon" was all over the internet, practically everyone talking about your husband. Thousands of edits and posts, some of which you were sure insulted you just for being the wife of the man you loved.

"Phenomenon I've caused?" He asked, confused, as he waited for some clarification to come with it. It certainly wasn't one of the questions he expected, but Erling had dealt with inconvenient journalists throughout his life as a football player, with questions looking for holes for gossip pages.

"The phenomenon that apparently everyone wants Erling Haaland for themselves. It's all over the internet, with edits and posts from your fans." She explained, holding the microphone toward the tall, blond man, while fixing her hair with her other hand. For a moment you felt she was trying to adjust her cleavage to get the Norwegian's attention, and your arms crossed as you watched the scene.

Of course you didn't like that. There was the good and the bad side to situations, and it seemed like that one was completely awful. That woman was clearly trying to get your husband's attention in front of you, and there was nothing good about it. You tried to hold your temper, especially since it was an important moment for Norway itself, but there was no minimum respect, even if she couldn't see you on the other side because of the cameras in front and your position slightly to the left. It was clear to everyone that you were a couple. You watched Haaland's forehead furrow in recognition of the situation.

"So, I've seen some posts. I'm really very happy about all the affection from my fans and for my country's football. We're proud of what we're delivering during the World Cup so far." He then looked for your eyes in the corner, in the middle of the interview. "But I have a very angry woman and I don't want problems with her, folks, who by the way is waiting for me so we can be together. So, to put it better: the original is only available to her." Haaland said, letting out a light laugh with a crooked smile, lifting a weight off your shoulders. You knew he was only yours — there was nothing that could take away what you had with each other.

You saw the journalist look discreetly, following his gaze and finding you. Your posture said everything about the situation. She had been caught in her plans, and they had been completely trampled. Your sharp eyes met hers in a silent challenge, but you knew: that man was only yours, and the message had been delivered, by his words and your confident gaze.

The interview ended quickly after that moment. Everything was over, and the plan was to go back to the apartment after the team's celebration. There were some conversations, but the gathering extended into a dinner with some players. All you wanted was to be at the apartment and rest a little.

The apartment was luxurious, but with details that showed the cozy touches you'd brought on the trip. The pastel-toned furniture and the trophies on the walls showed what you lived — how everything was extraordinary in its own way. Your bedroom remained in the same style as the rest of the apartment, but it felt even cozier: books on each side of the furniture leaning against the headboard, with content you read together, slippers in the corner of the room, and the lights that night slightly dimmed.

Your body felt the exhaustion of the day, but your mind worked every moment, remembering the moments you'd experienced. You completely trusted the relationship you had, everything you'd built side by side during those years together. However, the situation still lingered in the air, like a strange need for you to reclaim that man.

You were each other's in all your lives, but maybe it was good to remember he was only yours. Your thoughts still tumultuous as you settled sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, wearing only your husband's oversized Manchester City shirt, small white shorts, and your hair tied in a messy bun done after the hot shower, as you waited for Haaland. The sound of the nearly two-meter-tall man's heavy footsteps reached your ears.

"I already fed Freyr, love." You watched Erling talk about your pet cat, which you couldn't leave at the apartment even during the trip, with a Norwegian name, as he entered the bedroom door. He turned quickly to close it, making you watch his bare back flex. You were aware of how attractive your man was, and the size difference between you made you more desirous of him, of the monstrous strength that touched you in the most loving way. "Wow, I think I'm destroyed." He affirmed, letting out a tired sigh, and went to your side of the bed, throwing himself down.

"Then I think it's better if you just rest today, Mr. 'Haaland phenomenon'." You leaned in, bringing your hand to his bare chest, and brought your lips close to whisper the last call, even though your tone was playful. Seeing him, who had his eyes closed, abruptly open one of them and look quickly at you, seeing your raised eyebrow.

"Love, I have nothing to do with that." Erling replied, sitting up on the bed and looking at you, searching for any sign of irritation in your eyes, making you meet that hypnotic greenish color that trapped you, along with that masculine scent that came from him naturally.

"I know, darling." You affirmed calmly, as you fluffed the pillows on your side of the bed, preparing to turn to the opposite side from him, knowing the sensual intentions your own thoughts were taking. "You can rest. Turn off the lights when you go to sleep." You said, closing your eyes pretending, knowing he wouldn't be able to stay silent for long. You waited a few seconds.

"Love..." He called you affectionately, softly, leaning his lips against your ear and bringing his hand to your waist. "I don't know what's worse, your silence or you screaming." Haaland murmured, and that made you hold back a laugh. Clearly you weren't irritated with him, but the fun way you handled things was always a welcome novelty. You chose to remain silent, waiting for your striker's next move.

"Were you jealous, darling?" This time, the tone was different — perhaps provocative. He knew how to provoke a reaction from you. His hands became bolder, going to your ass and giving a squeeze that made your body want to squirm, and his tongue ran over your ear, making you hold back a moan. "You know I'm only yours." He whispered.

But your next move surprised the bigger man. You quickly got up, sitting on his strong thighs, feeling your core and warm body. "And I love knowing that." You replied, pulling him into a hot kiss, your hands going to his neck and caressing his blond hair, how you loved it.

You felt Haaland's surprise by how he stood still for a few seconds, surprised by your attack, but he returned it, quickly taking control. His agile movements not only on the field, but ready for a quick reaction. His body was placed right above yours when he turned you with his strength, getting on top of you. That same skill that left you weak in the knees, but that also made you let out a small scream of surprise, which was soon dominated by his lips.

Kisses and bites went down your neck, going further down. "You wearing my shirt does so many things to me." The words came out of his mouth, disarming you, even though inside you already knew that statement. Your eyes met his in the dim light, and those irises swallowed you.

His lips guiding you as your clothes were removed, your shirt being lifted as your legs intertwined around Haaland's waist. Your core tightened as you felt the volume of his member grow between you, making you both moan. Your hands lost themselves on his bare back as your nails scratched his body, and he moved, rubbing your bodies even through the clothes.

"Erling, I need..." You said in his ear, seeing a crooked smile appear on his lips, as you felt his hands massaging and his mouth on your breasts, the sounds coming out of you before you could hold them back. But that was what Haaland wanted from you.

The kisses and tongue went down your body. You felt his strong hands caressing you, squeezing your ass, as he quickly got up and placed a pillow under your body. A warm feeling formed in the pit of your stomach. You knew what he was going to do and how skilled he was at what he did — not just on the field.

"I think I need to feel a little more of you, love." The words came out of his mouth as he kissed the inside of your thighs and two fingers slowly opened you. You felt yourself trembling in anticipation, but your spine stiffened when you felt his tongue and fingers. He found your clit easily, licking and devouring you as if you were the most delicious delicacy, his favorite sweet. He lost himself between your legs as he made you moan as if he depended on it to live — or as if he could die right there. The moment you closed your legs around his head, almost suffocating him, he didn't complain. He just wanted to feel more of you.

You threw your head back, moaning Haaland's name, as he looked up to see your reactions. He loved watching you reach your pleasure. The orgasm came like the beats of the Norwegian drum. You felt the sensitivity as he sucked everything he could from your essence.

"How could I trade this?" The number nine said, kissing your right thigh and squeezing your ass firmly, when you began to feel the anticipation of what you wanted — the excruciating desire to feel him. That pulsating member when he got up and came over you, bringing it to your entrance, teasing, making you let out the sweetest sounds. Then he brought it inside you.

Feeling the wetness of your pussy and how cozy it was to be inside you, he could never lose that — not just the moment, but what you had together, that connection. The Manchester City player brought his hands to your waist, holding you firmly, in firm and deep thrusts, those that made you roll your eyes, hitting that exact perfect spot.

"Fuck." You heard the curse escape his lips, as you smiled and pulled him into a kiss. Your tongues intertwined as in a battle you both wanted to win, but he dominated, pressing you even tighter against his body as he thrust. "I need to see you on top of me." The words made you moan as he moved you on top of him. He settled on the bed as you watched the sweat on his forehead, his blond hair loose, and in that moment you were more certain than ever that he was the love of your life.

You quickly settled on top. In all the times Haaland had asked you for that, you knew he loved seeing you on top. Your folds settled again around him, and you loved watching how he closed his eyes for a few seconds and let the sounds escape, how he allowed himself to be vulnerable for you too. Your body bounced in search of your orgasm again, feeling his hands squeezing your body and helping you when you felt your thighs get slightly tired. But you knew what he needed and what you yourself needed — he was yours.

Your orgasm came in a whirlwind as your lips met his again, swallowing the sounds that came from each other. You came first, followed by him. It was something you loved: feeling him fill you completely with his seed. You hadn't used protection for a while — it was no longer necessary, as you took care of yourselves with medication. But you didn't want to stop feeling him that way.

"Erling..." You said his name, breathless, feeling him put his head on your shoulder and give a soft kiss on your neck as confirmation that he was listening. "I love you in all our lives." You felt the smile form on his face.

"We're each other's forever, darling." He lifted his head, his blond hair messy from your movements. You loved feeling your hearts beating together, like soulmates, and those green eyes looking at you as if you were the only one in his life. You knew you were — just as he was for you.

When the quarter-final matches arrived in Miami Gardens, between England and Norway, the crowd sang. The Norwegian fans' arms made the sailing motion as your husband scored the winning goal. Then he approached the area where you were, pointed and made the symbol of your name's initial with his hands, looking at you with those loving green eyes, as if to say he would always find you. You heard Helene's voice beside you.

"Looks like you have a Viking completely in love with you, miss." She said provocatively, as was typical of your friendly relationship. But this time, you smiled without blushing. You had a man who loved you out loud.

"Of course, that man is mine." The words came with the tranquility of someone who had the certainty of the love that existed between you, with the certainty that a life side by side couldn't be anything other than the purest perfection.

Hi angels, this is my first time writing about someone from football, so please be kind. I'm absolutely obsessed with this man and I finished writing this while watching the England vs Norway match — in this alternate universe, Norway wins and goes through to the next stage.

I got depressed just watching Haaland's sad face, but as a consolation to our hearts over this defeat, I bring you a fanfic about this delicious Viking. I hope you like it and that it comforts your hearts a little.

Feedback is always welcome and I accept requests — we need more Haaland fanfics, especially because he's perfect.

“you can take it,” he breathes above you. his cock is only halfway in, and you already feel so full. he looks at you with hooded eyes, lust-heavy breaths as he pushes you further into the soft mattress. “deep breaths for me, baby.”

the entire night, erling has been treating you as if you’re a porcelain doll. as if you’re made out of glass. your walls squelch around his length, the slick you’re producing not enough to accommodate all of him. you feel so full, and he’s not even fully sheathed in you.

“n-no—” you wince out, “just give it to me, i— please.”

erling lets out a small, but audible chuckle at your eagerness. he grabs your hand from his shoulder to press a warm kiss to the inside of your palm. “you’re clamping down on me, sweetheart,” he laughs, “gotta open up a lil’ f’me.”

his thick fingers slide to your clit, and the moment his digits start rotating, you feel your jaw grow slack. your thighs flex open a bit more, slick dribbling down on the — now soaking wet — sheets. “oh my—”

“just a little bit, yeah?” your boyfriend groans. and despite his build, his length wedged within you, his bulging biceps next to your face, he can’t help but shiver when he pushes himself further into your heat. “doin’ so good.”

and you actually squirm. it feels like he’s in your throat. “move— please, do something,” you plead again, trying to buck your hips upward.

erling grabs your knees all the way up to your shoulders. “last one, okay? then i’ll fuck you, nice and slow,” he presses a quick kiss to your knee, a stark constrast to the lewd position he’s put you in. “biiiig stretch.”

with one last, lengthy push into your pulsing pussy and a helpless whimper from you, his hips end up flush to yours. “ah, fuck,” the blond grunts out, and your eyes actually flutter shut at his intrusion. “s’tight.”

he gives you one experimental thrust, his overwhelming weight pushing you into the bed before springing you right back. his tip kisses your cervix, all warm and snug in your channel.

“y’good, honey?” erling asks, a hint of concern in his stare. you stretch your legs over his shoulders in the process to make yourself feel more comfortable, and your boyfriend’s hands immediately come up to caress your knees, the underside of your thighs. because where you quiver underneath him, he’s stable and sure above you.

“can’t take it?” he questions, acting like you struggling to take him is a joke. like you’re just something to play with.

at his bawdiness, you clench around his cock. all you can do is take it. let him have his way with you. he’s fucking everywhere: above you, inside of you. his big hands caressing your face.

you swallow, all soundless and out of breath as he feeds you shallow, careful thrusts. “you’re so— shit— big.”

erling’s amused face gawks back at you. “aww, baby,” he coos, gripping your chin between his fingers, your lips pouting. you can spot a glint of mischief, of pride in his eyes. “you’re doin’ real good for me.”

maybe it’s just in your hazy mind, but his thrusts go deeper now, sharper. and before your mind can process it, erling grabs your flabby hand and puts it on your abdomen.

fuck, you can literally feel his tip prodding under the fine fibres of your skin. it feels as if your eyes are going to roll out its sockets at any given moment.

“y’feel that, baby?” the only sounds in the room the creaking sounds of the bedframe lightly hitting the wall and your skittish whimpers. your boyfriend looks at you, adoration and elation mingled together in his gaze.

when you don’t respond at all — mind too hazy to even think of an answer — he breathes out a somewhat unnervingly obscene snicker. “‘m all the way in your guts.”

you’d never told anyone about this problem. you thought maybe you just weren’t ever able to come, or maybe you needed someone to show you.

enter erling haaland, your boyfriend. he could get you wet with just his tip, but you didn’t dare tell him that even in the lonely nights of thinking about him with your hand or a toy, you couldn’t come.

it was embarrassing, at least well you thought it was embarrassing.

“it’s just a minor problem, I’m sure it’s nothing—“

“how bout I watch?” he suggested. it sounded completely harmless to have him sit in the corner of the bedroom and watch, but it still felt wrong.

“watch? isn’t that weird?”

“only if you make it weird.” he shrugged like it was nothing and then guided you up to the bedroom.

now here you were.

legs spread open, fingering yourself while your boyfriend watches. you thought of him and his body. the scratches he had down his back from your nails and the occasional ones from football. you thought about his large hands, and how he would finger you, but nothing could seem to get you bothered enough to come.

“you’re too stiff.” erling commented.

he came over onto the bed, his cold hand gently pressing your hips down an inch and widening your legs, “if you’re thinking of me, which I know you are, I’m much bigger than this.” he scoffed at your unconscious error.

he carefully guided a second one of your fingers in, “you’re not even close to your clit, that’s why.” he says it gently, in a way that wasn’t judging but helpful.

he carefully guides your fingers to the spot he knew well. a spot he could find with his eyes closed and been spun around several times.

he pumped your fingers slowly, so you could feel yourself actually tightening and the pleasure you should feel.

“fuck,” you whispered slowly taking over the rhythm, erling’s hand still on top of yours for guidance.

he could feel his own cock harden in his boxers. aching to be free at the scene of you coming undone to your own fingers.

“good isn’t it?” he asks, gently he removes his hand from yours, slipping his own finger in making it three, “you can take it.” he smiled down at you, your tits bouncing, your body aching to release.

“good girl,” he purred, feeling his own cock dripping in precum now, just you clamping around his finger was enough to send him to the moon.

“come, y/n.” he demanded and following his orders you yanked your own fingers out and allowed yourself the release. he didn’t remove his fingers until they were dripping in cum.

opening your eyes, you saw he had come undone with you. his grey sweatpants were yanked down, his boxers completely ruined.

“thanks for the help.”

ivan had been learning english for years even before he came to montreal. he knew eventually he'd make it to the nhl, so knowing english early on was important to him so that he could eventually communicate.

but then he met you. and it's like all the english he'd known went right out the window. you just make him so flustered. he's like a little puppy, following you around and wanting to please you.

so, when you officially started dating him, you began to help him learn to speak more proper english so that he can come off clearer in his interviews and so that he's more understandable.

and, well... you've found a very certain way that always works when you want him to keep talking in english.

ivan is submissive. when it comes to you he can be on his knees before you even say the words. he listens to you, no matter what. he'll do anything you say. he likes you teaching him and guiding him.

so, you've figured it out. during sex, you only allow him to speak english. if not, well... that's a story for another time.

right now, you're straddling his lap on your shared bed, knees bracketing his hips as you sit on his cock that was nestled inside of you. you're not moving. not really. just an occasional rock of your hips.

ivan's already rock hard and begging. right now it's just little whimpers falling from his lips and tiny curses under his breath, hoping you don't hear them.

you know why he's trying to keep quiet. when ivan's in a submissive space and the two of you are having sex, he can't help but revert back to his native russian language when he speaks.

you bounced on him just once, and then moans fell from his lips along with an 'a, блядь.' (ah, fuck)

you stopped your movements. you two have a rule. no russian in the bedroom.

'baby.' you said.

he didn't even register what he did at first, just kept talking. in russian. 'hет, не останавливайся. tак приятно.' (no, don't stop. feels too good.)

'ivan, baby.' you cooed, running your fingers down the side of his face. 'look at me.'

his eyes snapped up to you, pupils blown wide. he didn't seem to understand why you'd stopped.

'что?' he asked. (what?)

you tsked, a low sound coming from the back of your throat. he knows better than that.

'no russian, baby, remember.' you reminded him.

'мне жаль.' he said but then corrected himself. 'i'm sorry.'

your fingers trailed down to lightly squeeze at his neck, at the sides of his throat.

'remember, you don't get to come if you keep talking like that.' you warned him.

it's a rule the two of you had come up with together a while ago. he finds that his english goes out the window when the pleasure is too good and russian takes over, but you don't understand it. and because he's so submissive, that's where the rule came from.

he nodded, trying to tilt his head up so he can give you a sweet and quick kiss. then he let his hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs brushing the dips of your waist as he helped you move on him again.

you started bouncing, letting the tip of his cock brush your cervix and your walls as you moved. ivan was biting his lip, not letting anything spill out.

'come on, baby. tell me what you feel.' you said.

'feels...' he trailed off. you tilted your head. you like giving him a chance to answer himself before jumping in. 'so good.' is what he settled on.

'good boy.' you cooed down at him.

his hips bucked up into yours as he let a moan and a cry fall from his lips as he tilted his head back onto the pillow covered headboard.

'love when you call me that.' he admitted.

'what? a good boy?' you teased. you felt his cock twitch inside of you at the words. 'oh, you like that. my good boy.' you said again just to make him shudder.

'yeah. i'm your good boy.' he breathed out. you rocked your hips in a specific way that had his grip tightening on you and a loud moan coming from his mouth. 'don't stop.' he managed to say, although most of it was a moan.

'my sweet and good boy.' you cooed. 'gonna come for me?' you teased.

'да.' and when he felt you stop... 'no, no, i'm sorry. yes, please. please let me come.' he whined out.

you ran a hand over his hair. 'well, since you asked so nicely.'

then you were bouncing again. his cock bumped up into you, pulsing as he shot thick ropes of white into your cunt. you switched from bouncing to rocking and rolling your hips in circles, your clit brushing over his pelvis as your own orgasm hit you, walls clenching around his softening cock.

ivan let out a moan. kind of a soft one like one of pleasure and relief instead of pure and raw need.

you stayed sitting on him even as you both came down from your highs. you made no effort to move yet, just basking in the moment. you reached up and brushed some of his hair back.

'my sweet boy. so good for me.' you said and he reached up and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down to rest on him and so he could bury his head in the crook of your neck.

he was just about purring as you kissed his forehead. he's gonna be asleep in no time.

'я тебя люблю.' he said in russian right before he drifted off. and you know this one, so you won't even chastise him for it.

your thighs bracket his hips, the mattress dipping beneath your knees as you settle above him. macklin’s chest rises and falls in shallow, quick breaths, his jaw set in a pout that’s as adorable as it is useless, arms folded behind his head in an exaggerated show of bravado. you watch his cock twitch to life, pressing up against his stomach, betraying every ounce of the attitude he’s pretending to wear.

“you think you can just do whatever you want with me, huh?” he grumbles, voice pitched low but shaky. “maybe i don’t want you on top tonight. ever think of that?” there’s a little flare in his eyes, a flash of challenge that makes your mouth curl in a slow, knowing smile. his lips twist, offended and stubborn, as he tries to wiggle away from your touch, only to realize how little room you’ve left him. “i could just roll you over right now, you know. i’m not some—some puppy you can order around.” the words come out in a rush, teetering on the edge of a whine, and his body betrays him with every pulse and twitch against your heat.

you lean forward, pressing your palms to his chest, feeling the way his heart skitters under your touch. “oh? you’re going to roll me over?” you ask, voice warm and teasing, letting your weight settle a little heavier, pinning him even as he tries to keep up the act. “go ahead, macklin. show me.”

he huffs, cheeks puffing out, trying to look serious. “i could. you just—caught me off guard, that’s all.” his hands flutter like he’s about to push you away, but you catch his wrists easily, pinning them above his head. his breath stutters, lips parting, chest arching up as your thighs tighten around him.

“sure, baby. you’re real scary,” you murmur, dragging your hips just enough for your wetness to smear along his length. his bravado crumbles with a shudder, hips bucking up despite himself, cock already hard and leaking.

“stop teasing,” he snaps, but the edge is gone, smoothed over by the need pooling in his eyes. “you always do this. you think you’re so—so in control. one day i’ll…” his voice falters as you roll your hips again, slow and deliberate, pressing him between your slick folds. his hands flex in your grip, but there’s no strength there now, just hope and desperation.

“you’ll what?” you whisper, leaning in close, letting your breath ghost over his cheek. “tell me. what are you going to do, macklin?”

he tries to scowl, but a needy whimper cracks through. “i’ll… i’ll make you beg for it. i’ll flip you over and—mmmh—” your fingers slide down, wrapping around his cock, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. his body jerks, all the fight leaving him in a single, trembling exhale.

“yeah?” your tone is syrup-sweet, soothing and mocking at the same time. “you gonna make me beg, honey?”

“mmm—no—i mean—stop…” he tries to glare, but his eyes are glassy and unfocused, his hips rolling into your hand without conscious thought. “you’re so mean,” he mumbles, voice dissolving, “always teasing me. it’s not fair.”

you release his wrists, and he immediately clings to your sides, fingers digging into your skin, desperate for something to anchor him. you line him up, sinking down onto his cock with a slow, aching slide, and it’s all over for him—his pout melts into a broken moan, eyes wide and pleading, mouth open in disbelief at the feeling of you squeezing him tight.

“that’s it, baby,” you purr, rolling your hips, grinding down so he’s buried deep inside you. “good boy. such a good boy for me.”

his head tips back, neck straining, teeth worrying at his lower lip as he tries—really tries—to keep up a front, but every thrust, every slow drag of your cunt around him, pulls another sweet whine from his throat. “i wasn’t gonna let you,” he whispers, voice already trembling, “but i-i can’t do anything... you always win.”

you kiss the tip of his nose, smiling against his skin. “i know, macky. you tried so hard, though. you’re just too cute when you try to be a brat. couldn’t take you seriously for a second.”

he whimpers, wrapping his arms around your waist, hips stuttering up to meet every slow, grinding thrust you give him. “please… just—please, don’t stop. i’ll be good. i promise. i’ll be so good for you.”