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@smzyyx
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scaring arthur through tiktok trends
content: established relationship , fluff , swearing , social media at the end
scaring arthur through tiktok trends
content: established relationship , fluff , swearing , social media at the end
wait guys it’s been like a month should I make a return or am I not relevant anymore x
I can’t get over him.
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Jude bellingham x Fem!Reader
sy: after england's world cup dream ends against argentina, all jude needs is someone to stay.
a/n: after seeing that interview where he had his hat pulled down trying to hide his eyes from crying so much... and then seeing how red they were... yeah, i had to write this 😭 every single clip i found was just him crying. omg someone pls take care of him fr. this is pretty short and simple, but i rlly hope u guys like it. pls pls tell me what u think
He fell asleep before you did.
Not peacefully — it was the kind of sleep that arrives after crying for a long time, less rest and more the body surrendering because it has no energy left for anything else. His breathing took a while to become regular, and you lay awake listening to it settle, your hand open on his back making slow movements that weren't meant to wake him, only to let him feel he wasn't alone while he slept.
You stayed like that almost all night.
Sometimes his breathing changed slightly and you paused your hand, waited, and when it settled again you continued. It was a small thing, doing that — it solved nothing, changed nothing, didn't return the game or erase those images you knew were in his head and would stay there for a long time. But it was what there was to do, so you did it.
The elimination had been cruel in the way World Cup eliminations are cruel — not in the way of teams that play badly, but in the way of a match that could have been something else, of moments, choices, and strategies that might have made the slightest difference. You had watched the game with your heart tight and then stayed with him afterward, and he had cried in the way only people who lived it from the inside out can cry — not contained, not managed, but the kind that comes when you have nothing left to protect because what you were protecting is already over.
You didn't say anything. You stayed.
Early in the morning, before he woke, you went to the bathroom and turned on the cold tap. You filled a bowl with water and the ice you had asked for the night before anticipating that morning, and folded a small cloth into quarters before going back to the room.
He was on his side, his face turned toward you.
You stood still for a second looking at him — at the closed eyes that even so gave away the night, at the swollen eyelids with that specific colour that comes from crying a great deal for a long time. There was something in it that was hard to look at, not in an unbearable way, but in the way it's hard to see someone you love having been through something large.
You sat on the edge of the bed slowly so as not to wake him.
You dipped the cloth in the ice water, wrung out the excess, and carefully placed it over his eyes. He shifted slightly — a reflex, the cold arriving in his sleep — but didn't wake. You held your hand over the cloth for a second, making sure it stayed in place, and then let it settle.
The ice water dripped sometimes. You moved your thumb along his temple to catch it before it reached his neck, a small gesture, repeated, that became rhythm without you noticing.
At some point he woke — it was gradual, his breathing changing first, and then his eyes trying to open and finding the cold cloth, and a half-second of confusion before processing where he was and what was happening. You saw the moment he understood.
"Hi," he said, his voice thick with sleep.
"Hi," you said, quietly.
He stayed still for a moment, with the cold cloth over his eyes and you sitting beside him, and there was in that silence someone arriving back from somewhere — not fully, not all at once, but gradually, the way eyes adjust to light after darkness.
"You were awake all night," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I slept a little," you said, which was partially true.
He lifted the cloth from his eyes with his hand and looked at you. His eyes were still swollen, the redness still there, but there was something else in them now — that specific expression that appeared when he was really seeing you, when there was no energy left to be anything other than what he was.
"You didn't have to," he said.
"I know," you said. "I wanted to."
You dipped the cloth back into the ice water, wrung it out, and placed it back carefully. This time his hand found your wrist while you did it — not holding, just resting, the light weight of someone holding onto something without quite knowing what.
The ice water ran down the side of his face.
You wiped it away with your fingers.
They were small things. All of them were small things, and they were all there was to do, and you did each one with the same care you would have given to large things. The room was quiet. The morning was arriving slowly through the gap in the curtain with that grey early light that doesn't impose, that lets things exist.
You stayed until the swelling in his eyes went down.
Not completely — it would take all day, probably, and there were things ice compresses don't resolve. But the redness gradually eased, and the eyelids settled, and at some point you noticed he was looking at you differently, with that quiet attention of someone paying attention from the inside out.
"Thank you," he said, with a voice that was more than the word.
You didn't say he didn't need to thank you. Sometimes people need to be able to give thanks for the things that mattered.
"Sleep a little more," you said, instead.
He closed his eyes. His hand was still on your wrist, his thumb moving slightly, that absent gesture of someone holding onto consciousness before letting it go.
You stayed where you were.
With the bowl of water on the bedside table and the folded cloth in your hand and the grey morning light arriving slowly, you stayed where you were.
ferrantorres: El sueño de cualquier niño del mundo 🤩
La persona más feliz del mundo ahora mismo
(ig, 20/07/26)
i see becky as a "straight" until tipsy tbh🥸 like u two are on a girls night and about 4 beers in she's asking if you've ever been eaten out by a girl before ykwim????
oh yes, i definitely know what you mean, anon!!
i also agree! i can definitely see becky like this, but i can also definitely see her properly eyeing you up the entire night (maybe if you did pre’s together) before she gets properly unhinged.
i can see her touching you a little bit, playing with your hair in her fingers as she’s complimenting you, telling you how hot and pretty you look tonight, watching how your cheeks flush at the compliments.
at the afters is when she starts asking the questions that really get you ticking. “so, tell me, have you ever been eaten out by a girl before?” she practically slurs, her eyes lazy and droopy as you go bright red with embarrassment.
“becky! that’s way too personal!” you squeak, looking away from her. that’s when her hand lands on your upper thigh, just where your dress has scrunched up, and her other hand meets your cheek.
“c’mon, tell me! we’re friends, it’s all good!” she’s reassuring you with a smirk on her face.
“fine. i haven’t,” you huff out, “happy now?”
becky then licks her lips, “much better,” she answers before asking, “wanna try it out?”
and suddenly, becky is on her knees, eating you out until you have the best orgasm of your entire life 😵💫😖
to any of my new followers that may be a bit creeped out later, this is your warning that my blog is dddne (dead dove). later on today i will be answering a lot of taboo asks, specifically ones including fauxcest and stepcest. if ur not comfortable with this, please block out the tag ‘tw/cw stepcest’ on my works. thank you <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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France’s defense without saliba is spooky
lamine yamal's little brother repping the most important merch of the cup: a paw patrol hat
if you guys are wanting to come on here slander alfie for certain things, you genuinely need to keep that energy consistent across all of ukyt for the integrity of your argument. you look stupid ignoring the fact that your faves have done the exact thing you’re complaining about alfie for doing
stop bringing up the same fucking ab drama xx i dont even like the dude all that much but keep it tf off the ukyt tag (why on earth its on the ab tag itself is strange just tag anti)
so fuckin boring. we get it, you don’t like him, we don’t care that you don’t like him. never known people to have someone’s name, that they don’t like, in their mouths this much.
coloured the sketch i really like this art
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i really needed to draw the new bach and arthur podcast yt thumbnail i freaked out so bad when i saw it
WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS, g. clarke
yours and george’s arrangement isn’t quite working for you anymore.
content/warnings: smut (18+), fwb!george, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cowgirl/riding, aftercare, straight into the action with a bit of plot at the end
request: i was wondering if you could possibly do a friends with benefits fanfic with either george clarke or chrismd? i love your fanfics and ID LOVEEE TO SEE YOU WRITING THIS 💓💓
notes: i chose george! thank you anon for the request!! also i’m testing out not putting a little moodboard at the top of the fic… what do we think?
