#vvd

Welcome. I’m a black woman in her 20s who loves to write. I love football, especially black players. Open to requests as I learn to navigate this app lol.

Jules Koundé:

Yellow to his Grey. (One shot)

Made for You. (One shot)

Water from the Moon:

Part one, part two, part three.

Love in Every Form:

Part one, part two.

Aurélien Tchouameni:

Sweetest Temptation:

Part one, part two

Virgil van Dijk:

Bambi:

Part one, part two, part three, part four.

Volary:

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen, part fifteen

Vrouwag:

Part one, part two

Venus vs Mars:

Part one, part two, part three

The Missing Piece:

Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine (final).

Pomum:

Part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen (final),

Pomum One shots:

Part One, Part Two

Mirage

Faolchú

Mythology series:

Hugo Ekitike(Dionysus), Joe Gomez(Poseidon), William Saliba (Ares) , Jules Koundé (Hades)

Kylian Mbappé:

Una Corda

William Saliba:

Heavyweight (One shot)

Heavenly Bodies

Erotic Series (18+)

William Saliba. Kylian Mbappe. Virgil van Dijk, Kylian Mbappe, Virgil van Dijk (Pomum: After hours), Xavi Simons, Virgil x William Saliba, Jules Koundé, Virgil van Dijk, William Saliba, Kylian Mbappé, Hugo Ekitike, Virgil van Dijk, Hugo Ekitike

Jude Bellingham:

Millennium.

Summary: In which he would trade a thousand years to be with her.

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Again and Again

Masterlist

Had a little free time today in between studying for exams and wanted to post a little snack for the Virgil girlies.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Hours blur together in a haze of heat and breathless pleasure until you’re left trembling—completely undone and entirely his.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Virgil Van Dijk x reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 1.2k

Warnings! NSFW / SMUT (18+), porn without plot, explicit sexual content, overstimulation, dom!Virgil, size kink, age-gap (a filthy 10 years), rough sex, praise & degradation (I tried), crying during pleasure, established relationship,

The moonlight spills across the duvet, cutting a sharp line between the shadows and the place where Virgil’s hand rests heavy and possessive on your ass, large palms giving you motivating squeezes.

You are breathless, your thighs burning with the effort of bouncing, but the way he looks at you stops you from collapsing. He is lying back against the pillows, chiseled frame completely relaxed, yet his presence consumes the entire room. His eyes, usually so focused and loving when he looks at you, are dark and half-lidded now, locked on your face.

"That's it," he rumbles, voice so deep in his lust that you feel it in your chest as much as you hear it. He reaches up, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you down until your forehead rests against his. "Doing so well, honey."

You can barely breathe, let alone speak. It’s overwhelming. He is so big, everywhere. The sheer size of him filling you up completely, a perfect, aching stretch that makes your toes curl. You feel the tears prick the corners of your eyes, the pleasure is that intense.

He wipes a thumb under your eye, catching the moisture, and his mouth quirks into a smirk. "my little crybaby." He loves seeing you like this—undone, trembling, and entirely his to break apart. "You can take it, can't you? Hm?"

"It-it's so… so deep," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you brace your hands against his hard, heaving chest. It’s a plea and a realization all at once; even after 3 years of nights exactly like this, you're still not used to the sheer scale of him. Your movements are growing sloppy, your rhythm faltering as the exhaustion starts taking over, a whine building in your throat that you can't swallow down.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of mock disappointment that shoots straight down your spine, and grips your hips to speed your drowsy movements. "Don't run from it," he commands, pressing kisses to your open mouth, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

You look so pretty like this… all sweet and ruined by him. Hips rocking up and down. The slick plap, plap, plap of lube and cum spilling from you with every bounce. His jaw goes slack at the sight, and he urges your chin downward with his knuckles to share the view with you.

"Got that pretty little pussy wrapped around me so tight…" His accent thickens, the vowels dragging out, making the filth spilling from his mouth sound like poetry, before his hand slides from your hip to your lower belly, pressing down firmly.

You cry out, your head tipping back, a broken sound that echoes off the walls of the bedroom you share. The added pressure from his massive hand is your undoing.

"Used to be so fucking sweet. An angel," he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe and making you shiver. "look at you now… riding me so good. Corrupted you," he groans, rolling his hips upward to meet your bounce, forcing a sharp cry out of you. "Got you addicted to it." He loves this—the fact that you only know this side of intimacy because of him. That he was the one to ruin you for anyone else.

The words make your face burn, heat burning your body as you arch closer. You are addicted to him. Forever changed because of the way he handles you, the way he loves you.

You sink your teeth into your lip, tasting salt, trying to stifle the noise, but his hand moves to squeeze your jaw, firm and demanding.

"No," he says simply. "Let me hear you." The authority in his voice snaps the last thread of your control. You let go, a ragged sob tearing from your throat as your body seizes, the orgasm crashing over you with the force of a tidal wave.

Your inner walls clamp down around him, fluttering uncontrollably, and you hear him hiss through his teeth, his grip on your hips bruising as he holds you steady, forcing you to ride out every single shockwave. The world goes white at the edges, your senses narrowing down to the feel of him pulsing inside you.

As the tremors finally begin to subside, leaving you limp and gasping against his chest, Virgil doesn’t let you stop. He takes over effortlessly, his hips snapping up with a renewed, punishing rhythm that draws a weak, overstimulated cry from your lips.

He chases his own high now, his breathing heavy and ragged in your ear. You're barely holding on, tired from the four previous rounds (not counting foreplay) and the sheer physical effort of taking him, but he holds you up, his strength infinite.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, the salt of your sweat and the vanilla of your body wash mixing together in a way that drives him wild. "Look at what I do to you," he pants, the words hot and damp against your skin. "Look at the mess you're making." He loves the evidence of his ownership—the way your body yields to him so completely, the way you’ve learned to take every inch because he taught you how.

You can only cling to his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his upper arms as he uses your body for his own pleasure. The overstimulation is a sharp, exquisite torture, rendering you boneless and pliant in his hands.

"Hold on, baby," he warns, though there's nowhere for you to go, his large palms spanning your waist to keep you pinned in place while he takes what he needs. The rhythm turns erratic, his control finally fracturing as he loses himself in the tight, wet heat of you.

He pulls you down hard against him one last time, burying himself impossibly deep, and groans low and long against your mouth as he spills inside you. You feel the pulse of it, the rhythmic throb of his length as he fills you up, the sensation so raw and intimate that it brings a fresh sheen of tears to your eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your combined ragged breathing and the blood rushing in your ears. He collapses back against the pillows, bringing you with him so you’re sprawled across his heaving chest, his strong arms banding around your back to hold you close.

The friction of his goatee grazes your forehead as he presses a lingering kiss there, his hand stroking up and down your spine in a soothing, silent apology for the roughness.

"You okay?" he murmurs after a while, his voice raspy and thick with sated exhaustion, the dominant edge from moments ago completely softened back into the gentle giant you married.

He pulls back slightly to look at your face, his thumb brushing a stray hair away from your eyes, his gaze searching yours with that fierce protectiveness that always makes your heart stutter. You nod, too drained to speak, burying your face in the crook of his neck and listening to the steady beat of his heart as it slows, feeling safe, small, and entirely loved.

LMAO😭