#rashford x reader

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ a stubborn heart; 

                 marcus rashford ────── 

even as his body succumbs to illness, marcus’ pride refuses to let him rest, and it’s driving you to the brink of insanity.

⭑  wordcount : three thousand four hundred twenty-two.

⭑  notes : this felt fitting to post given the alleged reasonings behind his absence in the squad

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Marcus Rashford wasn’t one to admit defeat easily—especially not to something as mundane as the flu. The moment he stepped through the door that evening, the winter’s icy fingers still clinging to him, you noticed the change. His usual confident stride was reduced to a slow shuffle, his shoulders hunched as though bearing an unseen weight. His vibrant, glowing complexion had faded to a ghostly pallor, and the light in his eyes was dimmed.

"Marcus?" you had asked softly, your voice filled with concern.

"I'm just tired." he replied, waving off your worry with a wan smile that failed to reach his eyes.

You had coaxed him into eating something—a simple meal that he picked at without enthusiasm. Every second that passed deepened your concern, each morsel he left untouched amplifying the unease in your chest. Something wasn’t right. You watched head upstairs, his steps heavy and reluctant, his usual energy drained.

Determined, you stayed back, rummaging through the cabinets for medicine, knowing full well that he would be resistant to taking it.

However, as you ascended the stairs with the pills in hand, you found him already asleep, his body curled under the blankets like a child seeking shelter from the world. His lashes rested softly against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted as he breathed evenly. He looked so peaceful, so incredibly endearing in his vulnerability, that your heart clenched with affection.

You approached quietly, not wanting to disturb the serenity of his sleep. The sight of him like this, his guard completely down, made you want to protect him from everything, even the fever that had sapped his strength. You set the medicine on the nightstand, slid under the covers beside him, and gently pulled him into your embrace. His body, warm and pliant, fit perfectly against yours, and you held him close, as if you could give him your strength through every the close contact.

Through the night, the wind howled outside, a mournful, relentless sound that rattled the windows, but you barely noticed. Your thoughts were consumed by the memory of Marcus’s weak smile, the uncharacteristic frailty that had taken over him. Sleep had barely begun to take hold when the sound of a soft whimper yanked you back into wakefulness. You turned on the bedside lamp, the soft glow revealing Marcus, his face etched with discomfort, beads of sweat dotting his forehead like morning dew on grass.

“Marcus?” you whispered, your voice a mixture of worry and tenderness. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He flinched at your touch, his skin sizzling hot beneath your fingers.

His eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. “I’m fine, love,” he croaked, his voice rough, each word a struggle.

You shook your head, concern knitting your brow. “You are not fine.” you said firmly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. “Look at you. You’re burning up.”

You reached for the medicine you had set aside earlier. “Here, take this,” you whispered, helping him sit up slightly to swallow the pills. He grimaced but complied, leaning back against the pillows as you eased him down again.

“No arguments,” you said softly, tucking the blankets around him once more. “You need to rest.”

He sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured.

“Well, you’ve managed to do just that.” you replied with a pout, your voice softening with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As you made your way down, the house was still, the only sound was the soft hum of the heater working to keep the cold at bay. In the kitchen, you moved with efficiency, pulling out a small saucepan to prepare a simple tomato soup. The rhythmic bubbling of the broth was a soothing counterpoint to your racing thoughts. You stirred slowly as the rich aroma filled the air.

Back in the bedroom, Marcus lay where you had left him, his breathing shallow but steady. The sight of him so vulnerable tugged at your heart. Setting the bowl down gently on the nightstand, you sat beside him, brushing a hand over his forehead again.

“Hey,” you whispered. “I made you some soup. Think you can manage a few sips?” You couldn’t help the note of worry that crept into your voice. “I know you barely ate anything earlier.”

His eyes opened, clouded with fatigue but laced with gratitude. “You didn’t have to,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse, each word a strain.

“You’re right, I didn’t have to, but look at you.” you replied with a teasing lilt, lifting a spoonful to his lips. “You’re as stubborn as a mule.”

He groaned softly, the sound both endearing and pitiful. “You’re mean.” he mumbled the childlike insult, but there was no bite to his words. His eyes fluttered closed as you brushed your thumb gently across his cheek.

“Just eat.” you urged, smiling despite yourself.

He opened his mouth, accepting the offering with a small nod. You fed him slowly, each spoonful a small victory, a reminder of the strength that still lingered beneath the surface.

As the night stretched on, you stayed by his side, your touch a constant reassurance. You replaced the cool cloth on his forehead regularly, whispering soft words of comfort into the quiet room. The fever seemed to tighten its grip on him, but you remained his anchor, your presence a soothing balm against the waves of discomfort that washed over him.

Marcus murmured softly, incoherent words that you recognized as little complaints about how awful he felt. He clung to you, seeking solace in your embrace, his body curling against yours in search of comfort.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, drawing soothing circles in to his skin as he eased into your touch. “I’ve got you.”

Eventually, his murmurs faded, his body finally relaxing as sleep claimed him once more. He usually always wanted to look after you, your rock in moments of vulnerability. But tonight, the roles showed you both how important balance was, and it felt so right to care for him, to be his strength when he needed it.

As you watched his peaceful face in the dim light, your own eyes grew heavy. Wrapped around each other, you both drifted off, the soft rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

-

The next morning, Marcus looked marginally better, but his attempt to act normal was painfully transparent. The first thing you noticed was the faint rustling of the sheets as he tried to move quietly, the sound subtle but enough to stir you from a light sleep. His movements were sluggish, deliberate, as if each motion required immense effort. He shuffled around the room, pausing intermittently to cough into his elbow, the rasping sound echoing faintly in the otherwise silent morning.

You kept your eyes closed, feigning sleep, but your mind was alert, tracking every labored breath, every pause that punctuated his weak attempts to go about his day as though nothing was wrong. His stubbornness was endearing, infuriating, and deeply worrying all at once.

“Morning, love,” Marcus said softly, his voice rough around the edges, straining to sound chipper. He leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “Go back to sleep. You were up all night taking care of me.”

The corners of your lips twitched in a half-smile as you groaned softly, your arms reaching up to loop around his neck. The warmth of his skin against your fingertips was feverish. “Morning,” you murmured, nuzzling into him, half-asleep. “Stay in bed,” you commanded gently, your voice still thick with sleep. “No training, no meetings—just rest. You need to stay inside all day, or you’ll get worse.”

Marcus’s lips curved into a small, rueful smile, one that you missed as you drifted back to sleep. He knew he should listen, that his body craved the rest you were insisting on, but his mind rebelled against the thought of missing practice. The team needed him, or at least that’s what he convinced himself.

With practiced ease, Marcus waited for your breathing to even out, signaling that sleep had reclaimed you. Carefully, he pried your arms away from his neck, each movement slow and gentle to avoid waking you. His body protested with every step, sluggish and heavy, but he ignored the mounting fatigue and the dull throb of his headache.

The footballer moved toward the wardrobe with a deliberate sluggishness, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for his gear. Dressing was a herculean effort; each piece of clothing felt heavier than it should, as if his body was reminding him with every motion that it needed to rest. His limbs felt encased in lead, the fever making his usually agile movements cumbersome and slow.

As he fastened his jacket, Marcus took a moment to steady himself, leaning against the edge of the dresser. The room swayed slightly, a dizzy spell washing over him, but he shook it off with a determined breath. He couldn’t afford to give in. Not yet.

With a sigh, Marcus grabbed a pen and a small piece of paper, his hand unsteady as he wrote a quick note: ‘At practice, will be home soon. I love you.’ The letters wavered slightly, but the message was clear and heartfelt. He carried the note to the kitchen and placed it on the fridge, securing it with a magnet in a spot he knew you'd see first.

Before heading out, Marcus paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing up toward the bedroom. The thought of you resting so peacefully tugged at his heart, filling him with both tenderness and a tinge of guilt for leaving knowing it would upset you.

He lingered for a moment, taking in the stillness of the house, before turning away quietly. As he slipped out the door, he knew the inevitable lecture awaited him when he returned—one filled with worry, love, and your unwavering need to protect him, even from himself.

-

Hours slipped by unnoticed, the quiet of the room thickening around you. It wasn’t until the faint chill of the sheets brushed your fingers that something felt off.

You sat up, the sheets tangled around you, your mind still heavy with the haze of sleep. Something was wrong. It took a moment to register, but then it hit you like a slap—his side of the bed was empty. Completely empty. You reached out instinctively, your hand hovered for a moment, as if the touch could pull him back, but the bed lay still, untouched by his weight.

What the hell?

Your heart started pounding, the panic rising in your chest. No way he went off to the pitch. He was dreadfully ill a couple hours ago—trembling, barely able to breathe, his body a wreck of shivers. There was no way he’d just gotten up and left.

You shot out of bed, your pulse quickening with each passing second. 

Please no, please no.

You called his name, a desperate plea hanging in the air, hoping you were wrong—hoping he hadn’t dragged himself to training. Maybe, just maybe, he was downstairs, sipping on some water, looking for more medicine. Anything but leaving. The thought of him pushing his body further when he could barely stand the night before, made your stomach twist.

You stormed out of the room, frustration boiling over. This man is going to be the death of me ran through your head. You wanted to scream, grab him, shake him, force him to stay still, to let himself heal.

But above all, all you wanted was for him to be okay.

Your gaze shifted toward the kitchen, and there it was—the note, stark against the fridge door. You moved toward it, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the words only made you groan in frustration. A mix of exasperation and worry curled in your stomach, the sharp contrast pulling you fully awake.

But Marcus was going to be home much sooner than you expected.

-

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last, when suddenly the sharp ring of your phone sliced through the silence. Your heart skipped a beat as the screen flashed with the name of someone from Manchester United’s medical staff. A wave of dread crept up your spine as you swiped to answer, already bracing for what you feared might be coming.

"Hello?" you answered, forcing your voice to sound steady, though it trembled at the edges.

"Hello, it’s Dr. Harris." the doctor’s calm voice came through, but it did nothing to ease the growing tightness in your chest. "Unfortunately, Marcus showed up to practice looking worse for wear. He could barely manage any of the drills before we decided to pull him. His fever's so high, he’s having trouble staying upright."

Your heart dropped, the worry you’d been suppressing all morning suddenly rushing to the surface. "Can you come pick him up since you��re his emergency contact?" Dr. Harris asked, his tone now laced with urgency.

Before you could respond, you heard the faint shuffle of someone else on the line, and then a new voice—someone from the medical staff—spoke up. "We’ve got him in the recovery room. He’s stable, but he’s worse for wear. Just get here as soon as you can."

You felt the blood drain from your face, a cruel panic gripping you as the pieces fell together. "I’ll be there soon." you said, already moving, your hands shaking as you grabbed your keys. You were furious with Marcus for ignoring everything you’d told him, but that fury felt distant now, overshadowed by the immediate need to reach him, to make sure he was okay.

You rushed to slip on your shoes, the cold air stinging your cheeks as you hurried out the door. The car seemed to drive itself as you tore through the streets, your mind a whirlwind of dread. 

Arriving at the training ground, you rushed toward the medical wing, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and urgency. The sterile scent of antiseptic hit you as you entered, a stark contrast to the usual lively atmosphere of the place. The sight of Marcus slumped in a chair, his normally vibrant skin pale and waxy, sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over you.

He looked up as you approached, his eyes glassy but softening with relief when they met yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmured weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper, the edges frayed with fatigue.

You shook your head, crouching down beside him, your hands instinctively finding his face. He was warm, too warm, the fever still clinging to him. “Marcus…” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “Let’s get you home.”

The ride back started off quiet—mostly because he looked too embarrassed to talk. The footballer sat slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window, the chill of the glass doing little to alleviate the heat radiating from his skin. The silence, however, didn’t last long. You couldn’t help but give him an earful, your concern translating into frustration.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" You gripped the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles going white. "You could've spread whatever you’ve got to the whole team—and made someone else sick in the process."

"I didn't want to let the team down," he muttered, his voice thick with congestion, barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"Marcus!" you shot back, the frustration clear in your tone, "Your teammates will be just fine without you in a training session. What they need is for you to get healthy, not to push yourself and risk being out even longer."

He sighed heavily, the sound thick with exhaustion. He didn't argue, though. You glanced at him, irritation starting to fade as you took in how miserable he looked. His eyes struggled to stay open, fluttering weakly.

"You’re going straight to bed when we get home," you said firmly, not giving him room for debate.

He nodded, a small, exhausted tilt of his head, but it was clear even that simple gesture took all his energy.

-

Back home, Marcus was worse than ever. His legs wobbled beneath him as you guided him inside, each step a monumental effort. By the time you helped him settle onto the cushions of your shared room, he was leaning heavily against you, his body surrendering to the fever’s relentless grip.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. The touch was tender, meant to soothe, but your words carried the weight of your concern.

He gave you a sheepish smile, one that barely lifted the corners of his lips. “Guess I am,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, each word labored.

You spent the rest of the day doting on him, a steady rhythm of care and devotion. The house was quiet, the only sounds were those of you moving around, fluffing pillows, and coaxing him to drink tea. Every time you pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, he sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut, momentarily free from the fever’s relentless assault.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” he mumbled at one point, his voice thick with gratitude, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“You’d probably be in worse shape.” you teased lightly, earning a quiet chuckle that rumbled from deep within his chest.

As evening rolled around, Marcus was still exhausted but slightly more alert. He shifted on the couch, his tired eyes following you as you moved around the living room, unable to tear his gaze away. Despite his weariness, you adored him, his love for you shining through the haze of his sickness.

“Come here,” he mumbled, holding out his hand toward you, a small, inviting smile gracing his lips. You sat beside him, and he immediately rested his head on your shoulder, his body relaxing against yours.

“Feeling better?” you asked toying with one of his curls.

“A little bit,” he admitted, though his pout told a different story, the downturn of his lips almost childlike in its sincerity. “But you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You laughed softly, the sound gentle and filled with affection. “Marcus, you’re sick.”

“So?” he grumbled, his pout deepening, his eyes glimmering with a mix of frustration and longing.

You sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple, the warmth of his skin brushing against your lips. “There. Happy?”

He groaned dramatically, a sound that was both adorable and pitiful. “That’s not a real kiss,” he complained, leaning in, his eyes locking onto yours with a soft plea. “Why can’t you kiss me on the lips?”

“Because, I’m not trying to catch whatever you’ve got,” you said, pulling away with a teasing smile, your laughter bubbling up despite the situation. “You’ll get all the kisses you want when you’re better.”

He huffed dramatically, the sound exasperated, his pout becoming more pronounced. “You’ve been close to me all day, so it shouldn’t matter,” he argued, though the energy behind his words was more of a soft plea than a genuine complaint.

You responded with a light smile, brushing your thumb across his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “Nice try, but I’m still not risking it.”

Marcus pouted more, his expression a blend of charm and exasperation, the sight tugging at your heart even as you tried to remain firm. “Fine, kisses when I’m better,” he muttered, snuggling closer to you, his body fitting against yours as though he belonged there. “But I’m holding you to that.”

As the sun deepened, you remained by his side, your presence a constant source of comfort for him. His breathing evened out, the fever beginning to loosen its grip, and as the minutes ticked by, you felt him relax further, his body melting into yours as sleep claimed him once more.

The house was quiet, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence. You sat with Marcus in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, his body warm and heavy with sleep. The weight of his trust and the depth of his love wrapped around you, anchoring you in the moment.

You watched over him, your heart swelling with a profound sense of peace. He was safe, and you were together—that was all that mattered.

© gul4bjamoons 

[hy6erion]

i love ur fics soo a rashford one would be lovely if u have the time :)

(maybe something angsty but with a sweet ending?)

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 (����𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫) - 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝑹𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (⁀ᗢ⁀) 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲

𝟏.𝟖𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

It had always been like this.

Dark rooms. Low whispers. The sharp sting of almost but never enough.

You loved Marcus. Loved him in the way that felt bigger than you, bigger than anything you could control. The kind of love that made you stay, even when it hurt.

And God, did it hurt.

It hurt when he walked red carpets alone. When he gave careful, practiced smiles to interviewers who asked if he was seeing anyone, and he answered with something vague—something that kept the world from knowing you even existed.

It hurt when he scored, when the stadium roared his name, and he celebrated with teammates, with cameras, with everyone but you.

It hurt every time you sat alone, watching him live a life you weren’t fully allowed to be a part of.

Just wait a little longer, he’d say.

One day, he’d promise.

I love you, he’d whisper into your skin at night, when it was just the two of you, when it was safe.

And you believed him. Because you wanted to. Because you had to.

Because if you didn’t, then what was all this pain for?

But one day never came.

And so, one day—you left.

Not with a fight. Not with a dramatic goodbye. Just a quiet, whispered truth.

“I can’t do this anymore, Marcus.”

The words landed like a death sentence, a final, irreversible thing.

He blinked. Just stood there, staring at you like he hadn’t heard you right.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice unsteady.

You exhaled, aching. “I do.”

His breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how. Like he had already lost the right.

But still—he tried. “Wait, just—just talk to me—”

You shook your head. “I have talked to you, Marcus. Over and over again.” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard, pressing a hand to your temple like you could physically hold yourself together. “I have waited, I have stayed, I have loved you in every way I know how, but I can’t—” Your breath hitched. “I can’t keep doing this if you’re never going to choose me.”

His face twisted, raw and desperate. “I do choose you—”

“No, you don’t.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You love me, Marcus, but you don’t choose me. And I can’t keep being the only one fighting for this.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

Then, barely a whisper—“Please don’t go.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

You wanted to stay. God, you wanted to. But love was supposed to feel like more than this. It was supposed to feel like something you could hold onto, something you could belong to.

And Marcus had never let you belong to him in the way that mattered.

So you stepped back. And then you walked away.

You didn’t look back.

If you had, you weren’t sure you would have survived it.

—

Marcus had never known silence could be so loud.

Your absence was deafening.

You were gone, and everything felt wrong. His bed, his apartment, his life—it all felt empty.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew why you left.

He knew that every time he asked you to wait, he was breaking you a little more. That every time he let the world think he was alone, he was making you feel alone.

But he had convinced himself that keeping you a secret was protecting you. That he was keeping you safe from the headlines, from the scrutiny, from the ugliness that came with his world.

What he hadn’t realized—what he realized far too late—was that he had been keeping himself safe.

And he had lost you because of it.

—

The first time he saw you again, it knocked the air from his lungs.

A party. A mutual friend.

He had almost not gone. He had been a mess for weeks—his performances weren’t bad, but they weren’t him. The fire, the passion—none of it was there.

Because you weren’t there.

But something had told him to go. Some last-ditch attempt to claw his way back to you.

And then— You.

Standing at the bar, fingers wrapped around a glass you weren’t really drinking from. You looked… different.

Tired.

Not in the way you did after long nights tangled in sheets and whispered laughter.

No. This was because of him.

The thought made him feel sick. Still, he walked to you.

And when you turned, when your eyes locked onto his—he knew.

Knew that despite everything, despite all the hurt, all the waiting, all the breaking—he still loved you.

More than football. More than fame. More than anything.

“Hi,” he said, voice rough.

You stared at him for a moment. Then—

“Hey.”

Silence.

“You look good,” he said, and God, he hated how inadequate it sounded.

You huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I’m surviving.”

His chest ached. “That’s not what I want.”

Your grip tightened on your glass. “Yeah, well. Neither do I.”

Marcus exhaled sharply. “I fucked up.”

You laughed, but it was sharp, bitter. “Yeah. You did.”

He ran a hand down his face. “I was scared.”

Your jaw clenched. “You were scared?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Do you know what it was like for me, Marcus? To love you in secret? To sit alone after your matches, after your wins, because I wasn’t allowed to be there?”

His stomach twisted, because—yes. He did know. He had made it that way.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted. His voice was quiet now, almost pleading. “I thought—I thought keeping us private would keep you safe.”

Your breath hitched, but you shook your head, eyes glistening. “You weren’t keeping me safe, Marcus. You were keeping yourself safe.”

Silence.

And then—soft, broken—“Do you still love me?”

Your breath stuttered.

And he saw it. The hesitation. The moment you almost said no.

But then—“I never stopped.”

Something inside him snapped.

“Come to my match on Sunday.”

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw was set. “I want you there. No hiding. No sneaking around. No more secrets.”

Your lips parted slightly. “Marcus…”

“If you don’t want this, I’ll walk away. But if you do—if you still love me—come.”

He held his breath. And then—

You walked away. Again.

But this time, he let you. Because now, it was your choice. And all he could do was wait.

———

The stadium was a roaring, chaotic sea of red and white, but to Marcus, it may as well have been silent. The match was happening around him, the ball moving, teammates shouting, the crowd vibrating with noise—but none of it mattered.

Because he didn’t know if you were here. If you had come.

If you had forgiven him enough to step into the light after all the years he had made you live in the dark. His pulse was a hammer in his chest, his every movement tight with restraint. He had one half—maybe—to score. To do something.

To look for you. To find you.

And if you weren’t there— He wasn’t sure what he would do.

—

You had told yourself you wouldn’t come.

That you couldn’t put yourself through this again, through him again.

But then Sunday arrived, and you woke up with your heart in your throat, your limbs heavy, your stomach aching with something sharp and restless.

And the next thing you knew, you were here.

Sitting in the stands, coat wrapped tight around you, hands locked together in your lap like they were the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.

The noise was deafening. The stadium, massive.

And yet, you felt so, so small.

It wasn’t just about the cameras. The attention. The knowledge that, if you let yourself be seen, there would be no undoing it.

No— It was the fear.

The fear that you would sit here, your heart laid bare, and Marcus wouldn’t look for you. That after all his words, all his promises—he wouldn’t actually choose you.

And if that happened… You weren’t sure you would ever recover.

—

Then the second half started.

And Marcus—

He came alive.

He had played well before, had held his own, but now—

Now, he moved with the kind of desperation that only meant one thing.

He was searching. For you.

You could see it—the way his eyes flicked to the stands every time he sprinted past, the way his celebration after a teammate’s goal was muted, distracted. The way he played like a man chasing something.

The ball came to him. Perfectly placed. An opening in the defense. A moment.

And Marcus took it.

A breathless cut inside, a flick of his boot— And then—

The ball soared past the keeper. The net rippled. And the stadium exploded. The sound was deafening. The world around him blurred into color and movement and chaos.

But Marcus—Marcus had one focus.

He turned. Spun. Ran. Straight to the stands. Straight to you.

And for the first time in years— There was no hiding.

—

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Because he was looking right at you. Because he had scored, and he had searched for you immediately. Because he had just celebrated a goal—his goal—by running to you in front of everyone.

Then he crouched. Hands reaching for his boots. Your stomach plummeted.

Because there—bold, unmistakable, in writing big enough for the cameras to catch—

Was your name.

Not a hidden initial. Not a coded symbol. Not something only the two of you would understand.

Just your name. For the world to see.

A statement. A promise. A choice.

Your breath hitched violently in your throat, something hot and painful burning behind your eyes.

Marcus stood, chest heaving, eyes locked on yours. And you saw it.

The rawness. The plea.

Are you still mine?

Your hands trembled. The entire stadium was watching.

It was only him. Just Marcus.

The boy who had loved you in secret, now loving you in the light. So you did the only thing you could. You stood.

Just enough for him to see you. Just enough for him to know. That you were still his. That he had won.

Before you could even process it, he was running—past the touchline, past security, ignoring the shouts of teammates and officials and cameras— Straight to you.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate. A collision of lips and hands and breathless relief.

It was raw and reckless and full of every single moment he had made you wait, every single night he had whispered soon, every single second he had wasted keeping you in the dark.

The stadium erupted. The cameras flashed. The world saw.

You kissed him back.

It was finally real.

[i0veless]

➛ MARCUS RASHFORD ABC (FLUFF EDITON)

𖥻 WARNINGS ー [ none ] 𖥻 AUTHORS NOTE ー [ requested by @lcvertrl "can you do abc fluff for marcus rashford" okay I am not a united fan by any means but to celebrate them winning a trophy (finally) heres come rashford content ]

➛ previous | taglist | masterlist | next

a :: attractive ➛ what do they find attractive about the other?

you found his confidence and his sense of humour attractive, while he thought your eyes and your smile were adorable.

b :: baby ➛ do they want a family? why/why not?

later down the line absolutely. but not just yet, they wanna get the timing right as having a child is a big step in their relationship. I feel like marcus would want to be a girl dad but ultimately he couldn't mind as long as you were happy.

c :: camera ➛ how do they document their relationships? who likes to take pictures? or videos?

marcus has multiple folders on his phone dedicated to photos of you doing anything to everything. probably prefers taking photos but has his fair share of videos too. while you, on the other hand not so much sure there may be a few but not nearly as many as marcus.

d :: dates ➛ what are their dates like?

a mixed bag really, but leaning towards the more classic romantic date. dinner (more to going out than staying in), picnics, beach days, spa nights and going on short holidays abroad, being a few.

e :: early ➛ what was the first month of dating like?

easygoing and light-hearted. taking time to get to know each other and savouring the small moments. dates almost twice a week, self-care night while watching movies after a tough match.

f :: friends ➛ how is their relationship with each other’s group of friends?

his friends like you instantly. They could tell how happy their friend was with you. you also had a similar sense of humour and were easy to gel with. but your friends, on the other hand, were a bit more hesitant. they made him earn their approval, as they were still under the impression that he was just another fuck boy footballer.

g :: gifts ➛ do they like giving each other gifts? what kind?

expensive. yet still sentimental, designers are a must and anything you want you will get. but will still give you the occasional very thought-out gift that will leave you short of breath and teary eyes.

h :: hugs ➛ all things involving hugs

back hug. the best kind. marcus is taller than you, so naturally, your body just sinks into his chest and softens under his warm embrace, which will probably lead to cuddling on the sofa. but he also is an avid enjoyed of all things hugs as closeness is something he loves to share with you.

i :: impression ➛ what was their first impression?

neutral, you were introduced by a mutual friend at a party, and the two of you weren't exactly sober. so the alcohol may have been the one swaying you to say it was a good one. but the first sober encounter was a good one at one of his matches after winning an important match.

j :: jealousy ➛ who gets jealous easier? how do they show their jealousy?

I would say that neither of you is really jealous unless someone is overstepping the boundaries. marcus is protective of you, not in an overbearing way but in a way that he cares for your safety and never wants you to feel uncomfortable by the advances made on him or you.

k :: kiss ➛ how do they kiss? who usually initiates?

depends if their in a rush, short and sweet pecks on the lips or checks. but if they have time-long and sensual kisses filled with passion and as for who initiates them, I would say it's 50/50 you are both comfortable with sharing intimacy and aren't afraid of expressing your physical affection for them.

l :: love ➛ how do they first say those three words?

marcus didn't really plan it he just stated it out there after spending a night together. and he had you smiling like an idiot, and of course, you said it back, and the rest is history.

m :: memory ➛ what’s their favourite memory together?

after winning the carbo cup, marcus couldn't keep his hands off you the whole night was spent with his teammates and you as you celebrated the well-deserved win, and it was also the night that marcus proposed.

n :: nicknames ➛ things they call each other

marcus would definitely call you stuff like angel, darling, baby, my love. while I feel like marcus loves nicknames on you he would hate them on himself the only few exceptions being babe and rashy otherwise just call him by his name.

o :: one ➛ tell us about the moment they realized they were with the one

a cold winter night, and marcus and you were watching a movie, the nightmare before christamas and the two of you were arguing if it was a charismas or halloween movie. as the two of you plead your case, rashford couldn't help but watch how you matched his intensity and passion. and it was there, and then he knew you were the one.

p :: pda ➛ public displays of affection between the two

not super public but also not afraid to show people you are his; holding hands is common, and maybe a peck on the lips as well. as sometimes may make out with you in a dark ally way if drunk enough. hand on waist, 24/7.

q :: quite ➛ do they break up? almost break up? what happened?

Low points in marcus's career would definitely strain the two of you, and would it lead to a breakup? maybe if the two of you do not address the issues and continue to ignore them. also, the media constantly talks about marcus and other women. which would make anyone insecure in their own right.

r :: romance ➛ how romantic are they? what would they do to make their partner happy? cliché or rather creative?

very romantic. just like the movies. marcus is a gentleman first footballer later. and knows how to treat his partner. maybe very cliche and predictable but it still makes you happy.

s :: support ➛ are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? do they believe in them?

100% supportive of each other no matter what they choose to do, even if it's without each other, and support each other publicly and privately, being an honest opinion if they ever need it.

t :: texting ➛ do they text each other a lot? What do they usually talk about over the phone?

when marcus is abroad for a match, they text all the time, not so much as call (maybe once or twice), but they def do check-ins though out the day otherwise, not so much. I imagine the two of you moved in together when it started getting serious, so there was no need to text when you were face-to-face 24/7.

u :: unique ➛ tell us about a habits that they have

marcus wakes up super early and always makes breakfast even if he has training. while you on the other hand are obsessed with soft things and marcus may or may not feed into that when he buys you gifts.

v :: vanity ➛ something they’re proud of in themselves and their partner

shows off his partner every time he gets, talk about them like they have done it all. But when it comes to himself marcus is very humble even though you do brag a fair bit about his achievements.

w :: wedding ➛ tell us about your wedding head canon if they’ve gotten that far. or if not, have they talked about it?

definitely getting married, similar to their thoughts on having kids. they want it, but not just yet. they are both young and have a lot to live for, so they don't want to rush it and possibly fuck up the relationship. but eventually, they will tie the knot with a low wedding with a lot of high-profile guests.

x :: x ➛ something they hate about the other

you greatly value alone time, and sometimes marucs may not take the hint, which leads to a bit of agitation but nothing the two can't solve. and it's a no-brainer that marcus is very busy, so sometimes he hates when you sometimes give him a hard time for 'not putting in effort' but once again his scedual is clear he will spend all the time in the world making it up to you.

y :: youtube ➛ what are they like online? Do they post about their relationship constantly?

you and marcus are both very busy, yet you still find a way to post about each other constantly. whether it's an insta story, tiktok, or tweet, you keep some part of your relashiship private to avoid the public knowing everything about your two relationships.

z :: zoo ➛ are they into animals? Do they want pets? What kind?

marcus is definitely more of a dog person. He already has a dog (saint), and I think he would want a couple more, but I can't see the two of you going past three. As it is a lot of effort to maintain dogs, but overall very much enjoys keeping them as part of his family.

[lilirari]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ ( ⚽ ) . . . FAKE TEXTS ⁴ !

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ꩜⋆ yeah, marcus, you look like national geographic. i love making these fake texts for taa & jack sm the silly texts are so perfect for them 😭 also i feel like balde's can work both ways tbh. he'd just " nah " you if you ever told him you were breaking up with him.

© LILIRARI, 2023 ★

[corriganatheart]

His Maddest Desire (He LOVES her, but she HATES him) Jude Bellingham x reader

Synopsis: She was the opposite of what he needed; the shadow that no one noticed but him. Since the beginning, Jude had always liked Y/N, and his feelings grew every time he saw her. His reputation as a womanizer only makes her question his intention and pushes him away, but that never stops him from chasing after what he wants.

Pairings: Jude Bellingham x reader

Genre: Forbidden romance x Enemies to Lovers x One-sided love x Dark Romance

Warnings ⚠️: Cursing, mention of sexual content 🔞

You weren't sure if you should be depressed about the situation or be relieved. Your family has totally forgotten that you existed and moved on with the welcoming speech without you. On any occasion, you would've been ok with it, but today your distant family was here, and you wore a beautiful dress that complimented your beauty in every way, but instead of flaunting it in front of everyone, you are hiding behind a concrete pole, away from the crowd.

"The L/N family will like to welcome you to our 100th anniversary in business!" You heard your dad exclaim and could see his hand raise his cup, but you were too far to see his face. You look at the number of people in the room; they've doubled since last year, and most are influential people worldwide. From current presidents to famous celebrities, you name it all, your family is connected to everyone. Your heart rate increases as you glance from one person to another, realizing he might be here too. "And my precious gem, my daughter Anastasia will take over the family's business and become the heir of the L/N family!"

Your heart immediately stops for a second, and your vision begins to blur as people clap and cheer for your sister. From the distance, in the spotlight, you see your sister, in the most beautiful dress and most beautiful face standing on the stairs waving and smiling at everyone. She looked confident, ambitious, and strong, something you weren't and would never be. Deciding that it was best to remove yourself from the gathering, you start running to the far end of the mansion, away from everyone.

The cold weather immediately hits your face when you enter the balcony. The city light shines from afar, away from your family's mansion on the mountain. Everything about your city was beautiful, filled with lights you'll never see in person. And even if you did, you’ll still feel ashamed, saddened, and distressed that tinted people ran the city—a family that doesn’t care about anything but power and money.

You look up at the stars and examine their beautiful design. They were all gorgeous, showing their beauty on the blank black canvas, and each star formed its meaning. One particular one formed a shape like a woman with Angel wings. She was floating with a knife-like structure in her hands. She looked powerful among the other stars.

“Her name’s Nemesis,” a familiar voice with a deep English accent says. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. His voice and the smell of expensive fresh cologne were enough to confirm that he was one of the most influential football players in the world. “She is the goddess of revenge and quite literally an underrating woman.” Your heart beats faster as you feel him getting closer to you, and you want nothing more than to leave without having to look at him.

Jude Bellingham is known for his looks, accent, personality, athletic abilities, influential status, and womanizer. He was everything you needed to avoid, but he always seemed to find you no matter where you were. “Myths say she is more beautiful and stronger than Athena and Aphrodite, and I can assure you she’s everything they say she is.” Your heart skips a beat, maybe many more, as he stands next to you. "Why are you alone, angel?"

Since birth, you have always been in your sibling's shadow. Your sister Anastasia was the golden child of the family. She had the looks, brain, personality, and quite the influence on others. Everyone loves her, and she was your parent's whole heart. Your brother, two years older than you, is the middle child and your mother's son. He was a mommy's boy, and even though he was now an adult, your mother would do anything for him. Your father, on the other hand, was too occupied with Anastasia and the family business to care if he had a son or not. The L/N family was complete with a daughter and a son, but you came into this world unexpectedly. Your biological parents passed away the day you were born, and your birth mother was the best friend of your adoptive mother. And even though she didn't want you, she wanted to be a hero, so your parents went along with the adoption, and you were taken in unwanted.

Growing up, you had quite a fancy life. Money, food, maids, fancy parties, and private schools, but you were never provided the same treatment as your siblings. You understand that you aren’t their biological child, but you’ve been in their family for so long that it seems that way.

Your father, who was always busy, would only talk to you when needed, such as school work and attending events, and your mother would only speak to you when it concern your physical image or family photos. Overall, besides being ignored by your family, you lived a comfortable life and were used to the cold silence from your parents, but it still hurts.

"Y/N?" He asked softly after realizing that your mind was no longer with him. "Why are you alone, angel?"

You close your eyes at the nickname that he gave you years ago. It does many things to you, and no matter how much you try to tell him to leave you alone, Jude Bellingham is always around. “Go back to the party Jude. My brother will be looking for you.”

He remains calm, and from the corner of your eyes, you can see him twirl the glass of whiskey while looking ahead. “Rowan is fine. He’s got blondes, brunettes, red hair, and black hair surrounding him,” Jude says with amusement. You rolled your eyes and placed your hand on the concrete rail, feeling the coldness of it. “My brother’s player ways will never die down,” you mumbled disgustingly.

Your brother, Rowan L/N, is a womanizer, and he doesn’t necessarily have a type. As long as you were a girl and were down for a one-night stand, he would take you to a hotel within a heartbeat. He wasn’t picky with Women either and found all types of women beautiful: curvy, skinny, average, tan, pale, dark; he liked them all. And although he may not seem like it, he respects a woman a lot, and that’s why he’s a mommy’s boy. You and your brother get along just fine, and in high school, he protected you from bullies, but now that he is a university student, you have distanced yourself a little. He wasn’t the older brother you knew from high school; your brother has become colder, bolder, and more like your father.

“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you out here alone?”

The concern in Jude’s voice causes you to look at him angrily. You didn’t need his concern, and you didn’t need his pity; you’ve had enough of those. “What game are you playing, Bellingham?” You asked. Jude raises an eyebrow and places his cup on the rail. You watch one hand disappear into his pocket while the other reaches for your hair, tugging it behind your ears. “Now I see you,” he mumbles and smiles softly.

You look at his lips and then his eyes; gosh, he was beautiful, with a sculpted jawline, thick lips, and a smile that could make a girl get on her knees. But you couldn’t be one of those girls; you were not his type. You have seen the girls he surrounds himself with, and you weren’t them, and he was playing games with you.

“Go find Rowan. He wouldn’t like his best friend with his little sister,” you said as you started stepping away from him. Jude doesn’t budge; he oversees you, examining your moves like always. “He wouldn’t think any of it,” Jude says. You bite your lower lips, “because we just don’t fit,” you immediately spit.

Jude’s eyes go dark as he focuses on yours, and you see how his jaw tenses. You’ve said many things in the past that hurt him, and you knew it’s one of these that gets him railed up. “Why do you hate me?” He asked casually, mainly because he had asked this question many times. And you wish you could answer him, but you don't know either.

You first met Jude when you were 12, and he was 14. Your brother befriended him while they attended an all-boys junior high, and he was one of those friends that would always come over. You remember the first time the two of you made eye contact. It was an immediate attraction on both ends and like the curious cat you were, you stayed and watched him play football with your brother.

Since the beginning, you always attend an all-girls school, and the only boys you've been around are your brother, cousins, and your dad's men. Seeing Jude for the first time, you were immediately drawn to him mainly because he was the most beautiful boy you have ever seen and because of the way he handled the soccer ball. Jude must've also noticed you because he showed off more and was constantly making sure you saw his dribble, scores, tricks, and everything he did; he did it with a purpose. After that day, Jude came over more often, and you always watched him play with your brother. And when you finally reached high school, he became bolder and started flirting with you, asking you to homecoming, inviting you to his games, and doing everything with you in his mind. But never once did you fall for him because, in the back of your mind, you were incapable of being loved, and Jude was only going to break your heart. Unlike you, he was everything everyone wanted, the golden boy, and he was still one.

"Why are you so mean?" he asked, stepping closer to you.

You back up, and he looks down at your shoes, unpleased by that movement. “Don’t step away from me,” he demanded softly as you stood four feet away. “Why?” You asked, even though you knew his answer. Jude grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest, “because I am your man,” he whispers in your ear.

Your heart races rapidly as you feel his hand trace the back of your dress. He was so close to you that his cologne almost caused you to faint. Jude was much taller than you, and your head barely reached his shoulders, and it was so easy for you to hear his heartbeats. And just like you, he was also under the influence, and his breathing was getting harder and harder as his hands trailed up further.

“I am yours, and you’re mine. We fit Y/N,” he says and places his forehead on yours. You close your eyes and imagine the two of you alone, entirely away from everyone. Your life would’ve been more straightforward if you were born into an average family and met Jude accidentally. But you weren’t normal, and you were born into a loveless family that controls your every move. And Jude was a professional footballer that everyone loved. You knew Jude was destined for greatness the moment you looked at him, and unlike you, he was meant to be loved by the world. In the future, he will marry someone important, friendly, beautiful, and loved by everyone, like your sister. And you will be left behind closed doors as his mistress and never be seen again. The two of you just don’t fit.

“What do you want from me, Bellingham?” You asked while exiting his arms and stepping a couple of steps away. “Do you think I will fall for your tricks? Do you think I’ll say yes, and we'll marry in the future while you take one girl after another like your football buddies?” You aggressively asked. Jude glares at you frustratedly as you continue to speak your mind. “Look at me and look at all those girls. We are opposite!”

The two of you stare at one another for god knows how long. The conversation was familiar, and it was giving you deja vu. Jude was very persistent; no matter how many rejections he got from you, he was still chasing. But that never stopped him from fooling around with other girls to show you what you missed. But the two of you knew damn well he would drop anyone in a heartbeat if you came to him.

“I’m not like that,” Jude says softly, his hands hidden in his pocket to keep himself from reaching for you. “You know I want only you.”

It was hard to concentrate on hating him when he said the sweetest, most beautiful things in life. You knew who he was, and the womanizer image was only to make you jealous. But if you admit that you hated the blondes, brunettes, redheads, ginger, and many more girls that he had been associated with, it would only confirm your feelings, and you weren’t going down that path.

“Why?” You quietly asked while looking at the floor, avoiding eye contact with him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

You feel his fingers lift your chin, and in a second, you make eye contact with him. “Is it that hard to see yourself the way I see you?”

No one would’ve ever thought that Jude Bellingham could ever get rejected by a girl. There have been numerous times when he respectfully refused girls, and there have been times when he would use them for pleasure. But it was now getting to him that no matter how many girls he got; his heart still yearns for you and it will only be you that he wants.

"You will eventually marry someone else," you mumbled. "Someone older, wiser, prettier, and at the same level as you."

With a heavy heart, Jude reaches to stroke your face, but you slap his hands away. "Stay away from me, Bellingham.”

You wander back to the hall room, and from the corner of your eyes, you see your brother standing near the champagne fountain, surrounded by numerous girls. On one side, he has another friend of his, Trent Alexander Arnold, and on another side, he has Kylian Mbappe. They all smiled while chatting and flirting with the girls. You take in the way Trent constantly looks bored, and his eyes wander around the crowd, whereas Kylian is very invested in the ladies. To their right, a couple of tables away, your sister was talking to some women around your mother’s age, one of them being Jude’s mother.

It was no secret that your mother and Jude’s mother always wanted to be in-laws. And you were never an option, but your sister was perfection and the apple of everyone’s eye. Jude’s mother had always liked your sister, and the engagement between your sister and Jude would be brought up soon. That is another reason why it was best you stay away from him.

“The party is a bit dense, don’t you think?”

Your shoulder jumps from the voice, and you immediately turn around to see Marcus Rashford standing behind you, with a drink in his hand and the other hand tucked in his pant. He was wearing a white dress shirt with some buttons down, revealing some ink on his chest. His hair was freshly cut, making him look more handsome than you remember.

Marcus was an acquaintance of your dad and one of your sister’s friends. He was always rumored to be dating your sister, but you don’t think there's any potential because despite your sister showing interest in him, Marcus rarely acknowledges her.

“You don’t speak much do you little one?”

You frowned at his nickname for you because you guys aren’t anything at all for him to give you nicknames. This was probably the first time the two of you have ever spoken.

“Why are you talking to me?” You asked quietly despite the room being loud. Marcus smirks and sips his drink, “why haven’t I talked to you is the real question,” he mumbles. You frown and was about to walk away when he grabs your elbow. “Care to dance?” He asked. You look behind your shoulders to see your sister staring your way, eyeing the part where you and Marcus are touching. “Your girlfriend won’t like that,” you said, and Marcus glanced at your sister. “She’s not my girlfriend.” And that should’ve been enough for you to take him up on his offer, but you instead think about your sister’s wellbeing and decide it was best to decline. “I’m sorry but I have to go,” you said and quickly excused yourself.

As you quickly exit the ballroom again, you feel a couple of eyes on you, sending shivers down your spine.

“Jude!” Rowan exclaimed when he walked into the private room made for his casual hookups.

Jude nods and looks around the room, seeing a couple of his friends and acquaintances surrounded by girls, many girls. Your brother has two blondes next to him, with white lingerie on. On the couch in front of him, Mbappé was getting sucked off by two girls while the others were close to having sex. At the center of the room stood two naked girls dancing on the pole with red eyes.

Your brother nods his head towards the couch next to him; a girl that looks similar to your sister is sitting on it, and there is no question that she was brought in for him.

“Enjoy yourself, man,” Rowan says with a smirk. Jude grabs a bottle of champagne on a table and approaches the girl. She was beautiful, with a banging body, a girl he would usually hook up with but never chase. It was honestly torturing to want someone that doesn’t want you back, and the only way to get rid of that feeling was to drink, snort, and fuck. But even that didn’t help.

“Heard my mother and your mother talking. I know they want you all together, but it ain’t happening, man,” Rowan says, “my sister wants Rashford.” Jude chugs his bottle of Champagne, not giving a damn about who your sister wants. The only thing on his mind was to get you out of his system. “You have anyone else in mind?” Rowan asked. Jude smirks and lays both of his hands on top of the couch. The girl next to him was very bold and seductive. Her hands were already roaming his body and unbuckling his belt. “Anastasia is not my type,” Jude shrugs. Your brother raises an eyebrow, clearly not understanding why Jude would say that. He has seen the way Jude interacts with your sister and the way he is constantly being nice to her, so he assumes that Jude has a crush on her. “Then what is your type?” Rowan asked.

Jude lays his head back on the couch and guides the girl’s head down into his unbuckled pant. He then closes his eyes and sighs. “I prefer sexy (eye color) with (hair color) that is always perfectly straightened or perfectly curled. She also wears innocent-looking dresses and looks like an Angel but is a sexy beast that I can never let go.”

Your brother stared at him blankly and looked down at the girl that was now sucking off Jude. She looked like your sister but was the total opposite of what Jude described. Rowan then narrows his eyes, “Careful, Bellingham. I might have thought you were actually describing Y/N.”

Jude chuckles darkly and rolls his shoulders, “We fantasize about things we can’t have; that’s in our nature.” He then closes his eyes, and the image of you appears as he guides the girl’s head to his climax.

You stare at your reflection. Fresh out of the shower, wet hair, smooth lotioned skin, and no scars anywhere.

It was ideal for the women in the L/N family to look their best no matter what, and maybe your mother took that way too far. Growing up, you and your sister were constantly showered with lavish clothing, the best skin care product, the most expensive makeup artist, and the wealthiest designers. Of course, your sister had everyone's best interest, but still, your mother did not forget that she has an adopted daughter with her genes.

"Your sister's birthday is coming up," your handmaiden, Virginia, says as she combs your hair. You smiled and nodded, "she'll want to throw a big one," you mumbled. Virginia hums, agreeing with that statement. She was a couple of years older than your sister and has known you her entire life. She was only a teenager when her parents started working for your family. And when she turned 18, she immediately became your maid. "You know everyone will be there with a date," Virginia says while applying scented oil to your hair. You look at her through the mirror knowingly. She was the only person who knew of your complicated relationship with Jude. “Everyone but me,” you smiled. Virginia chuckled and started braiding your hair so it could be curly tomorrow. “I’m sure there are many single gentlemen that would love to accompany you,” she says. “For example, Marcus Rashford seemed to be interested in you. Or maybe Trent Alexander Arnold, who has always stared at you, and don’t forget Kylian Mbappe, who may be a little older but is a fine gentleman.”

You wait for Virginia to laugh and say it was a joke, but unfortunately, she doesn’t. “They’re all friends of my brother and sister. There is no way they would accompany me,” you said. Virginia smiles and starts tying your hair. “There is always that one person who would take you in a heartbeat.” You glare at her through the mirror, knowing who she is suggesting. She has always supported your feelings for Jude, even if it’s just a simple crush or something more significant. But you’ve told her several times that the two of you just don’t fit. Jude was different from you, and he was also your brother’s best friend. Someone of that high status would eventually get a proposal from the president’s daughter or a princess; you were never in the picture.

“I will say, though, that Marcus Rashford has always been a gentleman to everyone. He may be a bit older than you, but he would care for you perfectly,” Virginia says before she excuses herself from your room.

You sighed and opened the door to your balcony. It was warm with a slight breeze, and the star shone brightly through the dark sky. The oil scent of roses warms your heart, remembering her suggestion about Jude. But even you knew that was a mistake. Your sister will eventually be Jude’s fiancé and you’ll be nothing but his sister-in-law. It was best you have no interaction with him in the future.

“It’s too late for you to be outside Y/N.”

You froze at the deep voice and turned to see your brother closing your bedroom door. He looked like he had just left the shower, with damp hair, a towel around his neck, a black t-shirt, and black pajama pants. He looked exhausted, angry, and annoyed as he walked towards you. “You got school tomorrow; I’ll take you.” You frowned and looked at him, “Mr. Hale can take me,” you said. Rowan crosses his arms, and you notice his muscles are bigger and leaner. His athletic life must be intense. “My university is that way. I’ll drop you off.” You rolled your eyes and leaned against the cold rail. “You’re just making sure I am not skipping school with some boys,” you accused. Rowan raises an eyebrow and stares at you tensely, “If I see or hear about you fooling around with some boys, I will make sure he doesn’t see another day.”

“Rowan,” you sighed, “the school is owned by our family. Do you really think Father and Mother don’t have eyes on me?”

Your brother shrugged and sighed, “I’m just looking out for you.” You nodded and smiled, “I know.”

Rowan smiles slightly, and you notice an eyelash sticking on his cheek. Stepping closer to him, you brush off the hair with your thumb. “There, your skin looks good now.” He stares at you blankly, and you take this chance to look at him. He was all grown now, with a sculpted jaw, thick black hair, dark hazel eyes, and not like the innocent-looking brother you remembered. “Y/N I-“

“Rowan get out of your sister’s room!”

The both of you turned to the door to see your mother standing there with arms crossed, angry eyes, and nothing but her gown on. “She has school tomorrow. Do you know how bad it would look if she were late?” You glance at Rowan and quickly walk back inside and rush to your bed. “My bad, mom. I reminded my little sister that I’ll take her to school tomorrow.” Your mom rolls her eyes, and Rowan chuckles before kissing her on the cheek and waving bye to you.

You smile at your mom awkwardly as she stares at you. Her eyes wander your room, and she looks at your ideally hung school uniform, your finished homework on your desk, and your braided hair for school tomorrow. She smiles satisfactorily and nods at you. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow is your exam. I’m expecting a perfect score. You will be a future doctor and will show the world that your parents raised you wisely,” she says, hinting that you should be listening to her because she adopted you. “Yes, Mom,” you said through gritted teeth. Your mother smiles before saying goodnight and exiting your room.

Sighing, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would go smoothly and you wouldn’t do anything to disappoint anyone.

Comment if you want to be tagged.

[damiansgoodgirll]

football masterlist

erling haaland

promise you’ll lie

my champion

stress reliever

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kylian mbappè

safeword

my man

prank goes wrong

real madrid?

5 years - 5 years part two

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why not?

what do we do?

i never meant to hurt you

dusan vlahovic

adrien rabiot

together forever

jude bellingham

daddy’s little girl

honey, it’s july

take the pain away

not a happy birthday

parents to be

so good

innocent for him

no one can compare

downtown

in your arms

you really liked that?

spoiling you

clingy

filip kostic

virgil van dijk

stressed out

marcus rashford

love confession

cherries

[loviingpedri]

where was i? - trent a.a

prompt: where trent redeems himself as a father.

warnings: cursing, some angst (fluff at end), grammar issues

Part 2 -> Part 1 here

my secret

you couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. she broke into tears finding out your pregnancy. she cried harder knowing she was gonna help you with your little angel.

evelyn, your best friend, the one who could do it all even held your hand while in labor. its been a year since the birth of your baby, Aria Alexander-Arnold. you adored her. practically, everyone adored her.

it was still a question who her father was. but that was your secret. you lied to everyone about aria’s last name. everyone was fooled about her name, but only you knew she was a proud alexander-arnold. people speculated trent being the father with your public relationship, he made it easier by revealing your breakup by going out with a couple friends the next night, then getting caught making out with another girl.

you never cared on what trent did. it only mattered that he just stayed out of your life. you were living your best life.

“y/n, when are you ever going to tell trent?” evelyn spoke softly as aria was still sleeping.

“i don’t know. life has been so much better with just aria and i. i’m just afraid.” you sighed in distress.

“afraid of what? i know he broke your heart, but i still would think he would want to be apart of his child’s life.”

fidgeting with your fingers, “i just don’t want to get hurt again. what if he doesn’t wanna be apart of her life. or if he takes her away from me.”

“trent is probably the sweetest guy you’ve ever dated even if the breakup was messy. i say he’s the only one evelyn-approved.”

“i’ll think about it,” finishing your sentence, a cry was heard. you both nodded at each other before getting up to comfort her. opening aria’s room door, she was already standing in her crib. her tears stopped falling and the brightest smile appeared on her face. she is the most precious thing you’ll ever need in life. “hi angel. how was your sleep?” covering her face with kisses.

evelyn walked into the room. “y/n, it’s pretty cool today. i think you should take her out. i have a meeting at work, so please enjoy the weather for me.”

“good luck, you’re gonna need it.” evelyn kissed aria on the cheek before leaving. “let’s get you dressed.” it was a mystery where you were going. yet, you needed time out of the house.

soon, both you and aria had your fall outfits on ready to fight against the cold. putting her in the stroller and locking the door, you were prepared to just go anywhere. holy shit were you freezing. walking to the cafe a few miles away, hot chocolate was much needed. placing your order and sitting down, you paid no attention to the customers walking in. mid way feeding aria a piece of a chocolate croissant,

“y/n?” you knew that voice. looking up you saw a familiar face.

“hello jude.”

“oh my god, it’s really you. bloody hell.” jude attempted to hug you, but realized the stroller. “babysitting?” he looked so confused but was trying to process where you’ve been for the past 2 years.

“no, this is my daughter. her name is aria.” you put on a smile on your face trying to play it off like it wasn’t his good friend’s child.

“daughter? y/n, you had a baby? who’s the father?” jude was no stranger to you. he had one curious mind, especially in a state of panic. “wait, sorry. that’s none of my business. i’m just happy you’re doing well. it’s been awhile since i’ve seen you.”

you nodded at him. although jude never did anything, you were just afraid of trent finding out. you needed to prepare yourself, because word is gonna get out through the national team within a few hours. “it has been awhile. how have you been? playing for madrid, yeah?”

“my blood runs is madrid now. of course, it still has some part of england in it. i’ve gotta go to practice now. i’ll keep in touch, please don’t block me on instagram.” you laughed off the joke. trent must’ve tried to see what you were doing, only to be blocked on all social media platforms.

——————————————

trent’s reveal

“man, i need to clean out this closet.” trent spoke to marcus.

“shit looks mad trent. what even happened.” marcus picked up a shirt off the ground and threw it on the other side of the closet trying to avoid the millions of piles of clothes.

“went crazy, lost of organization. i could name a lot of things.”

“went crazy after losing the love of your life. has she ever unblocked you yet?” trent was doing worse than you after the breakup. he turned into a mess after learning he couldn’t reach you anymore.

“i don’t wanna talk about it. maybe i should clean this corner, i’ve never worn clothes from this section in forever.” taking clothes from the hangers and throwing it in a bag for donation. a box was revealed. “what the hell is that?” trent picked up as marcus appeared in curiosity. trent had 0 recollection of the box being there. opening it, he almost dropped it after seeing the words, “baby alexander-arnold coming on -/—/—“ and the pregnancy test right next to it.

“what the fuck.” rashford’s mouth immediately fell.

“is this a joke? who put this here? marcus are you trying to fuck with me.”

“no man. that’s a sick joke to put on you.

trent’s mind started to fill with idea of fatherhood. he didn’t dislike the idea, but the mystery behind the box was still trying to piece together. he set the box aside. stress filled his mind. “let’s go. we’ve got practice to be at.” rashford seemed more shocked then anything. pulling his hair at the fact trent just left the topic alone like nothing.

-

arriving at practice, just a bit of warmups. kicking the ball back and forth. trent tried to take his mind off who put that box there. marcus taking concerned glances at him, knowing he was out of it.

suddenly, jude ran into the field.

“TRENT YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHO I JUST SAW.” caught off guard, trent had no time to process what jude just said.

“what?” almost falling over since jude’s rough push of excitement and shock.

“Y/N. I SAW Y/N.” everyone’s face dropped at the sound of your name. you were loved by the national team. not to mention, the shit show behind the breakup and the reason why trent had to be at therapy for most of the season. “and you’ll never gonna believe it, but she had a baby.” the word baby rung around in his head. the news just got shocking each time.

“a baby? what?” jude nodded his head.

“she said her name is aria. she looked about one years old. mate, she kind of looked like you if i’m being honest.” the reaction of the last sentence was mixed. he wanted to be the father, but what if he wasn’t. he didn’t want it to be all in his head.

“hold on, you said 1?” harry kane joined into the conversation. seeming like he wanted to make a point. jude nodded at his question, still curious what was about to be said. “trent, when did you break up with y/n?”

“i don’t know. maybe two years ago.” it was impossible to trent that he was the father, but it was still likely.

“you broke up with her around late february. 9 months later, it would be november. mate, it’s december already. i mean, it’s very likely it’s yours.” trent wanted to pass out at that moment.

“i’ve still got access to y/n’s instagram.” saka said. pulling it up, a birthday post to aria was made. “posted on november -“

almost falling to the ground. “that was close to the date i broke up with her, just 9 months after. jude, where did you see her?”

“at ‘place’. what are you doing?” if trent kept up the same speed during the world cup, fifa would’ve upgraded his stats. he grabbed his bag and ran quicker than ever. it’s been 2 hours since jude saw you, but you couldn’t walk that far with just a stroller. trent was praying you’ll be around there.

——

parking his car and running around. he saw a face. someone who he’ll never forget.

“evelyn. where is y/n?” evelyn’s eyes widened. fuck. she wasn’t prepared for trent to know today. she saw your text saying how you saw jude. news must travel fast around here. “please, answer me. you can yell at me again, but please tell me where she is.” it was bold of him to show up in front of evelyn. he got a loud yelling session trying to use her to talk to y/n again. she could see he was desperate in his eyes. she was confused on what to do.

“excuse me while i take this call.” she patted his shoulder before walking a distance away to safely call you. trying to whisper, “y/n help. trent is looking for you. i think jude told him.”

“oh my fucking god. what am i going to do?” you tried to remain calm as possible so your baby doesn’t think of anything.

“get dressed, it’s time for aria to meet her father.”

“what?” with no questions allowed, the call ended. you grabbed aria to get ready quickly since there was no time for fighting.

evelyn walked back to trent. clearing her throat, “i don’t know what you’ve heard. i’m going to answer your question now. yes, that is your child.” the word child was ringing in his ears. he didn’t know how to react. did he want to cry or did he want to run away? “do you want to meet her.”

“of course.” he nodded quickly. he followed evelyn like a stray dog. she knocked on the door to signify that he was there. you took a deep breath. opening the door, you saw the two people who you’ve spent your entire life with. evelyn walked in, trying to give you two space. “y/n,” he wanted to hug you. you only had one arm available as aria was resting on your shoulder. aria heard the unfamiliar voice and turned to look at him. it was true, she looked just like him.

“hi trent. very nice of you to show up.” you patted your skirt to reduce wrinkles and ease the awkwardness. “this is aria.” for the first time, aria flashed a big smile at him. she was never good with strangers, but this might be different. you moved out of the doorway and urged him to come inside.

“can i hold her?” you nodded at him. easily, aria was all over him. “does she have my last name? i mean it’s totally fine if-“

“yeah, she does.” aria alexander-arnold is the only thing running through his mind. probably the only thing he’ll ever need to think about.

“y/n, i’ve been trying to get into contact with you. i mean where have you been.”

“where was i? taking care of my daughter. sorry, i didn’t wanna seem like a distraction.” the both of you knew very well what you meant by the word distraction. you could see regret running through his veins. “i just wanted to ask you, where were you? you said you wanted to get into contact, but you didn’t try harder.”

“i understand my mistakes. i’ve missed the prime of my child. nonetheless, i missed your entire pregnancy. i promise to be devoted to both of you. can we start over?”

“it’ll be hard to not say no. you are the father of my child and high school sweetheart. i think it’s better if we do start over. the three of us, as a family.”

“we’ll always be together, forever.”

from now on, there would be no secrets.

��—————————————————

author’s note: check out my poll! thanks for all the support everyone.

[rashysbeloved]

4am and i can’t stop thinking about waking up with rashy.

i can imagine waking up with him still by your side in bed, knocked out after a long match the evening before. i can imagine admiring just the way he’d look while sleeping with a rested face, his pink lips soft and his breaths slow and gentle.

i feel like if you tried to exit the bed he’d wake up almost immediately, always sensing when you’d leave his side. how he’d pull you back in by your waist, murmuring a low “why you leavin’ me?” in your ear, making you giggle.

he’s definitely the type to kiss you all over. cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, lips. you name it. he’s a deeply affectionate but private man, a man who is shy and introverted as hell in front of others but when he’s with you, it’s a whole different story :)

[httpsdana]

18 + 75 w/ marcus rashford🥹 ty in adv :)

Floating Near~Marcus Rashford

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

18-“Remind me again how I got stuck with you?” 75-“Good god, you’re in love with her!”

y/n and Marcus had been assigned to organize a party with their friend group, an event that had everyone buzzing with excitement. A group chat had been created weeks ago, but when it came down to who’d do what, it was chaos. Finally, after a hilarious back-and-forth, the tasks were split up: some friends were in charge of decorations, others on food, but somehow, y/n and Marcus ended up tasked with blowing up and setting up all the balloons.

As soon as the two of them started inflating the balloons, it was clear Marcus had no intention of doing it quietly. He’d blow up a balloon, then immediately bat it over to her, watching it bounce off her head before she could react.

“Marcus!” she exclaimed, laughing as she swatted it back. “Are you actually going to help, or just mess around?”

He leaned back, hands behind his head, flashing her that trademark grin. “Hey, messing around is helping. I’m keeping you entertained.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. Every time she tried to focus on the balloons, Marcus would nudge her, tap her shoulder, or whisper her name just to make her look up so he could smirk and blow her a kiss.

After the fifth interruption, she gave him a playful glare. “Remind me again how I got stuck with you?”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking with that boyish charm. “Oh, I think we both know you love it.” He winked, making her laugh as she gently elbowed him in the ribs.

A few minutes passed with both of them actually getting some balloons set up, a few floating around the room, but every time y/n reached up to tie one, Marcus would lean closer, his voice soft. “Need any help there?” he’d murmur, his eyes lingering on her in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

“Only if you’re actually going to help this time,” she teased, but he just gave her a small smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear before he adjusted the balloon string for her.

Once all the balloons were set up, everyone headed off to get ready. y/n found herself upstairs, putting on her dress, fussing with her hair, and adding the final touches to her look. She took one last deep breath before heading downstairs, only to find all her friends milling around the living room in their best outfits. She stepped down the stairs, her eyes scanning the room for one specific person.

And that’s when she caught Marcus’s gaze.

He was standing with his friend Mason, who was talking to him about something, but Marcus was staring at her like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His eyes traveled over her, lingering on every detail, his gaze soft and admiring. He looked utterly spellbound, his usual playful self-replaced with something more vulnerable, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Mason noticed the look on Marcus’s face and nudged him. “Mate, are you okay?”

Marcus didn’t even respond, his gaze still fixed on her as she was pulled away by one of their friends. Mason, following his line of sight, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, mate. Do you like her?”

Marcus’s eyes stayed locked on her, a small smile curving on his lips. “Like her?” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “Mate, I like her so much it’s not even funny.”

Mason’s eyes widened, a grin breaking across his face. “Good God, you’re in love with her!”

At that, Marcus finally pulled his eyes away from y/n and gave Mason a look of slight panic. “Do you think she knows?”

Mason chuckled, giving him a shove. “Go tell her, you idiot!”

Taking a deep breath, Marcus made his way through the crowd, catching her eye and nodding toward the balcony. She followed him outside, the cool night air making her shiver slightly, and he immediately shrugged off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she said softly, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiled back, his usual confident demeanor faltering just a little. “You look…amazing,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soft, almost husky tone.

“Thank you, so do you” she said feeling the butterflies flutter in her stomach. His gaze was so intense, she almost forgot where she was.

He took a deep breath, his hands fidgeting slightly as he looked out over the city lights before turning back to her. “Listen, I… I didn’t plan on saying this tonight, but seeing you tonight, I just—I can’t hold it in anymore.”

y/n tilted her head, giving him an encouraging nod. “Go on.”

He ran a hand through his hair, smiling nervously. “I like you. A lot. More than I probably should. I think about you all the time, and every time you laugh, every time you look at me… it just makes me want to be around you even more.”

y/n couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face, her heart almost leaping out of her chest at his confession. “Well, you’ve been doing a good job of showing it by messing with me all the time.”

He laughed, looking down before meeting her eyes again, stepping closer. “Yeah, well, annoying you was the best way I knew how to get your attention.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” she whispered, closing the distance between them by clutching his shirt and pulling him down to her level. then pressing her lips softly against his. The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with the months of teasing, of unspoken feelings, finally coming to light.

When they finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, grinning. “So, remind me again… how did I get so lucky to be stuck with you?”

y/n laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one here.”

“Guess we’re both pretty lucky,” he whispered, capturing her lips in another gentle, lingering kiss as the night settled around them.

[swayziiwriter]

Attentive | Marcus Rashford

summary: Marcus is observant in all the ways it counts, watching and paying attention to how your body reacts each time he’s around.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: Rashford wears the #10 cause he knows he’s a 10/10

Marcus is extremely vigilant. Watching how your short satin dress moved up against your hips with each passing breath. He’d bundled it up to your waist, before ripping it off your body completely leaving you bare. Presently he has you confined under him, one of your hands on his firm chest.

"This is gonna get you off huh?" He returns to the initial topic of the conversation. You'd offered a casual comment about how large his hands are, the manner by which decent they feel, how dextrous his fingers look. "Let me see how much you like these hands” referring to his inked hands that were begging to be inside of you. “How can I resist?” You barked back, mocking his attempts at dominating.

"Don't argue with me." He grins, inclines nearer and allows your lips to meet. You try to get closer to him while tangled in his hair and grateful for it. You buck your hips upward to try to catch the friction you can't find as the kiss gets more intense and you become antsy and desperate for something else. As you separate from him, you whine. “Marcus please.”

He is firm when he says, "Tell me what you want." You don't require words. As soon as his thumb touches your biting lip, you drop it open, allowing him to press it onto your tongue. You suck on it, eyes polished and asking, until his thumb's wet and his vision is murky. “Fuck.” He runs it over your lips once more, kissing you harder. You say, just before you start begging, "Touch me Marcus. Please." He hasn't even pulled your underwear off and as of now your mind is half gone, lessening you to brief, faltering sentences. 

"You realize I love these," he remarks, his fingers light and sensitive around the trim. " You're getting them so wet, so dirty.” His hand comes down and slaps your clit through the fabric, sending you into a fit of pain and pleasure. When he simultaneously inserts two fingers into your already sensitive pant legs, you let out a gasp because you had been waiting so long.

Marcus simply murmurs, "You’re gonna stay still for me” in your ear without having to physically restrain you. “Such a good girl for me” Marcus murmurs. You're gesturing along, submissive, and loyal like a puppy. You're tight, muscles straining when he twists his fingers and keeps spilling rottenness from his mouth into your ear. You try not to move too much as you drop your head back and let out a throaty whine. trying my best to be good to him. “You like that?” He teases, knowing you do. "Yes," you mumble. "Feels so good.”

He laughs as hard as you are struggling to breathe. “You like being used like this? You know what you wanted when you started playing with me. You realized you'd be screwed by me, because you always get what you want, you are too spoiled. Maybe I should make you wait until you’ve stopped being a slut?” He asks. You complain, "You are being mean." Overstimulation tears spring to your eyes and gently roll down your cheeks as he vigorously curls his fingers. With a free hand, he wipes them away. Around his fingers, you can hear yourself getting wetter and sloppy. He grins. "You’re soaked. Dripping all over my fingers.”

He hauls his fingers out to slap your clit, pushing them back in not so much as a moment later, not permitting a break. You whine, squirming, completely ignoring his standard automatically. Your clit is swollen and sensitive as you are so close to them, clenching hard around them. He looks down at you ravenously, his eyes hazier than any time in recent memory watching you whimper and move around his fingers. And afterward his fingers twist perfectly and your whines tighten into nothing as you cum all around his hand, body spasming.

He is praising you as you go, but the haze of your orgasm obscures his praise; you pull him close, let him settle his head in the base of your neck. You let out a breathe moving your body to straddle him, switching positions. He lies under you, smiling up at your equally happy face. “Your cock isn’t pretty bad either” you teased.

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ worlds collide, part one; 

                        marcus rashford ────── 

confined by rigid expectations, a girl discovers an unexpected escape when she crosses paths with a daring boy on a football pitch.

⭑ wordcount : one thousand six hundred sixty-six.

⭑ notes : this is my first fic so hopefully the writing + formatting isn’t horrendous, enjoy!! <3

˙⋆✮ masterlist. ... part two. part three.

The old piano sat in the corner of the dimly lit room, its once-pristine keys now yellowed and worn with age. To you, they felt as foreign as the glimmering chandeliers back home—symbols of wealth, status, and comfort, yes, but also of something suffocating, a life polished to perfection but hollow at its core. The air was heavy with the dust of forgotten melodies as you sat on the hard, unforgiving bench, your fingers pressing random notes, the sound brittle and faint in the stillness.

Your piano instructor had stepped out for just a moment, but you barely noticed. Every week, your parents sent you to Wythenshawe for these lessons. Not that you had a choice. Your father, with his stern beliefs and unyielding expectations, often said, “A young lady must cultivate grace.” And grace, apparently, was to be found by hammering out tedious, unfeeling notes on a piano you had no passion for. Football? That wasn’t even a conversation you were allowed to have. While the boys in your neighborhood ran free in their gardens, kicking a ball in the crisp air, you were instructed to sit still, to stay poised, to never let anything ruffle the perfect image your parents had crafted for you.

But there was one small comfort in these trips—one glimmer of warmth in the cold routine—and that comfort was Mr. Peters. Your driver. A quiet, older man with silver hair and a soft smile that never seemed to waver, even when the world around him demanded nothing less than perfection. He and his wife, Mrs. Peters, had worked for your family for years, and though your household was built on a foundation of rules and rigid expectations, Mr. Peters had always been a kind presence, understanding without judgment.

Sometimes, he ran late. But you never minded. It wasn’t an inconvenience—it was a small reprieve, a sliver of freedom that you secretly cherished. The few moments after your lesson, before he arrived, felt like a rare opportunity to breathe.

Wythenshawe was nothing like the sterile world of your home. The streets pulsed with a life you could never quite grasp. Kids dashed through narrow alleyways, the air rich with the scent of street food, and laughter echoed from every corner. It was messy, chaotic, and yet there was something deeply comforting about it, something your carefully constructed world of glass walls and perfectly arranged table settings could never offer.

This evening, as you stepped out of the piano studio, the familiar sound of boys shouting and laughing caught your ear. Across the street, a ragged football pitch came to life under the fading light. The boys ran after the ball with a raw energy you envied, their carefree movements a stark contrast to your own constrained existence. The freedom they wore like a second skin made your chest tighten.

You should have walked away, you told yourself. You should have waited for Mr. Peters, gone home to your world of order and expectations. But curiosity pulled you in like a magnet, and without a second thought, you crossed the street, your heels clicking on the pavement, feeling out of place among the dust and grass.

You stayed at the edge of the pitch, half-hidden in the shadows, watching the boys play. Their energy was magnetic, their movements effortless, unburdened by the weight of appearances. They didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care what anyone thought. They were free. And for a moment, you wanted nothing more than to be part of that world.

But your attempt at remaining invisible didn’t last long.

One of the boys—a little taller than the rest, with a playful spark in his eyes—kicked the ball too hard. It flew through the air, heading straight for you before you could even react. It struck your shin lightly, the impact sharp enough to snap you out of your reverie.

“Oi, who’s that?” the boy called out, jogging over with his friends trailing behind. The group circled around you, their laughter sharp and teasing.

“Why’re you wearing heels on a football pitch?” one of the boys called out, his voice dripping with mockery. “Did you get lost on your way to the posh side of town?”

You shrank back, suddenly acutely aware of how out of place you must look. The laughter around you felt biting, relentless, and you didn’t know how to respond.

Then, from behind the crowd, a voice cut through the teasing like a cool breeze. “Oi, Max. Shut it.”

The group fell silent for a moment, and you turned to see the source of the interruption. A boy, your age, stood a few feet away. His dark eyes were calm but sharp, his posture relaxed, but there was an undeniable air of quiet authority around him. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t boisterous like the others, but there was something about him that commanded respect.

Max groaned in frustration but didn’t argue. “We’re just messing about, Marcus.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “Next time, make sure the joke’s actually funny,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

The others mumbled under their breath, but one by one, they returned to the game, leaving you alone with Marcus. He didn’t move immediately, his gaze still fixed on you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now, more concerned.

You nodded, though you were still shaken. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made you feel like you could finally exhale. It was warm, boyish, and suddenly, everything felt a little lighter. “Don’t mind them. They’re just messing around. They’re harmless, really.”

You studied him for a moment, intrigued. His clothes were simple—a faded hoodie, scuffed trainers—but there was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself, something that made him stand apart from the rest.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice hesitant. “You’re not like them.”

He chuckled, a light, easy sound. “Guess not. But I’m still one of them.”

For a brief moment, the two of you just stood there, in the stillness of the moment, until Marcus picked up the ball that had rolled to the side of the pitch and spun it absently in his hands.

“You play often?” he asked, nodding toward the ball.

You shook your head. “Not really. My parents… they don’t think it’s proper,” you said quietly. “It’s not… lady-like.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Proper? Football’s for everyone.”

“Not in my family,” you muttered under your breath.

He tilted his head, his gaze curious. “Wanna give it a try?”

You hesitated, looking around. “I don’t know…”

“Come on,” he said, his grin widening. “I’ll show you some tricks. No one’s watching.”

The warmth in his smile was impossible to resist. Tentatively, you stepped onto the pitch, your heart pounding just a little faster. Marcus handed you the ball, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Alright,” he said, stepping back a few paces. “First rule of football—don’t be scared of the ball.”

You laughed nervously. “Easier said than done.”

“Trust me,” he said, his voice reassuring. “Just keep it moving. Like this.”

He demonstrated, dribbling the ball expertly, keeping it close, his movements smooth and fluid. Then, he passed it to you.

The ball slipped away from your feet almost immediately, rolling further than you’d intended. You stumbled forward, awkwardly trying to regain control, but Marcus was already jogging to retrieve it.

“Not bad for a first try,” he teased lightly, but there was no malice in his voice—only encouragement.

For the next few minutes, Marcus patiently guided you, showing you basic moves, teaching you how to control the ball, how to move with it. His hands were gentle, his voice calm, never mocking when you fumbled. He made everything feel possible.

“You’re a fast learner,” he said, passing the ball back to you.

You grinned, feeling a spark of something—joy, maybe. “You’re a good teacher.”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve been playing since I was little. It’s kind of my thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to go pro one day?”

Marcus’s face lit up with a quiet fire. “Yeah. I mean, it’s a long shot, but… I’d love to play for Manchester United.”

There was something in the way he said it—no hesitation, no doubt—that made you believe him. “I think you could do it,” you said sincerely.

He glanced at you, surprised. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” you smiled. “But I can tell you’re good at this. And you’ve got that… fire. You’ll work hard enough to make it happen.”

For a moment, Marcus didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he gave you a smile, softer now, more genuine than before. “Thanks.”

The sound of a car horn broke the moment. You turned to see Mr. Peters pulling up to the curb, his familiar smile visible through the window.

“Guess that’s my ride,” you said, regret settling in your chest.

Marcus nodded, stepping back. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You turned toward the car, but as you did, you glanced back at Marcus. He was still standing there, the ball at his feet, watching you with that warm, easy smile.

Mr. Peters opened the door for you, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Made a new friend, have we?”

You blushed, ducking into the car. “Maybe.”

He chuckled as he started the engine. “Good. Everyone needs a friend.”

As the car pulled away, you found yourself looking back at the pitch one last time. Marcus was already jogging back to join the game, blending seamlessly with the other boys.

But to you, he stood out.

There was something about him—his kindness, his warmth, his quiet confidence—that left a lasting impression. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d met someone who truly understood what it meant to be free.

And as the city lights blurred past the car window, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the start of something special.

© gul4bjamoons 2025

[kylianmbappee]

@anytimebitches

[azulera]

Rashy noticing that's something has been wrong with you for the last few weeks and you just won't tell him and he's stressing trying to figure it out

azulera

Don’t Leave Me Alone

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Words: 3.5k

Notes: ngl recent events have made me not even want to post but i already had this done and as i said, i do value that ppl like my writing enough to send requests. so here is this! hope u like it anon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They'd picked the summer time to move in, late May to be exact, and Marcus was sure it was the smartest decision he’d ever been a part of. The prem season was ended, Y/N was out for the semester, they both had at least five weeks free to travel and relax, and there’d be no cold for the mover’s fingers to go blue in. The transporting itself had gone smoothly, each of her things finding its place in the huge expanse of his house, and the past month and a half of eating, sleeping and waking next to each other had been as nearest to perfect as Marcus thought life might get. So he couldn’t explain what, in the last seven days, could have possibly gone wrong.

“Is everythin alright, love?” He asked over the dinner table, which was sanded wood and brought over from Y/N’s apartment, much smaller than the one he’d used before.

She looked up from her plate and blinked. “Do you mean about dinner? I think I finally got the potatoes right this time, yeah.”

“No, not the food.” The side of his mouth lifted. “You’ve just seemed a bit down, this week, I don’t know. Just wanted to ask, see if there was anythin buggin you?”

“Oh,” She passed a hand over her hair. “Just tired, I guess. It was a rough semester.”

“Yeah, it was – you smashed it, though. But,” He paused until she looked at him, and was immediately taken by her brown eyes, which, unreadable as they were, he’d always found incredibly beautiful. “If anything’s wrong, you can tell me. I’d want to help.”

“Mhm.” She replied, and flitted her eyes away, pushing up from the table. “Let’s clean up?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, and stood up to take their few dishes to the kitchen. They rinsed and loaded in a silence not as comfortable as it ought to have been, and soon finished, Y/N pausing in front of the rumbling machine. From behind, Marcus pulled her into an embrace, fitting his hands around her waist and mumbling into her neck.

“Wanna come cuddle wi’me for a bit? We can watch the next Narcos.”

He felt her take a deep breath, and then lightly pat the hand that held her.

“I’ve got a little headache, actually. Think m’gonna lay down for the night.”

Marcus frowned. “You want me to watch the next episode? Without you?”

“Yeah, go ahead – I’ll get caught up when you’re on your trip next week. I’d just really like to lay down.”

Fatigue colored her voice, and Marcus felt a little more sure that she really was just under the weather, and not anything worse.

“D’you want me to bring you tea? Water? Medicine?”

She shook her head “no”, and turned around, another sigh hitting the fabric of his t-shirt.

“S’alright, then. Hope you get feeling better, babe.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then two to the dark spirals of her hair. “I’ll be up in a bit. I love you.”

A near silent “thank you” left her lips, and she squeezed his hand once. And then Marcus was left in the kitchen alone.

~~

After a mild pre-season session the next day, Marcus skipped showering to go straight to his car. When he’d seen her that morning, Y/N had still seemed poorly – she hadn’t left bed for tea and breakfast with him, and no silly texts or memes had come into his phone, the way they usually did during his long hours of training. Leaving now, he'd felt a strange, strong urge to get to her, like the sooner he did, the sooner things would go back to normal.

When he keyed into the house, however, her usual lounging spot – in the center of the living room sectional – was empty. As were the kitchen, bedroom, gym and laundry room that he walked to after. He found her instead on the back patio, cuddled into herself on the sunbed, with her curls spread wild and loose about her shoulders. A book was opened up and settled on her knees, and a pile of crumpled tissues sat just to her right.

“Hey, was lookin for you.”

The jitters that assailed him finally began to slow as he approached her, but didn’t fade completely.

“What’s all these for? You wasn’t crying, were you?”

“No, no, not really. It’s just this book. It’s pretty sad.” She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out wet and dull. “Or maybe I’m just dramatic.”

A range of emotions swept over him as he considered her pink, puffy eyes, the way she still wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long. His anxiety flared again, but he continued on with the plan he’d devised in the car, hopeful that it might still work.

“Well, I’m just about to run a bath, didn’t have time to shower after training. It could cheer you up, maybe. Did you wanna join me?”

It’s something special they do, just for them, a quiet and closeness involved that Marcus enjoyed far more than he’d ever said aloud. He hoped it would be enough to break through the wall he felt sprouting between them.

“But you’re all sweaty.” She said flatly.

He sucked his teeth, and sat alongside her on the thin mattress.

“That never stopped you before? When we were squeezed up in the one at your flat.”

“Right.” Her face fell, suddenly, as if she’d remembered something unpleasant. “But I’ve already showered, actually, a bit ago. Went out for a run.”

“That never stopped you before, either” Marcus wanted to say but didn’t, and focused instead on fixing his face to not reveal his disappointment.

“Okay.” He stalled a moment, weighing his next move. “Babe, are you sure everything is okay with you? M’a bit worried–”

“It’s fine, Marcus. It’s going to be fine, just …” She closed her eyes, and they glistened when they opened, focused seriously on his own. “I’m fine. Just stop pushing it, please.”

She gathered her book and trash and walked back into the house, which hurt him, but her last sentences hurt worse. If he wasn't meant to push, then what could he do? Sitting back and watching her pull further and further away from him was tortuous and seemed the opposite of what a good partner should do. Still, he nodded, even though she had already gone, and let his head fall into his hands.

A few hours later, in the bath, the jacuzzi jets going but alone, nothing was as it should have been. Already he missed the slide of her wet skin against his, how the brown of it went faintly pink the hotter she ran the water, which was scalding enough by Marcus’ standards. Now it felt lukewarm at best, the bubbles even less fluorescent, less bubbly than usual, without her there to scoop handfuls of them to paste on his face and chest, making herself giggle and cleaning their bodies in the process. He missed that, too, he realized, her body – it’s softness and strength, and how easily it yielded and came alive under his hands, but more concerning was her mind, which was somewhere outside its optimal state, and seemingly getting worse by the day.

He leaned his head back against the tub’s edge and sighed. It was a soft sound, quickly lost among the hum of the jets and the noise of his muscles singing and thanking him, but then he heard something else. Crying. Quiet, choked-off sobs from the other side of the en suite door, that he knew Y/N was trying to hide, but didn’t know why. The sound alone carved a hole deeper in his chest.

Before he realized it, he’d risen from the bath, shampoo still in his hair, and pushed open the door to their bedroom.

Squinting through the dark, Marcus could tell she was in the bed, asleep, or at least pretending to be. He debated whether or not to wake her – his every instinct begged him to, but the noise of tears had stopped, and he’d been specifically, harshly instructed not to “push”.

He waited several moments anyway, eyeing her sleeping form, burning up inside, but when she didn’t budge, he stepped back into the bathroom, mindful of the growing puddle he’d created on the carpet.

Under the shower head, he rinsed his hair and dried off, putting on his lotion and moisturizer in record time, all the while his mind racing, trying to settle the unease twisting up his chest and throat. When he got to the bedroom, he set his alarm and settled in under the covers behind her, as close as he dared.

Though her breaths came and went evenly, something in him, maybe something of his own creation, told him she was awake, that she could hear him. He felt free to unburden himself, and say what he wanted her to know.

“M’here for you, Y/N.” He used one arm to hold her against his chest, and the other to fix her hair scarf where it had ridden up in the back. “Hope you know that. Whatever it is, we can … fix it, talk about it, at least, together. Love you ... don’t wanna lose you.”

He knew the words were true, and could feel their sincerity aching somewhere deep in his bones. But he feared he was running out of ways to make sure Y/N believed it, too.

~~

By the following day, Marcus decided “not pushing” was no longer a viable option. Y/N was gone from bed even before him, and he turned to his night-table to find a message saying she’d gone out for an early run again and to get coffee. It wasn’t a strange occurrence on its own, but the way the last few days had gone, weeks really, this latest change to their patterns was enough to set him on a nervous edge. All through the day, his head was gone, drifting and distracted while training, and his thoughts sprinting to the worst - Y/N wanted to move out, she wanted to break up with him – in any moment he had idle.

But when his third check-in text sent from the rain-wet bed of the physio suite went unanswered, as did the two facetime call requests, it became slightly harder for him to breathe. The PT scrunched his face, but Marcus didn’t explain, wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak if he tried, and he’d been forced through two rounds of deep breathing before he’d let him off the table.

As soon as the gaffer released them, Marcus raced home through the rain that had begun to pour, calling one more time to no avail, but trying to stay rational. He imagined her sat in her spot on the big sofa in the sitting room when he arrived, apologetic and with some perfectly logical story of what had kept her from her phone all day, and what had depressed her mood the past few weeks.

He opened the front door, however, to silence, and her car keys still gone. His stomach dropped, and an icy, despairing prickle crawled over his skin. Was he overreacting? Or should he have pushed more?

Somehow he knew the rest of the house and even the back porch would be empty, just as silent, and found himself climbing the stairs anyway. His legs stopped by the room he used as his office, and he threw himself into the desk chair. He felt more calm, serious in there, for some reason, and composed himself enough to check her location, which was inconclusive, and click her contact another time. It went to voicemail once again, and he cursed, pulling at his hair.

After one heavy, frantic beat, he picked up the phone again to dial the only other number that would be useful at a time like this. The call picked up on the second ring.

“Mum?”

~~

Marcus’ car had been in the driveway when you pulled up, but when you stepped into his house – your house, now – there wasn’t any trace of him. Late afternoon training usually left him in the kitchen or theater room, scarfing down whatever meals his nutritionist prepared before conking out in his-your bed for a few hours until dinner.

You checked your phone, which had been dead up until the last five minutes when you’d connected it to the car charger, and realized it was closer to dinner time than you’d thought.

Dropping off your raincoat and bag, you went in search of him. The blaring missed calls and texts deserved a response, as hard as it would be to face him in person. You didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did, even though you felt there was little, if anything, he could do.

“Marcus?” You called up the stairs, but there was only your footsteps, the patter of rain, in answer.

You began climbing anyway, sure the sounds of the house would lead you to him, and eventually heard his voice, muffled through the closed door of his office. You stopped, and leaned against the wall to listen.

“She won’t talk to me, mum, she won’t, I’ve tried everythin. She’s not physically hurt, no, but something is wrong. I know that much. It’s like she don’t even want to be around me.”

There was a pause, and an ache began in your chest. The distress in your partner’s voice was palpable.

“But I’ve gave her space. And I’ve even asked her up front what’s wrong, and still nothin. I'm leavin for my trip in a few days, and I won’t be able to fix anythin from there. Reckon she might even be gone by then.”

Each second you listened, you fell further and further into the mire of guilt, and it seemed impossible to get out. Some external force, whose name or origin you didn’t know, forced your hand onto the knob and pushed into the room.

You met his eyes, cautious, but found nothing but relief, unshed tears in them.

“Y/N. Baby.” His voice cracked around the words, and he flew to your side of the room, crushing you to his body, burying his face in your damp hair.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? Where were you?”

You tried, but couldn't speak around the lump in your throat. All you wanted was for him to hold you again, and to apologize for everything.

“Y/N. You’ve gotta talk to me, please. M’goin mad here, I’ve been goin mad–”

“I’m okay, Marcus. I’m not hurt.” You squeezed at his hands, trying to loosen their tight grip around your back and also trying to ground him. “Went for my run and coffee like I said, and then around to visit my mates at my old flat. My phone died, and I didn’t realize. I should’ve known you would worry.”

He looked back at you with wide eyes still, nodding slow like it was taking serious effort to comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly, but much quieter, and none of the terror gone from it.

“Y/N, look, know you asked me not to push, but I can't just do nothin while–”

“Wait, Marcus – can we sit and do this? Please. And you’ve gotta get out of this jacket, babe, it’s soaked. You’ll catch a cold.”

The familiar sound of your fussing seemed to center him further, and he slid the jacket off, settling stiffly on the futon along the opposite wall. His legs were spread wide, and he raised his hands to his knees, fingers digging into them.

Hesitantly, you followed, standing between his legs, watching his eyes, which you’d missed, and his lips, which you’d possibly missed even more. You paused before lowering yourself onto his knee.

“Is this okay?”

“‘Course” He breathed out, pulling you the rest of the way down and rubbing his hands gently up and down your back. It was the first moment you’d felt at ease in the last two weeks, and you took the time to just hug him, wiping at a drop of water puddled along his hairline. Gradually, everything that had been pent-up seemed much easier to face.

“I’ve been real distant the past weeks, haven’t I.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s cause I’ve been confused.”

“Confused about what?”

The intensity of his eyes suddenly became too much, and you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. You made sure your voice still reached him clear.

“Confused about my feelings. About us, about us living together.”

His stomach had gone cold with dread again, but you took the silence as a license to continue. You knew he would stop you if and when he’d heard enough.

“It’s been great, it really has, Marcus. You’re my favorite person to be around – you know that.” His insides smiled at the mention, since the past week had convinced him of the opposite. Still, his expression remained the same.

“And you seemed so happy, having me here. But sometimes, lately, it got — I don’t know, overwhelming? Like, I had my friends in my last flat with me, and it feels like I spend so much time here alone. When you’re here, I don’t feel like that, but that don't feel fair to you either.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, it’s confusing, but it’s like, I’m used to my roommates, us all together, a lot of noise – even when you’re alone you’re not really alone. So whenever you get here, I want to recreate that, spend every second with you, if I can. Didn’t want you to think I was clinging, though? ‘Cause I know how that feels, too.” You paused to take a breath, and Marcus rubbed your back, silent encouragement to continue.

“Thought you should be able to come home and spend your time on your own, too, if that’s what you wanted. So I was moping, but trying to give you that, for a while. Thought that if I could give you some space until your trip next week, I’d be okay. I could use that week to get myself together, stop being ungrateful. ‘Cause I am so lucky, aren’t I? To be able to live with this person I love so much. But I guess I only made it worse.”

“So it’s findin a balance, then, that was hard. Findin ... where you and I, personal time ends, and where “us” time begins.” Marcus summarized.

There was an unspoken “Why didn’t you just say so?” at the back of his statement that your partner was too kind and too patient to say. But you deserved it, so you said it yourself.

“Exactly. But I should have told you that it was eating me up. Not tried to isolate myself, or shut you out. And I’m sorry, about that. ”

Marcus let the apology ring out, and laced the fingers of one of your hands together, a quiet absolution. You felt lighter, now, after having spoken your piece, but knew that didn’t mean the conservation was over.

“Don’t think I need to say I forgive you, because,” He leaned his chin into his palm thoughtfully, before looking up at you. “Because I really get it, you know. I do. I understand that you need your own space, to feel like your own person still. And also that I’m gone, and it’s just you here, a lot, which is new for you. I get that it’s overwhelming, that findin the balance bit. But– I’ve never done this, moved in with someone before, either, have I? It’s excitin, but it’s a lot of other emotions, too. You can’t assume how m’feeling, or how I want to spend my time, just like I can’t read your mind about what's got you upset, innit?”

He paused.

“And it’s like, we’ve gotta figure it out together, don’t we?”

You nodded.

“So when -if, you’re feelin like that again, you’ll tell me? Even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings, or whatever. And if you need to go spend extra time with your mates to feel alright, we’ll sort it. And I’ll do the same. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"You promise?"

You promised, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and chin against his head. With the most difficult part of the conversation over, your senses opened up enough beyond Marcus to notice that the sound of rain outside had ceased. The wet, grassy smell of his training kit finally entered your nose, and your good humor began to stretch its legs.

“So I don’t need to go pack my things?” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“No.” Marcus snorted. “Not unless you changed your mind the last 15 seconds.”

“Nah, I reckon I’ll stay. I'd miss the jacuzzi tub too much.” You sighed. “Saying no to that bath with you was the hardest thing I ever done.”

Marcus chuckled, enough air in his chest to do so now, and kissed you lightly on the lips.

“Fancy one now?” He repeated, and your “please” was fast and enthusiastic. He scooped you in his arms, and you held tight to him, murmuring quiet “I love you”s and knowing as you walked through the house –your house– that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[lilirari]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ ( ⚽ ) . . . FAKE TEXTS !

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ꩜⋆ i should be studying for my physics exam right now but i just had the sudden urge to make these texts for these silly bri'ish men ehe.. also i made declan's contact name as 'girl dinner' bc his last name is rice and that's basically what (asian) people have for dinner ahaha i'm so funny 👩🏻‍🦯 anyways hope you guys will like it ! i'm willing to take requests for fake texts so if you have anyone in mind (be it a f1/f2 driver or a footballer), you can send their names in my asks ! ^^

© LILIRARI, 2023 ★

[whorekneecentral]

can you please write a Marcus smut that’s super risky if you can🫶🏾

for ideas:

deed in the car knowing people are right outside

in the shower while someone walked in the bathroom

or anything else u would be open to do.

this is my first time requesting with u , kinda nervous idk why😭

🧋 anon

bestie don't be nervous lmao, I don't bite - I'll do the car one <3

You giggled, your hand over his mouth. "Shh!" You whispered, "they could hear us."

"And what?" Marcus bites your finger, getting you to pull your hand away.

Jadon had invited you two over for a party he was having in honour of his birthday. You had been there a while and Marcus had a few drinks, his hands wandering all over you. You giggled and swatted away his hands, brushing off his advances and as the evening went on, you found yourself more hot and bothered.

So much so that you pulled him out to the car for a quickie.

The street was fairly quiet so any noise would be an obvious give away that there's someone in the car. The last thing you need is for the two of you to be caught.

Marcus' hand slips between your legs under your skirt. You feel his thumb press to your clit over your panties and you lean back a bit, your back hitting the steering wheel and pressing the horn.

You let out a giggle, leaning back towards him. “Shh,” he tells you, “are you trying to get caught ?” He asks and you roll your eyes, “it was your idea!”

“Whatever but I'd rather not get caught.” He tells you.

Before you could answer, you feel him pull your panties to the side and his fingers slip between your entrance. “So wet hm?” he says, leaning into you and his lips on your neck, “all for me baby?”

“No,” you breathe, “for your teammate.”

The man rolls his eyes playfully, ignoring your comment. Marcus doesn’t give you a warning when he pulls you down onto him, his cock buried in you. Your boyfriend has you bouncing in his lap, his hands wrapped around your waist resting on your lower back, all while your face is buried in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, oh god-” your hips rock forwards and you feel him pull you closer.

“This pussy was made just for me hm? Good girl,” he whispers in your ear and it's like something switches in you.

He can feel you clench around him and bounce a little more, your clit brushing against him with each bounce and rock.

The sound of people just outside caused you two to freeze, Marcus's hand covers your mouth as you looked at him. His cock was buried in you and you were about to get caught.

A few seconds later you hear a car door slam and then it goes quiet. You just assume the people had left and you can't help the giggle.

"God," he huffed, "you know how much trouble we could get in?"

"You act like we're in school or something, relax." You lean down to kiss him.

[sportsuo]

𝗮 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘀

don't be racist

don't be a jerk

don't talk about their private life if it isn't out. ex. grealish is fine

don't be a creep

also please start your ask with uo ''the sport''