#rashford x reader

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ worlds collide, part three; 

                        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 : two thousand eight hundred twenty-four.

⭑  notes : i need to befriend more rashy fans :/ also this was way longer than expected

˙⋆✮ masterlist. part one. part two. ...

The days that followed were a blur. Your parents kept you on a tight leash, monitoring your every move. The freedom you’d cherished was gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of isolation.

You wanted to reach out to Marcus, to explain everything, but you didn’t know how. Your parents had confiscated your phone, and every attempt to leave the house was met with resistance. Eventually, you stopped trying.

Meanwhile, Marcus waited for you that first week, sitting on the bench by the pitch after his games, watching for any sign of you.

“She’s probably busy.” he told himself, kicking a loose pebble underfoot. “She’ll be here next time.”

But next time came and went, and you were nowhere to be found.

The weeks stretched into months, and Marcus’s hope began to wane. He’d ask around, but no one seemed to know anything about the girl who used to sit on the sidelines.

“She probably moved on,” Max had said. “Rich girls like her don’t stick around places like this.”

But Marcus didn’t believe that. Not you.

-

Despite the ache of your absence, Marcus threw himself into football. It was the one thing that made sense, the one thing he could control. His skills on the pitch earned him a spot in the academy, then the youth team, and eventually, a place in Manchester United.

He became everything he’d dreamed of—fast, agile, unstoppable. He was the kid from Wythenshawe who made it big, the one who defied the odds. The world knew his name, chanted it in stadiums, and plastered his face on billboards.

But even as he achieved greatness, a part of him always felt incomplete.

Late at night, when the noise of the world faded, Marcus would think of you. He’d remember the way you’d sit on the sidelines, your laughter ringing out whenever he tripped over the ball. He’d remember the way you’d encourage him to chase his dreams, your belief in him unwavering.

He’d wonder where you were, what you were doing, if you ever thought about him.

Sometimes, he’d drive through Wythenshawe, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. But the pitch was always empty, the streets quiet.

You were gone, like a dream he couldn’t hold onto.

-

Years later, during an interview, a reporter asked Marcus what kept him grounded despite his fame.

“My roots,” he said simply. “Where I come from. And… the people who believed in me before anyone else did.”

He didn’t elaborate, but as the cameras flashed and the reporters moved on to their next question, Marcus found himself thinking of you again.

You were the first person to truly see him, to believe in him. And no matter how much time passed, no matter how far he went, he couldn’t forget you. He longed to just speak to you again or steal a couple more laughs.

-

The ballroom shimmered with a golden glow, a blend of opulent chandeliers casting a warm light on the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. The air buzzed with muted conversation, the clink of glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet. 

You moved through the room with practiced grace, your heart beating in rhythm with the cause you held dear—true philanthropy, not the showy gestures your parents preferred. It was another thing your parents had never quite understood. While your parents were busy charming their affluent peers, you were already speaking with representatives from a literacy program, planning your next charity event.

The scent of roses and lilies filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of a string quartet that played in the background, weaving a melody that felt like a soft embrace. This wasn’t just a party; it was a celebration of grandeur and ambition, a testament to your parents’ new luxury resort chain that promised to be a haven for the world’s elite.

Near the bar Marcus Rashford could be seen, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of his glass. He wore a suit that fit him as if it were spun from midnight, every detail of his appearance meticulous, yet there was a softness in his eyes that betrayed his unease. He didn’t particularly love these events, where every smile held a hidden agenda, and every handshake was a silent transaction. But tonight, his presence was non-negotiable.

The invitation had arrived with all the subtlety of a command, his name carrying weight in circles where power and prestige were currency. His PR manager had gently insisted—“It’s important to show face, Marcus. These connections could be invaluable.” And so, here he stood, surrounded by opulence, a reluctant prince in a castle of wealth, his gaze occasionally drifting to the crowd, hoping to find an excuse to leave.

As he scanned the room, the music swelled, and for a fleeting moment, the noise faded into the background. The air seemed to still, and the world narrowed down to a heartbeat.

That’s when he saw you.

He was captivated hearing your laugh soft as you gestured animatedly while speaking to a group. You looked different—more poised, more polished—but those eyes… those were the same eyes he’d spent years dreaming about.

It had been five years, but how could he forget? The girl who’d believed in him before the world even knew his name. The one who used to watch him play with that wide-eyed curiosity. The one who had disappeared without a trace.

Marcus’s fingers tightened around his drink as he drew a breath, steadying the nerves that suddenly fluttered in his chest. The room, bustling with laughter and clinking glasses, seemed to dim around him. He wasn’t Marcus Rashford, the football star, in that moment. He was just a boy from Wythenshawe, trying to reconnect with someone who had once meant the world to him.

Gathering his courage, Marcus set down his glass and straightened his suit. He made his way across the room, weaving through the clusters of guests, his steps deliberate yet cautious, like he was approaching a dream that could dissipate at any second.

When he reached you, you were mid-laugh, your smile bright and captivating. The sound of your laughter filled him with warmth, but also a pang of longing for what once was. Clearing his throat softly, Marcus waited for you to finish speaking before gently interjecting.

“Excuse me,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a hint of the vulnerability he felt. “I couldn’t help but notice how passionately you were speaking about the literacy program.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, polite curiosity flickering across your face. “Oh, thank you. It’s a cause I care deeply about.”

Marcus offered a small smile. “I can see that. It’s inspiring.”

There was a beat of silence. He watched as you took in his face, searching for familiarity, but it was clear—you didn’t recognize him. The realization hit him like a wave, a mixture of disappointment and understanding swirling within him.

“I’m Marcus,” he said, extending his hand. “Marcus Rashford.”

You accepted his handshake, your grip firm but your expression remaining impassive, friendly but detached. “It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.”

He swallowed the initial sting of not being recognized. It made sense. He had changed—a lot. Gone was the boy with worn-out trainers and a shy smile. In his place stood a man who had climbed the heights of fame, his physique honed by years of discipline on the pitch. His once soft, boyish features had sharpened, now framed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache that added a layer of maturity to his face. Every part of him, from his confident stance to the polished lines of his tailored suit, was a testament to the man he had become—refined, composed, and far removed from the boy you met on the pitch.

Forcing himself to relax, Marcus continued, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. “It’s clear you’re passionate about what you do here. It’s admirable, really. Not everyone dedicates themselves so fully.”

Your smile widened slightly, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—guardedness, perhaps, or distraction. “Thank you. It means a lot to me, more than I can put into words.”

The conversation felt suspended in time, the hum of the gala a mere backdrop to the tentative connection between you. Marcus wanted to push further, to bridge the gap years had created, but before he could speak again, another guest approached, drawing your attention away with a polite urgency.

You excused yourself with a soft apology, leaving Marcus standing there, his hand slipping back into his pocket, his heart caught in a quiet ache. The opportunity had slipped through his fingers, yet the resolve in his chest hardened—this wasn’t the end. 

As you disappeared into the crowd, Marcus exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging with a weight only he could feel. He wasn’t the boy you once knew, and perhaps that was for the best. His childhood in Wythenshawe still lingered in his mind. Back then, all he had to offer was potential, a promise whispered to himself on the quiet streets.

Now, he stood on the opposite end of that promise, cloaked in fame and fortune, hoping these would be the tools to bridge the chasm between his humble beginnings and the life you led. He believed you deserve someone who could command a room, someone whose name was met with admiration and reverence. Someone with power, influence, and the means to give you the world.

Marcus clenched his jaw, pushing down the doubts that bubbled to the surface. Maybe you not recognizing him was a good thing. Maybe fame and success would capture your attention, perhaps even win the approval of your parents, who only saw worth in status and affluence. After all, he had built himself into a man they couldn’t ignore.

As the moon rose higher, Marcus reappeared, gliding toward you through the soft glow of the ballroom, his every step measured, confident. Your parents noticed him before you did, their faces lighting up like chandeliers at his approach. His name was music to their ears, a melody of success and prestige.

“Marcus, such a pleasure!” your mother gushed, her eyes sparkling as if she had just caught sight of a rare gem. “We’ve been hearing so much about your accomplishments.”

Your father extended his hand, his grip firm, a silent acknowledgment of Marcus’s stature. “Remarkable, what you’ve achieved.”

You turned to Marcus, a smile already curving your lips, warmed by the earlier interaction, hopeful for something more meaningful now. He met your gaze briefly, his eyes softening for a moment, before the conversation unfolded.

“Thank you,” Marcus began, his voice smooth, crafted to charm. “It’s been a journey, one that’s taken me to places I once only dreamed of.”

At first, his words held a certain allure, drawing you in with the promise of shared stories and deeper connections. But soon, the narrative shifted, the light in his eyes gleaming with something else.

He spoke of his latest acquisitions, each word gilded with the shimmer of wealth. “I’ve just added another property to my collection, a stunning estate near the Hale Barns. The architecture is simply exquisite, a perfect retreat.”

Your parents leaned in, captivated by the luxury that Marcus effortlessly wove into the conversation. But for you, each word chipped away at your initial thoughts of him, revealing a man encased in the armor of his own success. You should've known he would be just like the rest of the guests in attendance.

“And the yacht,” he continued, his smile easy, “is modest by some standards, but it turns enough heads in Monaco.”

Your heart, which had lifted at his earlier approach, now felt heavy, a quiet ache of disappointment settling in as you watched him perform for your parents, each phrase crafted to impress, but none meant for you. You were left standing amid the sparkle of riches, a sea of words that felt shallow in the grand ballroom of your expectations. A mix of irritation and disappointment bubbling beneath your composed exterior.

You forced a smile, the effort sharp on your lips as Marcus’s words wrapped around you like a gilded chain, heavy with the weight of his wealth. "Excuse me," you murmured softly, your fingers brushing your mother’s arm, a silent plea for escape. "I need to check on something."

Your mother barely registered the shift in your tone, her attention wholly consumed by the glossy narrative Marcus spun before her. She was entranced by the tale of his latest venture, too absorbed to notice the coolness in your voice, the disquiet lingering beneath your skin. Marcus’s eyes, a flash of disappointment, flickered toward you as you moved away, his lips parting as if to protest—but before the words could form, your father’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder, drawing him back into the conversation with effortless ease.

Marcus’s gaze held on you for a moment longer, a magnetic pull, but the gravity of your parents’ interest soon anchored him to the crowd. You slipped away, the weight of his eyes a soft pressure at your back, yet the gentle hum of the party receded as you made your way into the cool embrace of the kitchen.

Here, the air was different—fresher, lighter, a refuge from the glittering chaos that had felt so suffocating moments ago. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled in the air, comforting and familiar, wrapping around you like an old, well-worn sweater. You exhaled slowly, your lungs filling with the quiet, and leaned back against the counter, allowing the stillness to wash over you.

Mrs. Peters, the cook and wife of the family’s driver, stood at the heart of the kitchen, her hands steady as she placed a delicate dessert onto a porcelain plate. She was a woman whose presence always soothed you—silver hair soft as moonlight framed her face, her eyes sharp with a knowing kindness that saw more than most could imagine.

She met your gaze immediately, reading the quiet turmoil behind your eyes. Without a word, she slid the plate toward you, the sweet aroma of the cake mingling with the soft warmth of the room. A knowing smile curled at the corners of her lips, like she understood more than you’d let on.

“What’s got you frowning sweetheart?” she asked, her voice a gentle balm to your frazzled nerves.

You sank into a chair, the wood cool beneath you, and let the words spill out, the frustration in your chest finally finding its voice. “Just egotistical guests, his name is Marcus.” you huffed, the name falling from your lips like a tired sigh. “I thought there was something real there, something different. But all he does is brag about his fortune... his connections… it’s like he’s just another one of them.”

Mrs. Peters, who had been tidying the counter with a dish towel, paused and raised an eyebrow. Her hands rested on the cloth, her gaze steady, considering. “Marcus Rashford? He seems like a nice young man to me. Infact helped me earlier tonight, when I was struggling with the trays. A real gentleman.”

Your mind flickered, caught between two conflicting images of the man—one of a suave, self-assured charmer, the other of the man she described, helping, gentle. You couldn’t reconcile them. “Maybe he’s good at pretending,” you murmured, the words thick with uncertainty.

She chuckled softly, the sound a melodic hum that seemed to settle the air around you. Her eyes twinkled with something unspoken as she moved toward the stove, her voice carrying the comfort of experience. “He’s done more than you know, love. Charity work, from what I hear. Doesn’t boast about that, though.”

You blinked, the words catching you off guard. Is that why he was so intrigued earlier?

“Charity?” you repeated, your voice softening, a flicker of curiosity replacing the simmering frustration.

Mrs. Peters nodded, her smile gentle but knowing. “Yes, dear. He’s made a real difference for many people. Not just with his wealth, but with his time. He gives when it’s asked of him, no questions, no fanfare.”

Her words settled in your mind like soft rain on dry earth, the image of Marcus shifting, slipping from the polished façade you’d created in your mind. He had been a mystery to you, but now there were layers you hadn’t considered, depths you hadn’t seen.

Your fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the counter as you mulled over her words. Marcus—this man you had dismissed as another one of the polished, self-absorbed rich men you’d grown so weary of—wasn't quite the person you'd thought he was. There was more to him than the image he so carefully cultivated, more beneath the surface than the stories he told.

For the first time that evening, a flicker of something like hope stirred in your chest—a glimmer of the possibility that perhaps the footballer wasn’t entirely what you had imagined him to be.

© gul4bjamoons 2025

[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 ★

[tch8mnis]

hi everyone!!! my name is serenity and i write football fan fics 🫶🏽🫶🏽

some facts about me:

• i am a BLACK writer ✍🏽

• real madrid supporter

• jude bellingham is my favorite player (obv)

• support england's national team (sometimes)

• my face claims will most if not all the time be а РОС

• i've been on tumblr for about 3-4 years

• Ive started writing about 2 years ago

• i have a dog (not very important but i love him sm)

if anyone has any more questions feel free to send them thru !

i made this page bc i want to start taking request from people, i've been wanting to for a longgg time but i just never got the chance buttt NOW we are here and if u have a request please send them in!!

i take requests for anyone (except for the terrible ones like gr**nwood, h@kimi, z!nchenko, part3y, m3ndy etc etc)

more specifically i'd love request for

• jude bellingham

• jamal musiala

• alejandro balde

• aurelien tchouameni

• kylian mbappe

• trent alexander arnold

• marcus rashford

those are just players that id love to write for but again ill write for anyone <3

also i'm coming from wattpad so i plan to post my jude fic on here that i never finished and just finish it on here so i get a new audience

but yea that's it i think now i need to fix up my account and try to make mutuals everything but thank u all for reading, hope ill see yall again soon 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[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

princess treatment

kylian mbappè

safeword

my man

prank goes wrong

real madrid?

5 years - 5 years part two

jealousy jealousy

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.

[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.

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ worlds collide, part two; 

                        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 : two thousand four hundred thirty-six.

⭑  notes : idk if i should edit my writings to make them shorter but oh well

˙⋆✮ masterlist. part one. ... part three.

After that first encounter on the pitch, a door inside you creaked open. It wasn’t sudden, like a storm breaking, but a quiet shift—a tremor that only you could feel. At first, it was just a spark: a smile from Marcus that made your chest flutter. But soon it became harder to ignore. Each time you walked into the silence of your piano room, the space between the keys felt heavier. Your fingers, once accustomed to the smooth glide of polished ivories, itched for something else, something that made you feel.

The lessons went on, as planned. Dutiful. Predictable. But it was the hours after—those stolen minutes—that began to breathe new life into you, that small, secret world where no one could touch you.

It started with little lies. You’d tell Mr. Peters you needed just a bit more time on your scales. “My instructor wants me to practice longer,” you’d say, though the words burned on your tongue, thick with rebellion. He never questioned you—just nodded politely and left you in peace. But the scales? They didn’t matter.

The pitch did.

You convinced yourself it was curiosity that pulled you there, the way the boys moved with the ball, their feet working in perfect sync, as though they spoke in a language only they understood. You watched Marcus like he was the sun, glowing too bright to touch but impossible to ignore. When he sprinted, his legs worked like fluid, muscles rippling beneath his shorts.

And when he caught your gaze, when that grin flickered across his face, it set something off inside you. You'd play it cool, of course, but you’d never be able to hide the way your heart raced.

"You don't have to pretend," he’d tease, those words slipping through the air like a dare. "I know you think I’m good."

You’d shrug, your cheeks warm despite the bravado. “You’re alright, I guess.”

His eyes would light up, mischief dancing there. "Alright? I’m the best on this pitch.”

The way he said it wasn’t boastful—it was just fact, a truth he carried so naturally that anyone who had seen him play would agree. And you? You didn’t need to see more. You could hear it in the sound of the ball thumping against the ground, in the way his friends cheered when he scored, in the sharpness of his movements that made the whole game feel like poetry in motion. 

-

Marcus had a way of teaching you about football that was both casual and patient, like he was handing you the secrets to a world you’d never quite understood before. He’d start small, explaining the basic rules while you sat cross-legged on the grass, the evening sun casting long shadows across the pitch. The other boys would drift in and out, offering tips here and there, teasing you in a way that made you laugh instead of feel self-conscious. They were all surprisingly kind, helping you with your footwork, showing you how to balance on the ball, how to kick it with the right amount of power without overthinking it.

One evening, after you’d missed a pass and sent the ball rolling awkwardly to the side, Marcus grinned and shook his head, pulling something from his bag. "Here," he said, tossing you a pair of scuffed cleats. "You need something with more grip." You took them, unsure at first. They were a little too big for you—his old pair, clearly well-worn and loved—but there was something about them that made you feel like the likes of Maradona. “Thanks,” you said quietly, already feeling the weight of them, the smell of leather and grass lingering in the air.

“I had them when I was younger,” Marcus said, almost as if the cleats held some quiet, unspoken story. “They’re a bit loose, but they’ll help you out.”

You smiled to yourself as the leather straps barely cinched around your ankles. They were too big, but somehow they made you feel... connected to something bigger. You’d hide them in your bag afterward, nestling them beneath textbooks.

And every time you put them on, every time you ran across the grass, the shoes seemed to fill you with something more than just a love for the game. They filled you with the thrill of having something just for yourself—something no one else could take away.

-

At first, the minutes you stole were small. Just fifteen extra minutes after lessons, then thirty, sometimes an hour. You’d tell Mr. Peters the same lie about needing more time with the piano, but it wasn’t the piano you wanted. It was the feeling—the rush of running across the field, the cool grass underfoot, the sound of your breath in the quiet space between.

You told yourself it was all about practice, that you were refining something. But what you were really refining was the ability to breathe—to exist somewhere without the weight of your parents' expectations pressing on your chest.

But despite the careful lies—about a recital or memorizing notes—there was something in Mr. Peters' eyes that made your stomach twist. He never said a word, but you caught the way his gaze lingered a little too long when you’d show up with grass on your clothes. The small, knowing pauses. It made you wonder if he saw right through it all.

His silence felt like an unspoken understanding, one that made your chest tighten. You were careful, so careful, to keep it all hidden. You’d always be 10 minutes early to the other side of the block to get picked up, or have the cleats hidden beneath layers of clothes, never letting them see the light of day. You’d race to meet Marcus after your lessons, heart thumping in your chest, always half-expecting Mr. Peters to catch you, to ask you where you were really coming from, what you were really doing.

And then there was Marcus. The more time you spent with him, the more you saw beyond the easy confidence, the smirk, the laughter. One evening, after the game, when the field had emptied and the sun hung low in the sky, he sat beside you, his expression unguarded for once.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, staring down at the ball like it held the answers to a question you couldn’t hear. “I don’t know if I could ever play for a real club.”

You frowned, unsure of what he meant. “What? Why?”

He shrugged, kicking at the grass. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your heart ached. The boy who seemed to glide across the field now sounded unsure, small in a way you hadn’t expected. You leaned in, your voice firm.

“Marcus, that’s ridiculous. You’re incredible. Anyone can see that.”

He glanced at you, searching your face, as if he needed to hear the truth from your lips. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to pause.

A grin spread across his face, one that was real, unguarded. “Alright then. Maybe I’ll give it a shot someday.”

That day came sooner than you thought.

Weeks later, he dropped the news: “We’ve got our first match this weekend.”

You felt your breath catch. “That’s amazing!” The thought of him playing at something bigger, something more real, filled you with pride you hadn’t expected.

But as the months passed, and the victories piled up, something else started to grow between you—something quiet, something steady. You’d tell him about your parents, how they never really saw you. “They don’t care about what I want,” you confessed one evening, eyes downcast. “It’s always about what looks good on paper. Piano lessons, galas, perfect behavior... none of it feels like me.”

He stiffened, voice tight. “That’s crap. You should do what makes you happy.”

It made you laugh—bitter, hollow. “Easier said than done.”

“Well,” he grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief, “at least you’ve got me to keep things interesting.”

And for a moment, in the quiet between you both, it felt like a promise.

-

The evening started like any other. You were waiting by the pitch, still humming the scales in your head, heart racing with that familiar anticipation. And then you saw them—your parents, standing by Mr. Peters’ car, their bodies rigid, their expressions too knowing.

“What is going on here?” Your father demanded, his voice sharp as a blade. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Panic flooded your chest, suffocating you. 

“I—uh, I was just—” You swallowed, trying to find the words, but your tongue felt heavy. 

Your mother cut in before you could finish. “Not practicing your piano?” Her voice was an icy whisper, and you knew it wasn’t a question—it was an accusation. Her arms crossed over her chest, her stance unyielding, as though she already knew everything. “Do you think we don’t notice? You’ve been sneaking off, haven’t you?” 

Your pulse pounded in your ears. They couldn’t know. They couldn’t have found out about the cleats. 

“I wasn’t—” You hesitated, desperately searching for a way to twist the truth, but everything seemed to crumble as the lie formed in your throat. “I was just... watching. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” 

Your father raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “Watching?” His voice lowered dangerously. “You’ve been here more than once. We’ve heard things, from Mrs. Davies. She saw you with a boy. Who is he?” 

Your mind raced. What boy? You tried to keep your face neutral, but the blood had drained from your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what you mean. There’s no boy. I’m just... friends with some of the people here.” You could hear the panic creeping into your voice. You knew they wouldn’t believe you, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trying. 

"Really?" Your father's voice was like ice. "Is that what you’re calling him? Some friend?"

Your mother didn’t wait for you to answer. “Are you really acting out of line for some boy? Is that what this is about?” Her voice sliced through the air, sharp and laced with disdain. 

It wasn’t about some boy at all. It was about something far more complicated—something she wouldn’t understand. Something you couldn’t put into words. The truth was, Marcus was only a small part of it. 

Yes, his presence was nice, his smile contagious, the way he moved on the field something that made your chest flutter. But in reality it was this hobby that allowed you to finally have something that was yours, despite how awful you were at it. It wasn’t just about him—it was about how you felt when the ball was at your feet, when everyone outside seemed to fade away and all that mattered was the rhythm of your body, the chase, the joy of movement. In those stolen moments on the pitch, you felt something you hadn’t felt in so long: alive. You felt like you could breathe without the weight of expectations crushing you down, like you could shed the perfect daughter you were supposed to be and just be yourself, messy and free. 

Your mothers glare taking you out of your thoughts, her eyes like two cold knives. “Do you have any idea what people will think if they find out our daughter is running around with people from—” 

“No!” you interjected quickly, your voice trembling. You could feel the walls closing in, the heat of their stares making it hard to breathe. 

You glanced over your shoulder, hoping Marcus might appear, some kind of rescue, but the pitch barely held anyone. Where was he? 

"Don't lie to us," your father snapped, cutting through your thoughts. 

"You're coming home now." Your mother grabbed your arm, her fingers digging into your skin with surprising strength, and started to drag you toward the car. 

You tried to pull away, but her grip was ironclad, and the only thing you could do was stumble after her, feeling every ounce of your defiance slip away. 

It wasn’t until you were in the backseat of the car, the door slamming shut with a finality that made your stomach lurch, that you felt the heat of the shame settle in. Your parents didn’t speak as they drove, but their silence felt heavier than any argument. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the streetlights blur past, wishing the world outside could swallow you whole. 

When you finally arrived home, your parents wasted no time. Your father’s lecture commenced and all you wanted to do was disappear.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, your mother started going through your bag. You saw her hand pause, hovering over the bag as if she could sense what was inside. Your stomach dropped. 

“What's this?” she asked, pulling the bag out with one smooth motion. The unmistakable shape of cleats pressed against the fabric. She yanked them out, and there they were—the old, worn cleats, scuffed and faded from years of use. 

Your breath hitched. 

No. No, no, no.

 “Whose are these?” Your father’s voice was dangerously quiet now. He held them up, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

You froze, your mind a blank canvas. You started to speak. The lie was on the tip of your tongue, but there was no way to twist the truth now. 

“Enough!” your father barked, his voice shaking the walls. “You’re done with this. No more football. No more lies.” 

You opened your mouth again to protest, to say that they didn’t understand, but he was already taking charge. “I’ll just pay for your instructor to come to the house. You need to focus on your future young lady.” he demanded.

“I am focusing on my future! All I wanted was some free-” you shouted, but the words were already swallowed by the oppressive silence. 

Your mother yanked your collar as she cuts you off, her eyes cold. “This ends now. Do you understand me?” 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. 

Later, as the night stretched on in that oppressive silence, you sat in your room, your heart a heavy weight in your chest. 

The cleats lay in the trash can, a reminder of the world you’d lost. 

You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. 

And as you looked at them one last time, the weight of your parents' fury felt like it was crushing you. You didn’t know when you would see Marcus again. You didn’t know how long the silence would last. 

But you knew one thing for sure: something precious had been ripped from you. And you knew, with a sharp ache in your chest, that this—whatever it had been—was over.

© gul4bjamoons 2025

[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 ★

[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.

[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.

[damiansgoodgirll]

one with rashy where reader is insecure about her small boobies and tries to cover her upper body when they get intimate but he actually loves them

really self indulgent coming from a small cherries gal like me 😂

i never had this problems with my 🍒 so i hope i made justice to what i wrote, hope you like it!!!!

marcus rashford x reader

tw : smut but not really, insecure reader, self conscious reader

cherries

“hey love i’m home!” you heard marcus calling you from downstairs.

you were standing in front of a mirror only in your bra and underwear but you quickly looked for any t-shirt to wear as you heard marcus approaching your bedroom and you wiped your tears away as fast as you could.

it was one of those days.

one of the days where you felt insecure about your body, about you. you compared yourself to models on instagram, to other football players wives and girlfriends and you kept asking yourself why you couldn’t look like them?

their perfect smiles, their perfect instagram feed, their perfect bodies. you were so jealous.

you’ve always had a love and hate relationship with your body. you liked the way you look but you couldn’t see anything special about you, no, you were just an average girl and sometimes you asked yourself why was marcus with someone like you when he could have models with perfect bodies.

you didn’t like the way your hair laid flat over your shoulders or the way you couldn’t properly do your make up but those were just superfluous things, but there one thing that you couldn’t change and that was something that always bothered you.

you hated your chest.

you grew up watching your friends growing bigger boobs while you got nothing. you thought it wasn’t fair but there was nothing you could do about it. so you let it go away, always thinking about something else even when your mind was stuck to that thought.

“hey baby…” marcus whispered when he saw you on the bed reading a book “i didn’t mean to disturb you baby” he said looking at you. you looked so into the book that he felt bad about disturbing you. in all honestly you couldn’t care less about the book, not when your mind was somewhere else.

“hi love, how was practice?” you asked him setting the book aside.

“good, but i missed you a lot” he engulfed you in a big hug that made you laugh “i really really missed you” his lips a few inches away from yours but you were the one who closed the distance and kissed him.

“i missed you too…”you whispered.

“i hope so” he kissed you again. and again. and again. only to lower his lips onto your neck and gently leaving soft bites and marks that made you squirm underneath his body.

“marcus…”

“does it feel good?” he asked you when his lips met your neck once again. you nodded and you let his hands wander under your t-shirt. he touched your hips and belly but something made you freeze when he touched your boobs.

your mind was in a bad place and his hands gently working on your nipples weren’t bringing you pleasure anymore.

he sensed that something was wrong “are you okay baby?” he looked straight into your eyes. they were glossy and you looked like you were about too cry.

“i’m sorry…” you apologised.

“no baby, don’t apologize…please, tell me what’s wrong? did i do something wrong?” he asked, concern evident on his face.

“no you didn’t do anything wrong…it’s me, i just - it’s stupid, forget it…”

“no it’s not stupid if it makes you cry, please tell me what it is baby…” he begged you.

“my boobs…i can’t, i don’t like the way they look, i - they’re not big or round as they should be and…” you said but your tears stopped you from talking.

“hey hey shhh…it’s okay baby” he comforted you kissing you over your head “can i show you something?” he asked and you nodded.

he then removed your t-shirt leaving you half naked, your small boobs on display and you tried to cover them with your hands but he stopped you.

“don’t cover baby…don’t cover yourself” he moved to kiss between the valley of your breast “you’re so beautiful…so fucking gorgeous” his tongue licked your left nipple “i love your body, i love the way it reacts when i do this…” he then touched your right nipple with his delicate fingers “you’re so beautiful, the most beautiful creature for me…i can’t believe how lucky i am to have someone like you in my life” he kissed your right nipple and gently sucked it.

that simple gesture made you moan.

“i love you so much…” he looked straight into your eyes again “it’s normal to have insecurities…i do have them too, but i want you to know that you’re perfect the way you are, you’re more than perfect love” he kissed your tears away.

“marcus…”

“i know baby, i know. i just wanted you to know how i feel” he kissed you once again.

you’ve never felt so much love in your life and it was kinda overwhelming. he let you cry in his arms, he comforted you all night and let you sleep over his chest.

he was mesmerised by your beauty and he couldn’t understand how you didn’t see that too.