astro761
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The aftermath of their win against Brazil is unlike anything Erling has ever dared dream of. There's rowing and drinking and endless public celebrations, but Erling's personal favourite is having Jude Bellingham in his bed, squared away in a Miami hotel room.
Ready and willing and his for the taking.
Series
Bookmarked by astro761
11 Aug 2026
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“So, I’m going to need you to be my boyfriend for three months.”
“Done.”
“It’s going to help me—wait, what?”
or, a norwegian striker and an english midfielder try to convince the world they’re together (task failed, successfully!)
Bookmarked by astro761
10 Aug 2026
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“Brother, what is that?” Eduardo Camavinga halted dead in his tracks, lifting the limp shark by two manicured fingers with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust. “You make, how many millions a year? Why do you have a dead fish from IKEA in your house?”
“Put it down, Cama,” Jude said threateningly, not taking his eyes off his phone screen. “It’s a structural lumbar support device.”
“It has no structure! It’s like a pancake!”
or, a love story told through the eyes of a fading blue ikea shark plushie (re: jude’s lumbar support)
Bookmarked by astro761
04 Aug 2026
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Four messages greeted him on the screen. Jude read them twice. No jokes. No insults. Not even a smug remark about the state Erling had left him in. Erling had never worried about waking him before, particularly when he wanted another round in the middle of the night. Apparently, saying goodbye was where consideration of Jude’s sleep schedule became important.
Or regret was.
Fine. Jude regretted it too.
Not Erling. The timing. The bruises. The fact that now, in three days’ time they were supposed to stand on opposite sides of a World Cup quarter-final and pretend neither of them knew what the other sounded like with his face pressed into a hotel pillow. When had understanding Erling become this difficult? At Dortmund, Erling had filled every available space, and Jude had never needed to search for hidden meaning in anything he said or did.
Now, Jude had four messages and no idea what any of them meant.
At least they had no punctuation. That felt reassuringly normal.
OR
Erling sneaks into Jude's hotel and they have extremely competitive sex, leaving Jude unable to run three days before the World Cup quarter final. Everybody handles this badly, not least Thomas Tuchel.
Bookmarked by astro761
04 Aug 2026
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Nobody else had burrowed under his skin like Haaland had. He was so far from his usual type, so friendly and stoic and cool-headed. God, Jude had liked him so much. He’d spent years making such a tit of himself trying to impress him, and what kept him on the backfoot was that he hadn’t needed to - Haaland had been his rock from the moment he joined the club. It was so easy, so effortless to slip into a routine, it unsettled Jude as much as it thrilled him. But he hadn’t liked how small Haaland made him feel. How out of control. The man was unflappable, impossible to provoke. Jude resented his own infatuation, the ever-swelling bubble of fondness he nursed for Erling, because he had no idea how to be with a man who didn’t fight back.
[The quarter-final looms. Jude hasn't seen Erling since their Dortmund days, and he still hasn't come to terms with his sexuality. Or his fondness for getting folded in half.]
Bookmarked by astro761
02 Aug 2026