mccartneyism
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After another brief silence, Jude decided to break it himself, stepping forward slightly and held out his hand, "Jude Bellingham" he said, making a small effort to smile.
The blond didn't even glance at his outstretched hand, he just held his eyes - a beat too long, flat, unreadable - before his gaze finally dropped to it, slow and unhurried.
"Didn't think smokers made it through preseason" he said, just that, no smile, then he took Jude's hand - quick, firm - a small, closed-lip smile pulling at his mouth without ever reaching his eyes, "I'm Erling" he tightened his grip, "Erling Håland".
or rather: just them as two eighteen years old boys in the universe of SKAM Norway.
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His hand slips out from under the pillow to touch Erling's face and pinch his cheek, red blooming afterwards. It makes the other groan and try to move his face away while Jude just giggles at him which sort of sums up their relationship.
Or: Jude and Erling in the aftermath of the match.
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“Like what you see?” Erling swings his hips side to side, mimicking a cowboy shooting their gun with his own made sound effect. His right hand carrying a raccoon holding a whiskey bottle and his left hand carrying squirrels. He winks at Jude as the omega wipes the fake tears on the corner of his eyes. “No mate, you turn me off.”
“I’m ready to give you top and you bring dead animals into my room?” Jude complains, pouting with no actual fury, fake sulking back to laying on his pillow.
“It’s taxidermy!”
—
Erling returned to Jude's hotel room with his souvenirs—and an unexpected offer from Jude that he couldn't refuse.
Bookmarked by mccartneyism
19 Jul 2026
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Jude's omega pheromones alone aren't the main thing distracting Haaland; it's the smell of him on everyone else.
Series
- Part 1 of L's haalingham obsession~ <3
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Bookmarked by mccartneyism
19 Jul 2026
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Summary
“If it’s still bothering you… how about we make a bet? A consolation prize for the loser. Whoever loses gets to do whatever they want to the winner. That way we both win. You lose, you still get what you want. No limits.”
Jude frowned slightly. “Why does this sound like you have an ulterior motive?”
Haaland let out a soft laugh. “Why would I? I’m not throwing the match, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sorry, I love fucking you… but I also love winning.”
Jude went quiet, turning the idea over in his head. It could actually work. If he won and Haaland got to take what he wanted from him afterwards, he’d feel less guilty. And if he lost… he could release all that tension on Haaland and move on.
“No limits?” he asked.
“No limits,” Haaland confirmed, his eyes darkening.