Doer Of Many Things

You had no idea what was going on but you were invested. Your team had won that game and solidified their place in the finals and in your heart. You absolutely became a hockey girl after that. Flash forward a year and things were different. You didn’t know too much more about hockey, but you still screamed your opinions down at the ice. You had merch on merch on merch supporting your team. And, now, you were dating one of the players.

It was a sweet enough story about how you two got together. You told him he looked vaguely familiar at a bar and he smirked and said he looks different without the hockey gear. But he recognized you too. You had started springing for better and better tickets each game, getting closer to the ice. The team was secretly endeared by you, a loud and proud supporter but didn’t know what was happening 100% of the time.

Affectionately dubbed The Screamer among the players.

(He’ll never tell you that.)

Every hockey player had their Big Game™️ superstition. Davis listened to the same playlist on repeat the month leading up to one. Brown had to be the last to leave the rink each practice. Nolan abstained from all alcohol and sweets for two weeks.

And what does your boyfriend do for two weeks?

Abstains from sex.

Before you, Barry hadn’t even had a tradition that was that restrictive; just always wore a four leaf clover on his person somewhere at all times. The first time hadn’t even been on purpose!

It was just that you were both busy the two weeks leading up to the semi final. Not much personal time. Alone time. During the game, he was noticeably… off. Not necessarily playing poorly, but a little more recklessly, a little more aggressively than usual.

Even after the team won, he was giving tight smiles and light chuckles to his teammates as he searched the crowd. And then his cool, blue eyes landed on you, heavily. As if his gaze alone was holding you down on earth.

“Congratulations!” You said shaking off the feeling.

“Mhmm,” he responded distractedly as he grabbed your hand and dragged you away.

“Don’t break her, dude,” one of his teammates chuckled low enough for him to hear as they passed by but he just growled out a shut up as he led you away from the crowd towards the empty locker room.

“Babe, what’s the matter—?”

Then he had you pressed up against the wall much like when he got that penalty in the second quarter. His lips were ravenous on yours.

“Should have worn a skirt,” he grumbled into your mouth.

“It's forty degrees,” you tried to argue back, but he was already dropping to his knees. He unzipped your jeans, yanking them and your panties down just enough to bury his face between your legs before you could even react.

His thumbs dug into your thighs to part them enough to stuff his tongue between your lower lips. A muffled groan rumbled against your skin as he endeavored to make room for himself.

“Barry!” You caught yourself, checking your volume to hiss at him, “Babe, wait! Or at least push my– get my jeans down, you heathen!”

He didn’t slow or remove his face, but he did start tugging at your jeans and panties again, getting them down to your ankles so that he could part your legs a bit more. You covered a moan as he licked into you more surely. It wasn’t taking much to get you wet and worked up; watching him play always did it for you, really, not to mention you were a little pent up from the last couple of weeks. The eagerness he displayed in trying doggedly to get a taste of you certainly helped.

An alarm on his Apple watch went off and he cursed as he got to his feet. Before you could ask what it was for, he took your face in his hands and joined your lips, spreading the taste of you that was on his tongue.

He groaned against your mouth, pained and apologetic. “No time,” he mumbled as he turned you around. Your hands caught the wall as he tilted you forward, angling your hips. Barry fumbled with his jeans and after a quick zip and the sound of him spitting in his hand, you felt the weeping tip of him at your entrance. He pulled your ass back and pressed forward, releasing a low, long groan as the head pushed in.

“God, I’ve missed my cunt.” His heavy accent against your ear sent shivers down your spine. Then he fucked in deeper.

And for the next eight minutes Barry had you seeing stars. He took you hard, his thrusts sharp and unrelenting. The smack of skin against skin and panting breaths echoed in the empty room, the metal lockers next to you clanging rhythmically in time with his hips. When you finally came around his cock, his thick fingers on your clit and your knees shaking, Barry sighed like your release took the edge off his. Grip renewed on your hips, he pounded into you, seeking his own pleasure. He pulled out in time to thrust between your cheeks a few times before spilling over the globes of your ass, a deep, throaty fuck filling the room. He leaned forward, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades as you both attempted to catch your breath.

Barry left you there momentarily, grabbing a clean towel from his locker and wiping you off before you both got your clothes back on.

“Was that necessary?” You asked with narrowed eyes, trying to hold back a smile.

He grinned back, placing a little kiss on your nose. “Yes.”

When you reentered the room, minutes before the post-game interview, Barry’s arm was slung around your shoulder. He was much more like his normal self, jovial and ready with his easygoing smile. And he soundly ignored every one of his teammates who commented on the change.

🥅

“fuck, baby— pussy’s squeezing me like it wants every drop,” he rasped, hips snapping forward. the wet slap of skin filled the room, your slick coating his shaft and dripping down your ass. he smelled like sweat mixed with the cologne he wore, his breath hot on your neck. “i know we’re too young for this shit— know it. but goddamn, the way you milk me— like your cunt’s begging for my cum.”

you moaned, thighs trembling around his waist. his grip tightened, one hand sliding down to thumb your clit in rough circles. pleasure shook, harsh and rough, your inner walls fluttering around him. jobe’s eyes darkened, jaw clenched as he fought the urge.

“can’t pull out,” he growled, thrusting harder, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every stroke. “feels too fucking good. your tight little hole’s gripping me, sucking me deeper. wanna breed you, baby. fill this pussy up till it’s leaking my load. tell me you want it.”

his voice cracked with raw need, hips stuttering. you felt every ridge of him dragging against your sensitive flesh, the wet squelch of your juices mixing with his pre-cum. sweat slicked your skin where your bodies met, the air thick with the scent of sex. inside, your mind spun, too young, too reckless, but the thought of him claiming you like this made your cunt clench harder.

“please,” he begged, voice rough, “let me knock you up. can’t stop. your pussy’s too perfect, milking my cock like it owns me. gonna cum so deep— fuck, take it.”

he slammed in one final time, cock throbbing as hot ropes of cum flooded your womb. his body shuddered over yours, breath ragged, still whispering filthy pleas even as he emptied himself completely.

the notifications had started as a joke. you laughed every time another fan account appeared on your feed.

“They’re actually serious?” you muttered, shaking your head.

the edit had been surprisingly well made. your picture from a paris campaign placed beside his after a champions league match.

you’d tapped the heart without thinking. cute edit. that should’ve been the end of it. instead, it became the beginning. within hours, the edit had picked up traction. more accounts reposted it. more people made edits. more comments flooded beneath every one of your posts.

supporters spammed his username underneath your photos, while your own was plastered beneath his. every new post either of you uploaded somehow turned into the same conversation that the two of you would make an undeniably attractive couple.

soon there were “proof” threads dissecting your social media activity, as if that somehow confirmed a relationship that didn’t even exist.

it became impossible to ignore. every notification seemed to mention him. every comment section looked the same.

at first, you laughed. then it became mildly irritating. but you never actually shut it down. part of you figured it would disappear on its own. internet trends came and went all the time. give people a week or two and they’d find something else to obsess over.

so instead, you kept scrolling. you rolled your eyes at the more delusional theories, laughed at the creative edits, occasionally even liked one if it genuinely made you laugh.

you weren’t encouraging it.. but you weren’t stopping it either. you’d managed to ignore it for almost two weeks. almost.

every notification was the same.

…. mentioned you in a comment

…. tagged you in a post

…. added you to a reel

with an irritated sigh, you tucked a pillow under your arms, phone balanced in one hand as another notification appeared.

“PLEASE FOLLOW HIM ALREADY.”

you rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

you weren’t going to follow him. just… see who this supposed ‘boyfriend’ actually was.

you tapped the tagged username. his profile loaded almost instantly.

a blue checkmark, millions of followers.

the name display simply read:

‘Armando…’

“so your name’s Armando.” you murmured to yourself. you scrolled cautiously, making absolutely sure your thumb stayed well away from the like button.

your feed filled with match day photos, pictures with teammates, and the occasional professionally shot portraits.

it wasn’t difficult to understand why people found him attractive. he was handsome, there was no denying that. he also had one of those smiles that looked genuine.

one photo caught your attention, a stadium unlike the others. the red and white striped jersey recognizable. your eyebrows lifted. you tapped it.

“he plays for them?” you blinked in surprise.

you continued scrolling. one finger hovering awkwardly so you wouldn’t accidentally follow him.

every couple of posts, your eyes drifted to the comments. there were thousands. thousands. your name appeared so often it almost stopped looking like your own.

you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“fuck, just leave him alone.”

another post. more comments. another. even more. someone else claimed to have “inside information.”

you let out a long, defeated groan.

“This is actually insane.”

your thumbs twitched over the keyboard. for one second, you imagined replying.

we have literally never met.

delete

please stop tagging him.

delete

you guys made this up yourselves

delete

none of it would matter. if anything, responding would only make matters worse.

so, with every ounce of self control you had, you backed out of the comment section. then his profile, then instagram entirely.

you tossed your phone beside you.

“I’m never opening those comments again.”

meanwhile, Armando remained blissfully unaware. his days looked the same: morning practice. more training. rest. home.

he wasn’t the type to sit around scrolling through social media, and when he did open instagram it was usually to answer a few messages, repost something from the club, before locking his phone again.

so while the internet had practically decided he was in love with a woman he’d never spoken to… he had absolutely no idea.

it wasn’t until after training had wrapped up, he sat in the locker room unlacing his cleats, one teammate snorted. “Armando.”

he looked up, “¿Qué?”

the phone was shoved in front of him.

an edit. you and him.

he blinked. “¿Qué?”

the room burst into laughter.

“Tu novia.”

“No tengo novia.”

“Pues ya tienes..”

another teammate chimed in. “Le dio like.”

he frowned. “¿Quién le dio like a qué?”

“tu novia.”

he took the phone. your profile appeared. verified. photoshoots. fashion week clips. magazine covers.

he recognized you immediately. “Es famosa… y modelo.”

he scrolled for a moment before handing the phone back.

“¿Y?”

“¿Cómo que ‘y’?”

the teammate grinned. “La gente cree que andan.”

he laughed under his breath. “como crees. el internet se inventa las cosas”

Armando, somehow, remained completely unfazed by the whole thing. if anything, he seemed almost oblivious to it.

he kept reposting club posts, match day photos, the occasional picture with teammates after a win. no subtle hints. no comments feeding the rumors. nothing.

you, on the other hand, were reaching your limit. every interview now came with at least one question disguised as another.

“Any athletes catch your eye?”

“Have you met anyone special recently?”

you smiled politely every time. changed the subject. but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone from your team decided to “manage the narrative.” and you were right.

the conference room at your agency was far too quiet. your publicist sat across from you with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with herself.

“We’ve been monitoring the engagement.”

you already didn’t like where this was going.

“We think it’d be a good idea for the two of you to meet.”

your head snapped up. “What? no.”

she smiled patiently. “No?”

“No.”

“No?”

you leaned forward. “Why?”

“It’s simple.” she folded her hands together. “it’s just an invitation to watch one match.”

you blinked.

“If I go.. they’ll think we actually are together.”

“We’re not asking you to fake date him.”

your frustration finally got the best of you. your palm smacked hard against your thigh.

“I don’t even watch league football.”

“We know.”

“I’ve never met him.”

“We know.”

“I don’t even know what his voice sounds like.”

“we know. but.. his club’s media department coordinated with us.”

you opened your mouth. then closed it for a second.

“you… contacted… his club?”

she nodded. “It wasn’t difficult.”

you rubbed both hands over your face.

“consider the invitation okay?”

you let your head fall back against the chair. she smiled sympathetically before her phone rang. excusing herself as she stepped into the hallway to answer it, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

for a long moment, you considered simply not going. but that wasn’t how it worked. everything had already been arranged without you. with a defeated sigh, you grabbed the itinerary from the table:

- a private flight.

- VIP entrance.

- meet him after the match.

- fifteen-minute introduction.

* photos only if both parties agreed. *

you stared at the last line.

“Only if both parties agreed.”

at least someone had remembered to ask. you muttered under your breath as you slipped the papers back into the folder.

“I hope he’s as annoyed by this as I am.”

miles away, after finishing an evening training session, Armando glanced over the message his club’s media manager had sent him. the message was short and clear; a model would like to meet him for a moment after the game, if he was comfortable with it.

he frowned faintly. he wasn’t sure she’d like to meet him was the right way to phrase it.

still, he replied complying with the same gentle politeness that came easy to him.

the next morning, you were already on your flight.

you’d accepted the club’s invitation days earlier, mostly out of curiosity. if anything, they only reached out because of the online attention surrounding you and one of their players became impossible to ignore, assuring you there’d be private transportation, a VIP entrance, and no obligation beyond simply enjoying the match and photos only if both parties agreed.. exactly what you wanted.

by the time you arrived at the hotel, your bags had already been brought up to your room.

the first thing that caught your eye wasn’t the city view outside the window. it was the jersey hanging neatly from a hook on the back of the door. his jersey. a gift from his club. the thought behind it was genuinely sweet. they had wanted you to feel welcomed, included. it was a nice gesture, and you appreciated it more than you would ever admit.

but you also knew yourself. you weren’t going to be caught walking into that stadium wearing his name across your back.

not because you disliked it. quite the opposite. because you already knew exactly what people would say. one picture of you in his jersey and suddenly everyone would have “proof.”

the club escorted you through a private entrance just as promised, away from the crowds already gathering outside the stadium. a few staff members greeted you politely before leading you to one of the hospitality suites overlooking the pitch.

comfortable, quiet, and far enough from the cameras. perfect.

by kickoff, the stadium was alive. thousands of supporters cheered in unison, chants echoed around. even from inside the suite, you could feel the buzzing excitement.

the whistle blew. and for the next ninety minutes, you simply watched. he played better than you had expected.

you found yourself smiling without realizing it. it was obvious how much these people adored him. every goal attempt earned applause, every pass drew cheers. the supporters applauded just as loudly as they would a goal.

you could understand why they loved him.

meanwhile, down on the pitch, Armando remained completely unaware. his attention never drifted toward the hospitality suites. for ninety minutes, there was only the match.

the final whistle eventually echoed throughout the stadium, followed by a deafening cheer from the supporters. Armando bent forward, hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. sweat dripped from his forehead while teammates exchanged hugs and handshakes around him before making their way toward the stands to applaud the fans.

back inside the hospitality suite, a polite knock interrupted your thoughts.

“They’re ready for you.”

you looked up.

“The room’s set. you’ll be meeting him there.”

you nodded once, smoothing out the wrinkles in your outfit before following the club staff through the private corridors that overlooked the pitch.

down below, the players were still lingering on the field. you paused for only a moment as the staff member waited beside you. that was all it took. one of Armando’s teammates glanced toward the suite level.

his eyes widened. he immediately smacked the shoulder of the teammate beside him.

“¿Qué?”

“Voltea.”

within seconds, another head turned. then another. until most of them had followed the same line of sight.

a grin spread across one player’s face.

he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ya llegó tu novia.”

Armando looked up, still trying to catch his breath.

“¿Mi… qué?”

another teammate laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. “Sí vino.”

“¿De qué están hablando?” Armando asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

he turned, following every pointing finger until his eyes landed on the hospitality level.

and then he saw you. exactly like the pictures. only somehow prettier in person.

you stood one hand resting against the railing as you looked down toward the pitch. you were speaking quietly with your agent.

another nudged Armando with his elbow.

“Entonces..” he teased, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “¿Todavía nos vas a decir que nunca la habías conocido?”

Armando didn’t answer. he couldn’t. he was too busy watching as a member of the club staff gently motioned for you to continue down the corridor toward the private meeting room.

the teasing only got worse. Armando was still staring toward the corridor where you’d disappeared when someone slung an arm over his shoulders.

another bumped his shoulder teasingly. and the group burst into another fit of laughter.

Armando couldn’t help it. an embarrassed smile spread across his face as he shook his head, trying and failing to hide it.

Armando let out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before the reality of the situation suddenly hit him. the smile slowly faded. he looked down at himself. his jersey was plastered to his back with sweat. grass stains streaked across the front. his hair clung to his forehead, damp, and he could still feel sweat running down the back of his neck.

his eyes widened. “No puedo conocerla así.”

the laughter somehow grew even louder.

“Si ya te vio jugar noventa minutos exactamente así.”

“Es diferente.” Armando muttered.

he turned toward one of the club staff members hoping they’d atleast give him a fresh jersey. the staff member smiled with a small nod. he let out a breath, far more relieved than he wanted to admit.

management began ushering him toward the tunnel. he was handed a towel.

“Que te vaya bien.”

“Y de una vez pídele su número.”

Armando was unable to stop himself from laughing. he lifted the towel, quickly wiping the sweat from his face and neck before dragging it through his damp hair.

his palms smoothed down the sides of his jersey, then immediately realized how pointless that was. they were still sweaty.

he let out a quiet sigh. he’d played in front of tens of thousands of people. he’d taken penalties with entire stadiums screaming. he’d dealt with big crowds and high pressure matches. yet the thought of meeting one woman, one he’d never even spoken to had his stomach twisting into knots.

he took one last breath as a staff member held open the door leading toward the private meeting room.

Armando nodded, suddenly very aware of how fast his heart was beating.

for the first time all afternoon he felt more nervous walking into that room than he had walking onto the pitch.

“Be nice.” your agent’s voice was barely above a whisper as you waited in the private meeting room.

you gave her a look. “I am.”

the skeptical hum earned a small eye roll from you. before you could argue, the handle turned and the door clicked open.

Armando stood just inside the room, having clearly changed into a fresh club jersey. his hair was still damp from the quick shower he’d managed to take, a few strands curling against his forehead. he looked cleaner than he had on the pitch, but there was no hiding the slight flush in his cheeks or the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

he looked nervous. that surprised you.

from the way he’d carried himself during the match, you’d expected someone overflowing with confidence. instead, he looked like he’d rather take another ninety minutes on the field than the next fifteen inside this room.

a soft smile spread across his face as he stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Armando.” his voice was warm, steady despite the nerves.

you accepted the handshake. his hand was warm. firm. gentle enough not to squeeze too tightly.

“Qué bueno por fin conocerte.” he said. “Aunque… creo que el internet se encargó de eso.”

despite yourself, a small laugh escaped.

“Supongo que sí.”

the tension eased just enough for him to smile wider.

he hesitated. “¿Te puedo dar un abrazo?”

you looked at him for half a second before nodding once.

it was brief and awkward. neither of you wanted to overstep. your hand rested lightly against the middle of his back. the fabric of his clean jersey was cool beneath your fingertips, probably from the air conditioning still lingering after he’d changed.

his arm settled carefully around your shoulders, leaving enough space that he could pull away the second you wanted him to.

when you separated, your eyes met for just a moment longer than either of you intended.

he really was more handsome in person. he features were softer somehow. kinder. there wasn’t an ounce of arrogance in his expression.

meanwhile, Armando was trying to look anywhere else but your face.

he cleared his throat. “Gracias por venir.”

“me invitaron.”

“Ya sé.” a sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “Pero igual.”

silence settled between you again. neither uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.

your agent stepped in briefly “We’ll leave you two for a few minutes.” before you could protest, both your agent and one of the club representatives stepped outside.

the door clicked shut. you were alone.

Armando rubbed the back of his neck. “Entonces…”

“Entonces.”

he laughed quietly. “Esto se veía menos incómodo en mi cabeza.”

“¿Te imaginaste todo esto?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Solo porque todos no paraban de mandarme fotos editadas de nosotros.” he admitted, laughing at himself.

“Mis comentarios tampoco han estado mucho mejor.”

“Ya vi.”

“¿Los viste?”

he nodded. “Me dio curiosidad.”

that earned another laugh from you.

he noticed immediately. and Armando noticed the bracelet around your wrist. simple, elegant.

you noticed the athletic tape still wrapped around his wrists. tiny details. the sort people only noticed when they were trying not to stare at each other’s faces.

“Tengo una pregunta.” he said.

“¿De verdad te gusta los videos que nos están haciendo?”

you groaned.

“Entonces, ¿eso es un sí?”

“Me dio risa.”

he laughed. “Mis compañeros llevan más de una semana sin dejar de hablar de ti.”

“Te veías nervioso allá afuera.”

“Lo estaba.”

“Has jugado frente de mil personas.”

“Preferiría volver a hacer eso.”

“¿Que conocerme?”

“Sí.”

his honesty caught you off guard. “¿Por qué?”

“Porque de futbol sí sé.” he smiled awkwardly. “No tenía ni idea de qué decirte.”

the admission felt so genuine that your guard lowered almost without you realizing.

“Yo tampoco sabía qué decirte.”

“no se te notó tanto.”

“Tengo práctica.”

he tilted his head. “¿Por modelar?”

you hummed in response.

he chuckled. “Necesito unas clases.”

“Pensé que los futbolistas tenían más confianza.”

“Nos hacemos.”

that made you laugh again. there it was. that same laugh from earlier.

Armando smiled without meaning to.

you caught it, and for a second, neither of you spoke.

your fingers suddenly brushed as both of you reached for the same bottle of water sitting on the table.

your hands touched for barely a second. warm fingertips against cool skin. both of you pulled away just a little too quickly.

“Tú puedes tomarla.” you said.

“No, está bien.”

“¿Seguro?”

he nodded. “Tómala tú primero.”

you shook your head with a small smile.

“Qué educado.”

“Mi mamá me educó bien.”

“Se nota.”

his eyes lifted to yours again. this time, neither of you looked away immediately.

the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. just two strangers trying to make sense of the versions of each other they’d seen online with the people standing in front of them. neither of you matched the internet’s fantasy.

a sharp knock made both of your heads turned toward the door.

a member of club management stood outside, looking as though they were already running behind schedule. "los necesitamos en diez para las fotos".

neither of you had a chance to answer before they were already waving you into the hallway. the corridor buzzed with staff carrying camera equipment, sponsors walking back and forth, everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going except the two of you.

management stopped outside your hotel room and simply told you two to wait in there.

you frowned. the door swung open. you were gently but unmistakably ushered inside. Armando stumbled a step after you.

the door clicked shut behind you.

“¿Cómo que espérense aquí?” you muttered.

the room suddenly felt much smaller than it had in the meeting room.

Armando looked around awkwardly before deciding the safest thing to do was stay out of your way.

he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting lightly on his knees, hands clasped together.

his eyes wandered around the room without meaning to. your makeup was scattered across the vanity, left exactly where you’d abandoned them while getting ready. an open suitcase sat on the floor, clothes folded on one side and hastily tossed onto the other. a pair of heels rested beside the bed.

then his eyes caught something hanging neatly from the hook on the back of the door. his jersey. still perfectly hung up. still unworn. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. he’d had a feeling.

you remained by the door, arms crossed tightly over your chest. jaw tense.

“No pueden hacer esto.” the words came out with a dry laugh that carried more frustration than amusement.

“No pueden nada más… encerrarnos aquí porque la gente cree que esto es lo que queremos.”

Armando looked up at you. his expression softened immediately. “Ya sé.”

“Están tratando de sacar fotos.”

“Ya sé.”

“Están esperando que pase algo.”

“Ya sé.”

you let out another disbelieving laugh, pacing a few steps before stopping again. Armando didn’t argue. didn’t defend the club, didn’t try to convince you otherwise. he simply agreed.

for some reason, that only made you feel guiltier.

“No tenemos por qué hacer esto.” he said quietly after a moment. “Si no quieres las fotos… puedo decirles que no.”

your emotions and tension you’d carried all day finally snapped.

“Yo nunca quise conocerte.” the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

the room fell silent. Armando’s smile disappeared slowly.

he swallowed hard. his eyes dropped to his clasped hands for a second.

“Está bien.” there wasn’t any anger in his voice. only understanding. he nodded once to himself, almost as if accepting something he’d already suspected.

“Creo que…” he searched for the right before giving up halfway. “Creo que todo esto ha sido demasiado para ti.”

he glanced toward the closed door.

“No debieron obligarte a esto.”

your shoulders remained tense. “Ni siquiera te conozco.”

“Ya sé.”

“Y de repente todo el mundo espera que sonriamos por algunas foto.”

“Ya sé.”

“Yo no pedí nada de esto.”

“No.”

another silence.

he rubbed his palms together, then looked back up at you. there wasn’t hurt in his eyes.

“Puedes…” his voice was almost hesitant.

“Ven.” he patted the empty space beside him on the bed before quickly correcting himself.

“¿puedes venir a sentarte?”

he offered a tiny, almost embarrassed smile.

“No espero que te caiga bien.” his fingers fidgeted together.

“Ni siquiera tienes que hablar conmigo.” a small shrug.

“Pero… estar ahí parada, toda enojada…”

he smiled gently. “debe ser bien cansado.”

the honesty in his voice caught you off guard. he wasn’t trying to change your mind. he just looked like he hated seeing you upset.

“Te lo prometo..” he added quietly, “no espero nada de ti.”

“Solo quiero que te sientas un poquito más tranquila.”

for the first time since being shoved into the room, you really looked at him.

he wasn’t sitting back confidently. he wasn’t trying to invade your space. if anything, he’d made himself smaller, leaving nearly the entire bed empty as though making sure you wouldn’t feel cornered.

he looked almost nervous that he’d said the wrong thing. your arms remained crossed. but your grip loosened slightly.

eventually, you let out a slow breath. he was right. standing there with your arms crossed, carrying around anger that wasn’t even directed at him, was exhausting.

you pushed yourself away from the door. Armando instinctively shifted another inch toward the edge of the bed, making even more room for you. instead, you lowered yourself onto the mattress right beside him.

you looked at him, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes looked over your face as he watched you.

but as you leaned over, tilting your body just enough so your shoulder brushed his, you finally cracked.

you didn't give him a chance to speak. you leaned in, closing the small gap and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was desperate, tasting of everything you’d been suppressing for the last few hours.

when you pulled back just a few inches, you caught the look on his face. Armando looked genuinely stunned, his eyes wide, his breath hitched in his throat.

"me dijiste que nunca querías conocerme." he murmured, his voice low.

"Te mentí.” you whispered, your voice breathy and honest.

the surprise in his expression melted instantly. he didn't need to be told twice. his hand slid upward, fingers resting firmly at the nape of your neck, as he pulled you back in.

this time, the kiss was tender yet he began to kiss you deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a wet, sloppy kiss, his breath coming in ragged hitches. a release of all the pent up energy from the day.

with a soft groan, Armando shifted his weight, guiding you backward and leading you down onto the mattress.

"¿Estás segura?" he asked, his voice low as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress.

were you really about to let a football player you barley know fuck you raw like this? the obvious answer was yes.

you nodded eagerly, heart pounding.

he moved slowly, peeling the fabric from your shoulders, down your arms, letting it pool at your feet. each inch of exposed skin earned a kiss, warm lips trailing along your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. “No sabes lo bonita que te ves.” he murmured, unhooking your bra with careful hands. it slipped away, and he lowered his mouth to one nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking over the peak while his hand cupped the other, thumb circling. you arched into him, a soft moan escaping.

his kisses continued downward, tenderly against your stomach, hips, until he knelt, easing your panties down your thighs. he pressed his lips to the soft skin there, sucking lightly, leaving faint marks as his hands caressed your legs. "Dime si quieres que pare." he whispered against your skin, but you shook your head, urging him on.

rising, he tugged off his jersey, then freed his cock, it bobbed stiffly, already leaking at the tip. he stroked it once, eyes locked on yours. his body covered yours, gently, as he positioned himself between your thighs, keeping eye contact, he slowly slid the fat head of his cock up and down your slit, coating it thoroughly in your wet arousal.

you whimpered as the head of his cock eventually met your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing making you softly gasp.

Armando's eyelids closed, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continued to slowly drag the tip up and down your pussy lips with wet noises.

slowly the head of his cock nudged your entrance. waiting for another eager nod from you before pushing in slowly, filling you inch by inch. his thrusts were painfully slow at first, as if he was savoring every second inside your tight pussy.

"te sientes tan bien..." he breathed against your ear, as he maintained that gentle pace. his hands cradling your face as he moved within you. "Nunca había estado con alguien como tú."

your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. the way his cock stretched and filled you made you forget why you even disliked him in the first place, made you forget every comment under your posts that had made you roll your eyes at his name. now there was only this, his body moving against yours with such care that your heart ached.

Armando's thrusts grew slightly more paced, he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as sweat beaded on his brow. without warning, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours while his cock remained buried to the base inside you. the kiss was sweet in a way that neither of you had planned, just casual sex suddenly felt dangerously close to making love. his mouth moved against yours with the same tenderness his body showed, swallowing your soft moans as he held himself deep.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes were glassy. "No puedo... no puedo más." he whispered, his hips beginning to move again slightly sloppy but more paced. his cock fucked into you perfectly, each thrust hitting that sweet spot that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Armando gasped, pulling out suddenly. his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking once, twice before thick ropes of cum landed across your stomach in messy spurts. he groaned at the sight and feeling of his fist pumping his shaft. his warm cum streaked across your skin.

you looked down at the mess then back up at him, lips parted. he didn’t even last.

Armando’s body finally gave in, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged and warm against your damp skin. his weight pressed you into the mattress as both of you panted. your arms came up instinctively, wrapping around his broad shoulders and holding him close, fingers threading through his sweat dampened hair.

as you slowly caught your breath, the realization settled over you. Armando was still a stranger.

“Ni siquiera sabes cuál es mi color favorito.” you whispered with a soft laugh.

the words hit him harder than you meant them to. guilt flickered across his face as he fell silent, thinking. you weren’t just a good fuck. he hated realizing how little he actually knew about the person lying in his arms.

you could tell you’d caught him off guard, so you decided to go first.

“¿de qué le tenías miedo cuando eras niño?” you asked quietly, it was a safe question to start with.

your fingertips lazily traced up and down his bare chest. he looked at you, an embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.

“Te vas a reír, pero…” he hesitated before admitting, “las hormigas.”

your smile only grew wider. you didn’t laugh. you just hummed softly, letting your fingers continue their slow drag across his skin. from there, the conversation never really stopped. both of you completely forgetting you still had to take pictures.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

Armando's hands gripped firmly behind your knees, pressing them back until your thighs nearly touched your chest. the position left you completely open for him, your pussy exposed and glistening as he hovered above you. his eyes never left yours as he eased his cock forward, the fat head stretching your entrance before sinking in.

“Poco a poquito… tómame todo.” he murmured, voice low and soothing.

he pushed deeper, inch by inch, until his pelvis pressed flush against yours. the fullness made your breath catch. you’d sworn you couldn’t take him like this. “pero si puedes.. no digas que no.” Armando had coaxed softly.

and he was right. here you were, stuffed full, Armando held there, buried to the base, letting you feel the full pressure of his cock inside you. his thumbs stroked the backs of your thighs in slow circles while he stayed perfectly still, savoring the tight grip of your pussy around him.

when he finally moved, it was a slow withdrawal, his cock dragging along every sensitive part until only the fat tip remained nestled at your entrance. the emptiness made your pussy clench around nothing.

Armando watched your face, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Mira nada más esa carita.”

Armando’s hips rolled slow, every inch of his thick cock sliding into you until his balls pressed flush against your ass. the stretch was sweet, the kind that made your breath hitch.

your head lolled to the side, eyes half-lidded as you watched the way his body moved above you. sweat glistened on his chest, muscles shifting with each thrust. your slick coated his shaft every time he pulled back just enough to leave you aching before sinking in again.

“tan apretadita para mí.” he murmured.

a whimper escaped you, your body arching as he bottomed out again, the head of his cock nudging deep enough. he held it there, grinding his hips in small circles so you felt every ridge against your inner walls. your pussy tightened around him, the wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room.

Armando’s brows were drawn tight, his jaw clenched as he fought the urge to cum. his cock twitched inside you, and he let out a shaky breath. “todavía no. quiero sentirte así un poco más.”

he pulled back until only the head remained inside, then pushed in again slow, and deep. each thrust pulled a breathy moan from you, your body giving in to him, opening for him. your thighs trembled where he held them, and he leaned down to murmur filthy nothings.

“tan profundo, ¿verdad? ¿Sientes cómo te lleno?”

you could only nod, eyes glassy, lips parted. the pressure was overwhelming, the fullness making your lip catch between your teeth. every time he sank in, his balls slapped lightly against you with each thrust.

Armando’s hand slid down to your belly, pressing there so he could feel the way his cock moved inside you. “Mira eso, te puedo sentir aquí..” his fingers traced the slight bulge, “Tan hondo que te marca.” he breathlessly laughed.

he kept the pace slow. your pussy squelched around him, slick and swollen, every thrust pushing more of your slick out around his shaft. he groaned, forehead dropping to yours, breath warm against your lips.

“Lo sé, sin mí se siente vacío, ¿verdad?” he pulled out again, the drag of his cock leaving you aching and empty, before thrusting forward once more. the force of it rocked your body, but his hands held you steady.

you hands clutched at his arms, nails digging in as he gave you another deep, grinding thrust. the head of his cock dragged against that spot inside you that made your nails prick his skin as they pressed in firmer, Armando hissed.

“Qué cosita tan hermosa.”

he kissed you then, tongue sliding against yours as his cock continued fucking you slow. each thrust was enough to keep you on the edge without pushing either of you over. your body shook with the effort of holding back, your thighs quivering.

Armando pulled back to watch your face, “¿Quieres más, hm? ¿Quieres que te meta más profundo?

you nodded, breathless, and he rewarded you with another long, deep thrust that had your back arching off the bed. his cock filled you completely.

his hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles in time with his thrusts. your orgasm built slowly. Armando’s cock never stopped moving, never stopped filling you. when you finally came, your pussy pulsing around him, creamy slick coating out around his shaft. he groaned, hips pressing flush as he fought to hold back, his cock twitching inside you.

he stayed buried deep, grinding his hips in slow circles as you came down, his fingers still stroking your clit gently. your body trembled beneath him, oversensitive, Armando leaned down, his chest brushing your folded legs as he maintained eye contact.

“eres mía, y yo soy tuyo.”

Armando’s hips began to move again, slow and deep, his cock dragging against your walls with every thrust. he kept you pinned beneath him, his body a warm. your head stayed turned to the side, eyes half-lidded, watching the way his muscles flexed, the way his cock disappeared into your pussy again and again.

your pussy still sensitive from your orgasm, and he groaned every time you clenched. his balls were tight against your ass, his cock throbbing inside you, but he held back, determined to make this last. Armando’s cock never stopped moving, never stopped filling you. he held you through it all, his hands gentle, his voice soft.

finally, Armando groaned, hips pressing flush as he finally let go, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you with warm, thick spurts of cum. he stayed buried to the base, grinding through his orgasm, his voice a low, shaky sigh.

"¿Ya ves? lo hiciste tan bien, para la próxima no me digas que no puedes.” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your calf.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

at first, his thumb had only been playing with your bottom lip, tracing the soft curve of it while you slept peacefully against him. you were tucked flush against him, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear. his right arm tucked under your head like a pillow, the muscle warm.

his other hand rested beside your face.

he smiled faintly when you shifted closer. his thumb brushed over your lower lip again. then your lips parted.

Armando froze. he felt the gentle warmth of your mouth around the tip of his thumb, tongue wet, warm, curling around the pad of his thumb. followed by the faintest movement of your tongue as you instinctively drew it farther in.

his eyebrows lifted.

you didn’t wake. your breathing remained slow and even, your lashes resting against your cheeks as you continued sleeping like nothing had happened. meanwhile, Armando was suddenly very aware of exactly where his hand was.

he should have moved it. instead, he watched you for a moment, utterly charmed. your lips softened around his thumb, and the sleepy little motion made his expression melt into something unbearably fond. he brushed his knuckles lightly against your cheek with his free fingers.

carefully, he let his thumb remain where you’d unconsciously placed it, making no attempt to tease or wake you. his hand simply rested against your cheek, gentle and warm, while he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

he wasn’t about to complain. especially not when you looked this peaceful in his arms.

“Mi vida…” he whispers, voice low so it won’t wake you.

his thumb sinks farther, past the first knuckle, and your lips seal around it with a soft, wet sound. the light suction tugs at him. he feels the faint press of your tongue underneath, the tiny movements as you take comfort in him without even knowing. heat grows low in his stomach, but he stays perfectly still, letting you have what you reached for.

“Qué linda te ves así.” he murmurs, thumb stroking the inside of your cheek in the smallest circles. “Dormida, chupando mi dedo como si fuera tuyo.” he leans in, pressing another kiss to your hairline.

your breathing stays deep and even. every exhale fans over his wrist. the gentle pull of your mouth grows a fraction stronger, as though your sleeping mind has decided his thumb belongs there. saliva gathers at the corner of your lips; he wipes it away with the side of his finger, slow, careful not to disturb you.

“tranquila.” he soothes when your brows twitch. “sigue, mi amor. tómate tu tiempo.” his voice is soft. “Entre mis brazos, nadie te va a molestar.”

he shifts only enough to cradle you closer, the arm beneath your head adjusting so your cheek rests more fully against his bare chest. his thumb never leaves your mouth. instead he lets you set the pace, feeling every lazy suckle. the sensation is intimate, almost too much, yet he wouldn’t move for anything.

“Tan chiquita.” he coos, “mira nomás, chupando tan bonito…” his words soothe as much as they praise. he rocks you the tiniest bit, a slow sway that matches the sucking of your lips.

your tongue presses up again, drawing him deeper still. Armando exhales through his nose, eyes half-lidded as he watches the way your mouth works around him. the wet heat, the soft sounds, the trust. it all grows tight inside him. he brushes his nose against your temple, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Qué rico se siente.” he confesses shamelessly. “Tenerte así… tan entregadita…” his thumb slides out just enough for your tongue to chase it, then sinks back in, and he smiles when your lips follow greedily.

minutes stretch. your breathing never changes, but the suction grows more insistent. Armando’s free hand strokes your back in long, soothing lines, fingertips tracing the dip of your spine through the thin shirt you wear. every now and then he murmurs another soft praise, each one timed between the gentle tugs of your mouth.

he feels the moment your body melts even deeper into him, fully relaxed, fully his. the thumb between your lips is slick now, shiny with saliva, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“Quédate así toda la noche si quieres.” he tells you, though you were far too asleep to answer. “Yo no me muevo. Chúpalo cuanto necesites.” he kisses your forehead again, eyes closing. “Te quiero dormida y feliz. con mi dedo en tu boquita.”

the quiet room feels heavier now, every slow pull of your mouth sending heat straight down Armando’s body. his thumb rests warm and slick between your lips, and the sight alone makes his cock twitch inside his sweats. he pictures it, your mouth stretched around him instead, the same gentle suction, the same trusting way you draw him deeper without waking. the mental image making him swallow hard, adams apple bobbing once, twice.

“Mírate… chupando tan rico.” he breathes, voice low and rough. his free hand slides down your back, palm open, feeling the rise and fall of your sleeping breaths. “tan inocente… y yo pensando en meterte la verga hasta el fondo de esa boquita.”

he doesn’t move his thumb; he lets you keep it exactly where you want it. the wet heat, the soft press of your tongue, the rhythmic sucking, it all mirrors what he imagines his cock would feel like sliding past your lips. he feels himself hardened against your thigh, stiff, but he stays perfectly still.

“Tan caliente…” he whispers. “Tienes la boquita tan caliente, imagínate si fuera algo más- la que estás chupando ahora mismo… cómo la chuparías dormida...” his thumb strokes the inside of your cheek in tiny circles, and you suck harder without knowing, making him bite back a groan.

Armando’s breathing grows heavier. he rocks his hips the smallest bit, just enough to feel the friction of his cock against your leg, then forces himself still again. the contrast of it; your innocent, sleeping mouth suckling his thumb while his mind fills with every filthy thing he wants to do makes his heart pound so hard he can hear it.

“Aunque lo que realmente quiero es verte con la boca llena de mí… en vez de mi dedo.” his voice dips lower.

his eyes stay half-lidded as he watches your lips work around his thumb. more saliva glistens at the corner of your mouth; he wipes it gently with his knuckle, then presses the pad back inside so you can keep suckling it.

his cock twitches again, aching, but he doesn’t wake you. he just holds you closer, lets you suckle in peace, and lets his mind wander deeper into every filthy, tender fantasy your sleeping mouth inspires.

“Así es como me gustas.” he whispers one last time, thumb stroking the roof of your mouth in the lightest caress.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ᴗ͈ . ᴗ͈

You're already running late and you know Jude will be pacing in your living room, radiating impatience. The soft click of your lipstick tube closing breaks the silence of your bedroom as you give yourself one final look in the mirror.

"Almost ready!" you call out, slipping into your heels and smoothing down a nonexistent wrinkle before heading out the door.

You find him exactly where you expected, standing by the window, arms crossed with a frown etched on his face. He turns when you enter the room and his expression immediately softens. It always does that when he looks at you.

"Finally," he says, but there's no real bite to his words. He closes the distance between you, his hands coming to rest on your waist. "You look incredible."

You smile up at him. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Bellingham."

His fingers trace the bare skin of your back where your dress dips low. "Maybe we should just skip it. Stay in."

You swat at his arm playfully. "No way. Everyone's expecting us."

Jude sighs dramatically but keeps his hands on you as you grab your purse from the couch. "Fine. But I'm driving."

"Obviously," you reply with a laugh.

It's always been this way, Jude driving you everywhere, his hand occasionally finding your thigh during the drive, his eyes flicking to you more often than the road.

The restaurant is already buzzing when you arrive, your friend group occupying a long table near the back. As soon as you walk in, heads turn and people wave you over.

"There you are!" someone calls from the middle of the table.

Jude's arm immediately wraps around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he navigates through the crowded space. He leads you to two empty seats, making sure to take the one next to you before anyone else can claim it.

"Sorry we're late," you say, greeting everyone with hugs and smiles. Jude watches each interaction closely, his hand never straying far from your back or arm.

As the evening progresses, you find yourself deep in conversation with a few friends across the table, laughing and sharing stories. You're so absorbed that you don't notice Jude growing quieter beside you, his jaw tightening slightly.

"Hey," he says, his voice low in your ear. "Remember that thing we needed to sort out for next week?"

You turn to him, confused. "What thing?"

He gives you a look that you can't quite decipher. "The tickets. Come outside with me for a minute."

You excuse yourself, following him out into the cool night air. A shiver runs through you instantly, the evening breeze raising goosebumps on your bare arms.

"What's up? Is everything okay?" you ask, rubbing your arms for warmth.

"Everything's fine," he says, his eyes narrowing as he notices your reaction to the cold. Before you can protest, he's shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. "I just wanted a minute alone with you before everyone else steals all your attention."

You laugh, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself, not noticing the intensity in his gaze as he watches you wear something of his. "They're not stealing my attention. I'm just being social."

"I know," he says, his hands flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you. "I just don't like sharing you."

Before you can respond, one of your guy friends comes stumbling out of the restaurant. "There you are! We're ordering shots if you want in."

Jude's posture stiffens, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. "She's good. We'll be back in a minute."

Your friend looks between you both, an awkward smile on his face. "Right. Well, don't be too long."

When he's gone, you turn to Jude with a raised eyebrow. "That was a bit much."

"He'll live," Jude says dismissively, stepping closer. "You're still cold." Without waiting for a response, he pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you and rubbing your back. "Better?"

You nod against his chest, breathing in his familiar, clean scent. "Much better. Thanks."

"Anything for you," he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head. "You know, you look incredible tonight. Not that you don't always look incredible, but tonight… something's different."

Your cheeks flush at his compliment. "It's just the dress."

"It's not just the dress," he says softly, his arms tightening around you. "It's you. You always shine, but tonight you're blinding."

You pull back slightly to look up at him, your heart fluttering at the raw emotion in his eyes.

"Jude…we should probably go back inside. Before they send out a search party."

He sighs but follows you back to the table, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. For the rest of the dinner, he keeps you close, his arm draped across your chair, his fingers occasionally tracing patterns on your shoulder.

When it's time to leave, Jude helps you with your jacket, his hands lingering on your arms as he adjusts the collar. "You're staying at my place tonight," he says, not a question but a statement.

"I am?" you ask, surprised.

"You are," he confirms. "It's too late for you to go home alone."

You don't argue, it's easier to agree than to fight with him when he gets like this. Besides, you've stayed over countless times before.

The drive back to his place is quiet, a slow R&B track playing softly in the background. Jude's hand rests on your thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth in a rhythm that's both comforting and distracting.

"You were quiet at dinner," you say, breaking the silence.

He glances at you before turning his attention back to the road. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Things," he says vaguely. "Us."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. "What about us?"

"Nothing bad," he reassures you, his fingers squeezing your thigh gently. "Just… how much I love having you around."

You smile, relieved. "I love being around you too. You're my best friend."

Something flashes in his eyes at your words, but it's gone too quickly for you to identify. "Yeah," he says, his voice suddenly tight. "Best friends."

At his apartment, he immediately takes your jacket, his fingers brushing against yours as he does. "Make yourself at home," he says, disappearing into the kitchen.

You curl up on his couch, pulling a blanket over yourself. When he returns with two mugs of tea, he sits right beside you, his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders.

"You know," he says, handing you a mug, "I've been thinking about that trip we talked about taking."

"To the coast?" you ask, sipping the warm tea.

"Yeah. Maybe we could go next month? Just the two of us."

"That sounds amazing," you say enthusiastically. "But what about everyone else? They'll want to come too."

"I was thinking it could just be us this time," he says, his voice casual but his eyes watching you intently. "Like old times."

You consider it for a moment. "That would be nice. It's been a while since it's just been the two of us."

A small smile plays on his lips. "Exactly. Just us."

The next day, you're at the mall with a few of your friends, including Jude. As usual, he sticks close to your side, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as you walk through the crowded stores.

"I need to find a dress for that party next week," you say, pulling him toward a clothing store.

"I'll wait outside," one of your guy friends says. "Clothes shopping isn't really my thing."

"Me neither," another agrees. "We'll grab coffee and meet you guys back here in an hour."

As they walk away, Jude's arm immediately wraps around your waist. "Good. Now it's just us."

You laugh, used to his constant need for physical contact. "You're impossible."

"Maybe," he admits, his fingers tracing circles on your hip. "But you love it."

You don't deny it, because you do, in a way. You've always loved how protective he is, how he always makes sure you're safe and comfortable. You've just never questioned why he needs to be so close, why he seems to relax when it's just the two of you.

In the dressing room, you hold up a few options, seeking Jude's opinion on each one.

"That one," he says immediately when you step out in a deep green dress. "Definitely that one."

You turn to look at yourself in the mirror. "Really? It's a bit more revealing than what I usually wear."

"It's perfect," he insists, coming up behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. "You look incredible."

His eyes meet yours in the mirror and for a moment, you see something there, something that runs deeper than friendship. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual easy smile.

"Fine," you say, turning back to face him. "I'll get this one."

His hands rest on your waist as you look at yourself again. "You know, if you wear that to the party, I might have to fight some guys off."

You roll your eyes. "You're so dramatic."

"Am I?" he asks, his voice suddenly serious. "Or am I just being honest about how other guys see you?"

Before you can respond, your other friends return, coffee in hand. "Find anything good?" one asks.

Jude's arm tightens around your waist. "She found the perfect dress. But no one else is allowed to see it until the party."

Your friends exchange knowing looks, but you miss it completely.

"Hey, I'm gonna grab a pastry from that stand," one of your guy friends says, gesturing toward the kiosk across the walkway. "Want to join me?"

"Ooh, yes please!" you reply, already turning to go with him. "I'm starving."

You start to walk away, but Jude's hand on your arm stops you. You look back at him questioningly.

"I'll come too," he says, his eyes already fixed on your friend.

Your friend holds up his hands in mock surrender. "No need, man. We'll just be a minute."

Jude's jaw tightens, but he forces a smile and lets go of your arm. "Fine. Don't be long."

You roll your eyes at his overprotectiveness but hurry to catch up with your friend. As you walk away, you can feel Jude's eyes on you, but you don't turn back around.

Left alone, Jude turns his attention back to the remaining friend, who's watching him with an amused expression.

"What?" Jude asks, his voice defensive.

He fusses when your hand, stroking his curly hair, stops or slows down.

Every now and then, without opening his eyes, he moves his head and plants little kisses on your neck.

"Jobe..? "

"Hmm.." His deep, muffled voice vibrates in your chest.

"Isn't that enough for now, dear? You haven't even taken a shower."

After planting a deep kiss on your collarbone, he lifted his head slightly.

The left side of his cheek was flushed from lying on that side; his brows were slightly furrowed, and his lips were pursed. He looks at you with a hint of reproach in his eyes, a reproach that cannot overshadow his love for you.

"Are you implying that i smell?"

You chuckled softly and moved your hand from his hair down to his sharp jawline.

"You smell, babe."

As if insulted, he lifted his head all the way up from your chest and looked at you in astonishment.

"You treat your man rudely."

"And you treat your woman harshly."

He looked for a moment as if trying to understand what you meant. "What?"

You smiled and pointed to your chest with your eyes.

"You flattened my boob, Jobe."

His eyes dropped with awareness to your breasts he loved so much.

"Oh, my boobies.."

He lifted his full weight off you and kissed you, pressing his lips lightly against your t-shirt. He murmured in a tone of regret as he planted a few light kisses.

"I'm sorry, love.. They're so comfortable that I got carried away..."

"You know how much I love your boobies, I would never want to hurt them."

You smiled at his goofy, lovestruck demeanor and slowly got up.

"It's okay, baby. You go take a shower now. I'll prepare something us to eat."

After tearing his eyes away from your breasts, he let out a deep breath. He planted a small kiss on your temple, then reluctantly got up and began to walk lazily toward the bathroom.

──── ୨୧ ────

As steam rises from the freshly cooked pasta on the stove, you prepare the dressing for the salad waiting in the bowl.

Just as you about to add the spices, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from behind, followed by strong arms wrapping tightly around your waist, causes your hands to remain suspended in mid-air.

His long arms wrap completely around your waist as he gently caresses your belly.

"The scent reached all the way to the bathroom."

You smiled proudly as you turned your head slightly toward him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I also added cashew seasoning to the sauce."

As your lips brushed against his cheek, his eyes closed and he pressed his body a little closer to yours. He buried his head in your neck and breathed out

"I'm not talking about the sauce, baby."

A tender smile appeared on your lips as your hands, stirring the sauce, paused for a moment.

"Are we a little sweeter than usual today, hm?"

Actually.. No.

Jobe was always a boyfriend who stayed too close, touchy-feely and affectionate.

Whenever you were out, he always had to be touching you in some way. Either his hands would be gripping your waist or holding yours, or he’d have his arm around your shoulder, or -most embarrassing of all- he’d wrap his arms around your waist from behind and let himself be dragged along, like a child who didn't want to let go of his mother. Even though his brother Jude teased him a lot about this, he didn't care.

It was even more intense when you were alone together at home.

With every step you took, you could hear larger, heavier footsteps following right behind you. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, he would grab you by the hips and hoist you up onto his shoulders; as you screamed and clung to his head, he would laugh and spin you around in the air.

At other times, while you were busy in the kitchen, he would come up and stand right over you until you reacted to his presence. The moment you looked at him, his expression would soften into a grin.

You never complained.

You loved the stark contrast between the way he treated others and the way he treated you.

To an outsider, he might have seemed cold and dull. But no one else knew how adorable he was when he came home after practice, pulled you into his lap, and, with that scowl on his face, complained about whatever had happened that day.

No one knew that when he was angry, a mere light touch on his arm and a whisper of his name would instantly smooth his furrowed brows, causing him to look at you with pure love in his eyes and calm down immediately.

He would never be embarrassed to wander through shops with you, talk about your makeup products, or do skincare routines with you.

He would instantly buy anything you so much as glanced at for a moment.

Even though he sometimes acted a bit too stifling or clingy, you couldn't imagine a better boyfriend than him.

Jobe murmurs against your neck and plants a deep, open mouthed kiss.

"I am always so sweet."

You dipped your finger into the sauce-coated spoon and held it out to his mouth.

He instantly opened his mouth and tasted the sauce.

"Well?"

With his eyes closed, he let out a murmur, one that certainly wasn't intended to comment on the taste of the sauce.

You pulled your finger out of its mouth and gave it that look.

"Jobe."

His brows furrowed slightly as your finger slipped from his mouth, but he quickly composed himself. He licked his lips as his gaze wandered over your face.

"Delicious."

"Oh really?"

After pursing your lips and giving him a playful, coquettish look, you turned back around.

"Serve the pasta, love. You haven't eaten a thing. You must be hungry."

He sighed as his heart melted at the way you were thinking of him, just as always.

"Actually... I'm really hungry babe, you know."

You shot him a flirtatious look as you poured the dressing over the salad.

"In that case.. let's satisfy our hunger first. And then, maybe... I can give you your dessert?"

Jobe looked at you with wide open eyes, his gaze impatient, eager, and boyish. He swallowed as his lips drew closer to yours when you turned your head away.

"Let's eat our meal quickly, then. I want to savor my dessert."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

Masterlist

from the very beginning of your relationship with michael, you both understood the unspoken agreement that defined you: you were never exactly "secret," but you were fiercely, intentionally private. in a world of flashing cameras and constant public scrutiny, you carved out a sanctuary where only the two of you existed.

michael, with his naturally guarded nature and his reputation for being remarkably reserved, holds his cards close to his chest when he is out in the world. he isn’t the type to offer much to strangers; he watches, he observes, and he keeps his thoughts locked behind that calm, impenetrable expression. but you—you are the exception to every rule he has ever set for himself.

when the heavy doors close and you are finally alone, the man the world thinks they know simply vanishes.

the moment you are beyond the reach of others, the mask he wears slips away entirely. the silent, introspective michael is replaced by someone so intense it takes your breath away. he isn’t reserved anymore; he is dominant, focused, and possessive in a way that makes your entire body hum with anticipation.

you feel the weight of his gaze shift—that familiar, quiet look he gives in public transforming into something darker, something raw and utterly unfiltered. he moves with a calculated confidence that is breathtaking, his hands finding you with a familiarity that speaks volumes. there is no hesitation in him now. every touch is an assertion, every breath against your skin a promise of what is to come.

when you are alone, he isn't just a partner; he is an obsession. he takes his time, exploring every inch of you with the same precision he uses on the pitch, but with a hunger that is entirely for you. the intensity in his eyes is unrelenting, locking onto yours as if he’s trying to see into your very soul. he doesn't need words to command you; the way he hovers over you, the way his hands tighten their grip, and the way he devours you—it is an utterly addictive contrast to the boy who barely speaks in public.

you are the only one who ever sees this side of him—the unrestrained, passionate, and volatile side that he saves exclusively for the darkness of the bedroom. and as he pulls you closer, leaving no space between you, you realize that this is the only place that matters. you are his entire world, and in this moment, he is determined to make you feel every ounce of that realization.

the moment the door clicks shut and the rest of the world fades into insignificance, the man you know as reserved and quiet undergoes a total, intoxicating metamorphosis. it is as if there are two versions of him, and the one that exists for the cameras is merely a shell, a carefully crafted shield to keep the public at bay. but behind closed doors? he is an absolute freak.

there is no trace of that stoic, unbothered athlete left. instead, you are met with an intensity that is both startling and addictive. he sheds his composed exterior like a heavy coat, revealing a side of himself that is raw, unfiltered, and deeply hungry. he becomes demanding in the best way possible, his touch turning from gentle to possessive with a suddenness that makes your heart race.

it is the contrast that consumes you. in public, he keeps his hands in his pockets, his gaze distant and cool. but in the intimacy of your shared space, his hands are everywhere, mapping your skin with a precision that borders on obsessive. he doesn’t just want your attention; he demands your complete surrender. he thrives on the way you react to him, the way his voice drops an octave to something gravelly and low when he whispers commands against your skin.

he explores every limit, testing just how far he can push you and just how much of his focus you can handle. there is a wildness to him that he keeps meticulously hidden, a relentless energy that he directs entirely at you. he is obsessed with your reactions—the way you gasp, the way you arch, the way you look at him when he finally lets his guard down. he is not just a partner in those moments; he is a force of nature, untamed and entirely dedicated to turning your world upside down.

you are the only one who knows the truth: that beneath the calm, professional, and quiet exterior lies a man who is unapologetically carnal, constantly craving the heat and the chaos that only you can provide.

the walk to the locker room was supposed to be quick—just a simple errand before he had to head back out to the pitch. you followed him, the ambient noise of his teammates laughing and shouting drifting through the corridors, creating a stark contrast to the sudden, heavy silence that enveloped you the moment you stepped into the private, dim space of the locker room.

as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the air in the room shifted instantly. the professional, composed athlete you’d been watching on the field vanished, replaced by a man vibrating with an intensity that hit you like a physical force. he didn't even wait for you to settle; he turned, and the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, and completely devoid of his usual restraint—made your breath hitch.

he crossed the small space between you in two long strides, his presence feeling overwhelming in the confined area. he didn’t just kiss you; he claimed you. his mouth was everywhere—trailing burning kisses along the line of your jaw, the pulse point of your neck, and your shoulders, his stubble grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. his hands were just as relentless, moving over you with a boldness that was shocking given how quiet and guarded he had been just minutes earlier in front of his coaches and teammates.

he was an absolute freak, completely unbothered by the fact that he was still in his training gear or that his teammates were only a wall away. he pushed you back until your back hit the cool metal of the lockers, his body pressing firmly against yours, his hands roaming over your hips and thighs, gripping you with a possessive strength that left no doubt about what he wanted. every touch was deliberate, meant to remind you that even when he was surrounded by the noise of his career, you were the only thing he was actually focused on.

he leaned in close, his voice a low, raspy growl against your ear that made your legs feel like jelly. it was a thrilling, dangerous game, and as his hands continued their exploration, you realized that being the only one to witness this side of him—this raw, carnal, and entirely unfiltered version of michael—was the most addictive secret you had ever kept.

he lifted you effortlessly, settling you onto the sturdy wooden bench of the locker room. the atmosphere was thick, charged with the scent of adrenaline and the sharp, musky heat of the room. the moment he started grinding against you, the friction was electric—a raw, rhythmic pressure that made your head spin. you couldn’t hold back; the sensation was too intense, and you found yourself vocalizing every bit of it, your voice shaky and soft as you whispered exactly how good he made you feel, how much your body was craving this specific, forbidden release.

hearing you, he didn't slow down—he leaned in further. he began tracing a path of searing, wet kisses down your neck, lingering over your collarbone, and mapping every curve of your torso with his lips as he moved lower. he was entirely consumed by you, his focus narrowing until the rest of the world, and even the threat of the team outside, ceased to exist. when he finally dipped his head down, hovering right between your thighs, the sheer boldness of the move sent a jolt of pure shock and desire through you.

you looked down at him from your perch on the bench, your fingers tangled deeply in his hair as you watched him move with such hungry, uninhibited intent. the danger of the moment—the reality that anyone could walk in at any second—was hanging heavy in the air, a thrill that only made your pulse race faster.

"what if someone surprises us?" you gasped, your breath catching as he looked up at you, his eyes dark, dilated, and filled with a reckless, untamed defiance.

he didn't even flinch, his expression hardening into something intense and completely unapologetic. he let out a low, rough laugh, his voice vibrating through the small space. "let them," he muttered, his gaze never leaving yours as he pulled you closer, making it clear that he didn't care who saw or what they thought. as far as he was concerned, this room belonged entirely to the two of you, and he was ready to show everyone exactly who you belonged to.

the resistance in your body melted away completely, replaced by a wave of surrender as he began his work with a relentless, skilled intensity. he didn’t do anything by halves; every movement was calculated, every sensation sharp and overwhelming. you tried to bite your lip, to swallow the sounds building in your throat, but his touch was so all-consuming that a soft, broken whimper escaped you, echoing against the quiet, industrial walls of the locker room.

your hands were tangled tightly in his hair, your knuckles white as you gripped, pulling him closer to you, unable to stop yourself from encouraging him. every time you gasped, every time your voice climbed a pitch higher, his movements only became more urgent, more aggressive. he thrived on the noise you were making, feeding off the sound of his own name being whispered in a desperate plea.

he knew exactly how loud you were, and he knew exactly who was just on the other side of that thin metal door, but he didn't care. in fact, the possibility that he might be heard only seemed to fuel him further. he looked up at you mid-motion, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive triumph, catching you in the act of pulling his head closer. he was enjoying the thrill of the risk, savoring the fact that he had you this undone in a place where he was supposed to be nothing but professional.

he wasn't just claiming you; he was marking his territory, making sure that every sensation, every sound, and every shiver you couldn't suppress was entirely his. he pushed harder, his hands steadying your hips on the bench, leaving no room for you to escape the intensity of the moment. you were both spiraling now, trapped in this fever-dream of a secret, with him completely unbothered by the potential for chaos just inches away.

as his pace quickened and the sensation threatened to overwhelm you, you realized that his defiance was the most intoxicating part of it all—he wanted the whole world to know exactly what you felt like under his touch, even if they couldn't see it.

he pauses for a heartbeat, his head remaining right where he wants it, and looks up at you with those dark, dilated eyes. he’s completely unbothered, his breathing heavy and ragged, and he smirks—that rare, cocky, and absolutely wicked expression he never, ever shows on the pitch.

"does that feel good?" he murmurs, his voice a low, rough vibration that seems to rattle right through the bench and into your core. "tell me. is it good?"

your head falls back, your grip on his hair tightening until your knuckles ache, and you can’t help but moan his name. "yes, michael...yes… it’s so good, so good…" you gasp, the words spilling out before you can even think to censor them.

the confession only makes him hungrier. he goes back to work, but he doesn't stop talking, his words becoming increasingly dirty, increasingly possessive. he starts whispering things that make your skin burn—telling you exactly what he’s doing to you, describing how much he loves the fact that you’re helpless under his control, and boasting about how much he loves hearing you lose all sense of composure.

"that’s it, baby." he growls against your skin, his voice dripping with a mix of satisfaction and raw lust. "i want them to hear you. i want them to know who you’re screaming for. you’re so loud for me, aren't you? keep going... tell me exactly how much you need me."

he’s being a complete freak, turning every sensation into a mental game. he’s not just pleasuring you; he’s dominating your thoughts, forcing you to focus entirely on his voice and his touch. every freaky thing he whispers is designed to push you closer to the edge, making the fact that you’re in a shared space even more electric. he’s completely stripped away your defenses, and he loves the way you’re completely at his mercy, hanging on every word he says while he refuses to let you catch your breath.

you feel him speed up, his tongue and lips moving with such expert, relentless precision that your vision starts to blur, and he just keeps talking, his voice a dark, hypnotic lure that keeps you trapped in the center of his world.

the moment he slips a finger inside, the sensation is so sharp, so sudden, that you let out a gasp that echoes off the metallic lockers like a gunshot. he doesn’t pull away at the sound; instead, he seems to thrive on it, his eyes darkening even further as he watches the way your body jerks in response to his touch.

he shifts his rhythm, his tongue swirling and flicking with agonizing precision while his finger moves in a deep, steady slide, pressing against you and mapping the sensitive spots he’s learned by heart. he’s perfectly in sync with himself, his hand and mouth working together to pull every ounce of pleasure out of you.

"you're so wet for me darling," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against you, sounding like a dark, forbidden promise in the quiet of the room. "look at you, you’re completely undone just because i told you to be. you like that, don't you? being mine to ruin right here, while they're just on the other side of the door?"

he increases the pressure, pushing deeper, and your hips involuntarily leave the bench to meet him, your body betraying every last shred of the composure you tried to maintain. he isn't just listening to your pleasure; he's orchestrating it, pushing you toward an edge so steep you feel like you might fall off the face of the earth. he doesn't care about the risk, he doesn't care about the noise, he doesn't care about anything except the way you are crumbling apart specifically for him.

"tell me again," he growls, his finger curling firmly inside you, his gaze locked onto yours with a terrifyingly possessive intensity. "tell me you’re not going to make a sound when you finally come for me. try to be quiet, if you think you can."

the challenge is a taunt, and as his touch sends a white-hot jolt of electricity through your nervous system, you realize there is absolutely no way you’re going to remain silent. you are completely at his mercy, and he knows it—he’s savoring the sight of you losing your mind under his control, determined to see you break right there in the heart of his sanctuary.

he’s relentless, his voice acting as a bridge between the physical pleasure and the mental hold he has on you. he keeps his face close to your center, looking up between your legs every few seconds just to catch the way your eyes roll back or the way your teeth sink into your lip. he wants to see every bit of the damage he’s causing.

"answer me," he demands, his voice a low, raspy command that vibrates against your skin. "who does this belong to? who’s the only one allowed to make you sound like this?"

you try to find your voice, your throat tight and dry, your breath coming in jagged, shallow hitches. "you... it's all yours, michael," you stammer, your words stumbling over each other as the sensation of his finger and his tongue together becomes almost too much to process. your fingers are still buried in his hair, gripping tight, your knuckles burning with the effort of staying anchored.

he lets out a dark, satisfied hum, his rhythm not faltering for even a second. he loves the way you struggle to speak, the way your voice hitches and cracks under the weight of his attention. "that’s right," he whispers, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "say it louder. let me hear you struggle to keep your voice down. i want to know you’re thinking about nothing else but this... nothing else but me."

you’re trying so hard to keep your composure, to keep your responses coherent, but every time he presses that finger deeper or drags his tongue in a slow, agonizing circle, your resolve shatters. "it's too much," you manage to choke out, your head tossing back against the locker door with a hollow thud.

he doesn't stop. he just laughs, a sound that is entirely too confident and too possessive for the middle of a high-stakes training facility. "it's not enough," he corrects you, his voice cold and commanding. "i'm going to make you forget where we even are. i’m going to make you forget everything until you’re just mine, right here, right now. keep talking to me. tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

every time you try to answer, he shifts his hand or his mouth, sending a new wave of fire through you that cuts your words short. you're caught in a loop of trying to obey his demands to talk and failing because the pleasure is literally pulling the words out of your chest. he’s got you completely trapped in his rhythm, and the sheer audacity of him having this conversation with you while your pulse is racing and the team is just outside makes the tension unbearable.

you can feel the tension coiling tight in your stomach, a frantic, electric pressure that tells you you’re standing right on the edge of the cliff. your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps, and the air in the locker room feels thick, heavy with the scent of his cologne and the undeniable reality of what you're doing.

"michael...oh…. i think... i'm almost there," you choke out, your voice trembling as you try to force the words past your lips. your hands are shaking, clenching his hair with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, your knuckles pressing hard against his scalp as you arch your back off the wooden bench.

he doesn't even hesitate. he doesn't slow down to let you breathe; instead, he seems to grow hungrier, his movements turning from precise to feverish. he looks up at you, his eyes dark with a raw, predatory focus that makes your heart stop, and he grins—a sharp, wicked smirk that looks so out of place on the man the world thinks is quiet and reserved.

"don't stop baby," he growls, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that always makes you melt. "let go. i want to feel every single second of it. keep going for me—show me exactly how much you can take."

he accelerates, his thumb and finger working in a rhythmic, merciless cadence that forces your body to react. he’s pushing you further, his tongue teasing and swirling with such expertise that your brain starts to fog, the world narrowing down to just the friction between his skin and yours. he’s relentless, taking everything you give and demanding more, his eyes never leaving yours, watching you come undone with a sense of ownership that is both terrifying and addictive.

"that's it, good girl." he commands, his voice a low vibration against your center. "look at me. i want you to scream, i want you to lose it. let it all out for me right now."

the way he’s driving you, ignoring the thin metal door and the voices of his teammates just inches away, pushes you right over the edge. you’re breathless, your body convulsing as the climax hits you like a tidal wave, and he’s there, meeting every shudder, refusing to let you escape the intensity of the moment even for a second.

the aftermath is a strange, jarring transition. the air in the locker room, once thick with heat and your own uncontrolled gasps, now feels chillingly still. you are both breathless, your heart still hammering against your ribs like a caged bird, but the reality of the situation settles over you like a cold shroud.

michael is the first to pull away, and the speed of his shift is almost dizzying. he stands up, his movements fluid and efficient as he adjusts his training gear. he doesn't linger. he doesn't offer a sweet after-moment or a lingering kiss; he simply looks at you for a split second, a dark, knowing glint in his eyes that confirms he’s still feeling the electricity of what just happened, before he turns his back to you to check his reflection in the mirror.

you have to scramble to pull yourself together, your skin still feeling sensitive and flushed, your clothes feeling heavy and wrong against your overheated body. the silence between you is heavy, weighted with the knowledge of what you’ve just done in a place where you absolutely shouldn't have.

"fix yourself, baby." he says, his voice flat and perfectly composed—the same monotone, reserved voice he uses for journalists and fans. "and look at me."

you force your hands to stop shaking as you smooth your clothes, doing your best to mask the visible evidence of your pleasure. he watches you with that familiar, impenetrable expression—the one that tells the world absolutely nothing. it is a jarring contrast to the man who was just moments ago whispering those freaky things to you, and it takes every ounce of your willpower to mimic his shell of indifference.

as he reaches for the handle of the door, he pauses, looking back at you one last time. he doesn't say a word, but the slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his chin and the way his hand brushes yours as he opens the door tells you everything: it’s time to play the part.

the door swings open, and the sudden rush of noise—the sound of balls hitting the turf, the shouts of his teammates, the clatter of equipment—rushes in to meet you. he steps out first, his face a perfect, blank mask of calm professionalism. he walks back toward the pitch with a steady, casual gait, looking as if he’s never done anything in his life other than follow his training schedule.

you follow a few steps behind, your legs still weak, your mind reeling from the whiplash of it all. every person you pass feels like a potential threat, and every glance from a teammate makes you want to hide. but you keep your head up, forcing a neutral expression onto your face, just as he taught you. the secret is locked away, tucked behind the masks you both wear, but as you watch him ahead of you, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, and you know that in just a few hours, the doors will close again—and he will be yours to ruin all over again.