juana

In less than 30 minutes you must be out of this hotel room and find your best friend, Charlotte, whose wedding you’re getting ready for but this damn dress is not helping you out at all!

“Are you good there?” you roll your eyes with the diacritical voice coming from the other side of the door, reminding you of the existence of the red-haired guy you somehow became a partner for the wedding. 

Unfortunately, something dropped beneath Charlotte and Nico’s radar while pairing you two: Neither you nor Jannik can put up with each other’s presence. 

You can’t tell whether they did this on purpose or not, but either way, you’re in no position to question it today. All you have to do is try not to jump down each other’s throats for the sake of your friends’ happiness. 

“Y/N?” he calls out your name, you can’t help but roll your eyes again and ignore him. You wipe your sweaty hands off your dress and try to fasten the lace on the back of your dress one more time, you can feel your freshly made wavy hair slightly sticking to your nape as you rush and him calling out to you.

“Okay, I’m coming in!” he shouts and opens the door without wasting any second. “Sinner!” you scream as you turn your front to his way, “Get out! Why are you looking at me!” you point to the door. You look at him with wide eyes open, which is not so different from how he looks at you. “Oh my god, I could have been naked!”

“I-I’m sorry! I just- You have been here for hours and when you didn’t answer back I thought you died…” he speaks in a rush, his hands moving as fast as the words running out of his pale lips as his freckled face gets warmer. “How positive you are!” you mock him with an eye roll. “Well, since you know that I’m alive, you can leave. I’m trying to get ready.”

“Do you need help…” his long finger points at your dress. “...With the dress?” he asks monotonously after checking the watch on his right wrist. 

You feel nervous with his question and knit your brows, gazing over your floral dress quickly. “Why did you just say that? Does it look bad? Why would I need your help?” you ask your questions one after the other before giving him a chance to answer. You can see his face get redder with shame as if it’s possible. 

“No, no! It looks gor- good! It looks good!” he shakes his head and continues, “I meant the back of your dress, I saw your back, do you need help with it?” he explains, scratching the back of his neck as he runs his green eyes away from yours.

You have two options at this point: Tell him to fuck off for being so nice or just accept his offer for being so nice. 

However much you want to choose the first option, he’s the only one here with you and you don’t have so much time left to finish getting ready.

“Okay,” you say, allowing him to get inside as you turn your back to him in front of the big bathroom mirror. “You need to make a cute bow, it should be tight but not so much.” 

He closely steps behind you and takes the thin laces in his big hands, you push your hair over your right shoulder to give him space. You hold your breath as you feel the warmth of his knuckles brushing your lower back, you know you shouldn’t feel like this but his touch gives you goosebumps. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Jannik whispers and pulls you away from your thoughts. “Why?” you ask, your eyes find his eyes in the mirror, “I thought you’d be happy.” 

He smirks at your words and says, “People would think I did it, no?” You laugh in the sleeve, which causes him to sigh and return to the dress after quite a short moment observing you. 

Even though you try to ignore it, you feel a weird tension between you. Of course, there’s always tension between you two, but normally it’s something like hateful gazes or mocking words. You never saw him blush with your words or he never saw you laugh at his jokes, you only laughed at him.

‘He’s just tolerating.’ you think while finding yourself admiring his tall figure through the mirror. His copper hair is messy and curly as always, you wonder if he ever tried to learn how to take care of them, well, he probably didn’t.

“Is that good?” he asks, stepping back so that you can check yourself. “Yes,” you say shyly, “Thank you.” 

He smiles and leaves you alone in the bathroom again, you continue getting ready: make some final touches to your hair and face, apply your perfume, and send a text to Charlotte. 

When you step out of the bathroom you see Jannik sitting on the bed- Oh, by the way, somehow you only have one bed for the two of you. Isn’t it so ironic? However, that’s another day’s story!

Jannik lifts his head from his phone and looks at you when he hears the clatter of your heels on the floor. “I’m ready.” you say, walking inside the room with a tiny handbag on your wrist. “We can leave.”

“Oh, wait!” he sits up and grabs something from behind, making his way to you. “I need some help with that.” He shows the black necktie and stands in front of you all 6’2, waiting silently for you to do it for him. 

You put your handbag aside and take the tie from his hands with a sigh, lifting your arms to reach his neck. “You’re 21 and don’t know how to tie a necktie? But it makes sense since Gucci does everything for you.” you say scornfully, trying to keep your eyes on the tie as you try to ignore how close your faces are because of your heels. 

“I’m 22.” he responds with a smirk and adds, “And didn’t you need my help to make a bow for your dress?” 

You roll your eyes as he laughs, slightly tighten the tie, and look at him with a fake smile. “Sinner?” you say. 

“Sì.” he replies, keeping the smirk on his thin lips. 

“If you don’t drop that stupid smirk on your lips I’ll fucking choke you with this tie, sì?” you say as you look directly into his shiny green eyes, your hands resting on his broad chest. You smile when he nods and licks his lower lip before biting his smile back. “You have weird fantasies.” he replies.

“Shut up.” you say shortly, you’ll probably need to get your eyes checked after rolling them so many times because of this Italian. “Sì, signora.” he replies with a chuckle. 

“Good boy,” you can’t help but gaze over his lips as you give his chest a pet before grabbing your handbag and making your way to the door. “You’re all done, let’s go.”

You smile and slightly shake your head, wishing that the makeup on your face didn’t give any hint of the warmness and redness capturing your face during this stupid moment.

“She’s Chiara, by the way.” You turn your gaze to Jasmine, the other bridesmaid aka your friend, who’s sipping her champagne and looking in the direction you were looking at: The pool which is away from the crowd where a tall, blonde girl and your lovely Italian friend talk- actually, no, they don’t talk, she just laughs at everything comes out of his stupid mouth as if he’s the funniest person ever, which you know has no side to be the truth. 

“Who?” you pout and try to play dumb as you take your glass from the high table that you lean over. “The girl you’ve been killing with your eyes.” she chuckles.

“I wasn’t!” you protest.

You were.

“I was just observing,” you say, shrugging your shoulders and adding. “Somebody should warn the poor girl about his boring ass.” 

“Actually,” Jasmine starts, “They look cute, don’t they? Obviously, she’s enjoying a lot-” you cut her words with a chuckle, “She’s enjoying a lot!” you state. Both of you look at each other and start laughing when you hear her loud laughter again. “They’d make a cute couple.” she adds and joins the group of people dancing and singing for the bride and groom, leaving you there standing on your own.

You continue watching them blankly for a while with the idea she left in your mind. You’re not sure why but the thought of them being a couple makes you uncomfortable; maybe it’s because you’ve spent the day observing people - him - while he found a girl or it’s just her laughs that makes you uncomfortable.

The second option sounds more reasonable since there’s no reason for you to be jealous of him- Jealousy? Wait, who said that? Why would you be jealous of him?!

“So,” a thick voice takes you back to reality. You realise a brunette guy with wavy hair is standing next to you with all his charm, his hand is under his chin as he shows his bright smile with no shame and mimics you. “What are we looking at?” 

“U-uh nothing? Just the dancing people, I guess.” you say with a shy smile. Why is everyone asking about what are you looking at today?! 

“Okay.” he says with a chuckle. You remember him from somewhere, at least his face looks familiar. His name was something like Joe, maybe Jaoa? Joel, John, Jo- 

“I’m Josh.” he says, he probably understands the blank expression on your face. “I’m a friend of Nico’s.” 

Yes, and you probably remember him from one of these tennis tournaments. 

“Y/N.” you say with a smile, “A friend of Charlotte’s.”

“I know,” he says, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, you look wonderful today.” you feel the warmth all over your face, and you shake your head in disbelief as you chuckle, whispering a ‘thank you’. And that is the moment your eyes meet with a pair of green eyes. 

His eyes are on you, he’s watching you with an unpleasant expression on his face. 

“...What do you say?” Josh asks, your gaze turns back to him and his beautiful blue eyes again. “To what?” you ask, slightly feeling embarrassed for not listening to him. “To a dance?” he asks with a grin. 

You look over at Jannik one last time and grab the hand Josh holds for you.

You smile at him and reply, “Yeah, I’d love to!”

Now it’s his turn to watch you. 

“I'll be right back.” Josh presses a soft kiss to your cheek and goes to his friend’s side. 

You’ve danced for three, maybe four songs and you can feel the sharp pain rising from your feet to your ankle caused by the high heels that you’re suffering yourself with. You slosh down a glass of champagne that you find on the table to ease the pain a bit. 

Even though during the first song your eyes tried to find the Italian, after that, you forgot about him. You only focused on Josh, he told you about himself and his friendship with Nico. As you thought he was a tennis player too and had a chance to play with Jannik in Halle, you thought that’s probably why Jannik gave you those death stares, perhaps they were not even for you but for Josh. 

Who knows. 

You look around for Jannik and you hate yourself for this. Why do you keep looking for him or thinking about him today? His ugly hair, stupid smile, monotone voice, long fing- No, NO! You shouldn’t be thinking about him, why would you think about him like that when you could just simply ignore and continue to hate him? 

Also, he’s probably sucking that blonde girl's face right now- 

“Ciao!” you hear his voice behind you, Jannik, he’s right behind you. 

“Let’s dance!” he says with a dirty smirk. What? “What?!” you squeal but before you acknowledge anything he takes your hand and takes you to the dance floor. “Come on, I love this song!” 

He has no idea about this song.

“Sinner, I really don’t want to dance, I’m tired.” you grunt but don’t try to get away from his grasp because you know that if you did, he would let you go, and for some reason, you don’t want him to. You want to feel his hands on you, at least a little more while both of you are still tipsy.

Until both of you remember to hate each other. 

He places his hands on your lower back and pulls you closer to himself as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck. You could swear you feel all his body pressing over your body, you could feel his warmness on you. 

You just notice how messy his curls have gotten. He doesn’t have his black blazer on, his tie is loosened and his white button-up is unbuttoned just enough to give you a view of his sharp collarbones. He looks breathtaking.

“Why don’t you dance with Claire?” you finally ask, trying to avoid eye contact with him. “Chiara?” he corrects you with a smirk and continues when you nod to him with your head. “Why? Are you jealous?” 

“Me? Jealous of you?” You make a face and roll your eyes with his question. “You’re drunker than I thought you were.”

“I’m not drunk.” he objects. 

“Well, then that’s worse! You’re out of your mind if you think that with a sober mind!” you say and add as you try not to cringe, “No but seriously why don’t you dance with her? You guys looked so good together.” 

They didn’t.

“It wouldn’t be nice to dance with her while I have someone else in my mind, no?” he asks with a pout. 

“But it’s nice to dance with me while you have someone else in your mind? You’re being weird.” you say, trying your best not to show your disappointment. Who was he thinking and why do you feel the thing you felt when you saw him with her? Why is he doing this to you? 

“I’m dancing with her.” he says. He looks at your face, trying to read your expression but you look at him so blankly as if you don’t want to believe him- Well, you don’t. “Oh mio-” he signs, “You’re so blind to see it, aren’t you? It’s you, Y/N, it has always been you!”

“No,” You stop swinging with him and shake your head in disbelief. “It’s- This is not funny, Jannik.” you say with a straight face. 

“I’m serious, I like you so much and I can’t pretend as if I don’t, not anymore.” he says, you can feel his fingers tighten their grip around your sides, not to hurt you but more like to make sure you’re not slipping away from his fingers.

“No, you don’t!” you raise your voice without noticing but thankfully everyone is on its business to care about you. 

“Why don’t you want to trust me?” Italian asks desperately. “Why would I trust your words when I know that you don’t like me at all? You hated me all the time we knew each other but you suddenly realised that you liked me when you saw me with Josh? Is that it?” you say without caring about the fact that your voice is cracking. 

“Let me show you, per favore…” he tries again, “How would you-” and his pale yet warm lips press over yours, cutting you up with an unexpected kiss. You feel one of his hands quickly find your chin, and you let yourself relax under his touch. 

Maybe he was serious about what he said.

And maybe you weren’t hating him either.

PREVIOUS NIGHT

“Can you stop kicking me?!” Jannik groans from your back, you can tell that his face is probably buried in the pillow by his hoarse voice. “Then stop spreading your long, hairy legs towards my area!” you say in a huff.

“Your area?” he says, you can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

“Yes, my area! Now go to sleep and stop rubbing your legs to mine- SINNER FUCK OFF! YOU'RE SO DISGUSTING!”

"You'll go easy on me, right?" you ask, a hopeful smile playing on your lips as you grip the tennis racket for the first time.

Jannik laughs gently. "Of course," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But I won't let you win just because you're a beginner."

The sun is setting, casting a warm glow on the clay court. You feel the roughness of the surface under your sneakers as you shuffle to the baseline. Jannik stands on the opposite side, the net between you like a bridge to a new experience. His forehand is swift and precise, the ball shooting towards you with surprising speed. You flinch, and the racket makes a clumsy swipe at the air. The ball sails past you and thuds against the fence.

"Good try," Jannik calls out, retrieving the ball. "Keep your eye on it, and don't be afraid to swing."

You nod, determination setting in as he tosses the ball back to you. This time, you manage to make contact with a satisfying 'thwack'. The ball arcs over the net and lands just inside the service box. Jannik's smile widens as he trots to the ball, his footwork as elegant as a dancer's. His return is a challenge, a backhand slice that makes the ball dip and skid across the court. You lunge for it, your heart racing as your body stretches to its limits. The impact vibrates through the racket and into your arm, but you're grinning.

For the next hour, the rhythm of the game settles into a comfortable back-and-forth. The occasional thud of the ball against the racket strings, the soft scuffle of your sneakers on the clay, and the rustle of leaves in the nearby trees create a symphony that mingles with your laughter and Jannik's patient instructions. You're learning to anticipate his moves, to watch the ball's trajectory, and to trust your instincts.

"Oh, shoot, errant ball," Jannik says, his eyes darting towards the ball that was in the air before it nosedived to the ground. "Get out of the way!"

You tried to run, but you could hear something in your ankle pop as you twisted to avoid the wayward shot. Pain shoots up your leg, and you crumble to the ground, gasping.

Jannik is beside you in an instant, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, gently taking the racket from your hand and setting it aside.

You wince, trying to sit up. "I… I think I twisted my ankle," you reply, your voice tight with pain.

Jannik's expression morphs from concern to guilt. "Let me see," he says, carefully taking your leg in his hands. His touch is gentle, but the pressure makes you wince even more. "It's definitely swelling." He looks around for help, but the court is deserted. "We need to get some ice on this. Stay put, I'll grab some from the clubhouse."

While you wait, the pain in your ankle throbs in time with your heartbeat. The setting sun casts long shadows across the court, and the air cools, carrying the scent of clay. You lean back on your elbows, watching the clouds turn shades of pink and purple. The serenity of the moment is a stark contrast to the turmoil in your body.

Jannik returns, out of breath, holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. He kneels beside you, his eyes scanning your face for signs of distress. "Here," he says, gently pressing the cold compress to your swollen ankle. "This should help."

The chill bites at your skin, but the pain slowly recedes. You sigh with relief, looking up at him. "Thanks," you murmur.

Jannik nods, his gaze lingering on the injury. "We should get you home," he says, his voice tight. "Do you think you can stand?"

You bite your lip, trying to ignore the pain. "I'll try." With his arm around your waist, you attempt to stand. Your ankle wobbles, and a sharp pain shoots up your leg. You gasp, leaning heavily on Jannik.

"Easy," he whispers, his hand steadying you. "Let's sit for a moment." He helps you back down, his grip on you firm but gentle. The ice feels good against your ankle, the cold numbing the ache.

As you sit there, the setting sun painting the sky with streaks of gold, you can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Your first tennis lesson with Jannik, and it had to end like this. You'd been looking forward to this for weeks, ever since he mentioned he could teach you. You'd imagined the joy of finally understanding the sport he loves so much, the thrill of a well-placed shot, the satisfaction of improving under his tutelage. Instead, you're nursing an injury.

Jannik's eyes are filled with a mix of worry and regret. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as if unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry," he finally manages, his voice thick with genuine concern. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

You shake your head, trying to lighten the mood. "It's not your fault," you reply, wincing as you attempt a smile. "I should have been more careful."

Jannik sighs, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "I should have been more observant, made sure you weren't overdoing it."

You look into his eyes, seeing the truth behind his words. He cares about you, and the guilt etched on his face is clear. "It's alright," you repeat, trying to reassure him. "It's just a sprain."

He nods, though you can tell he's not entirely convinced. "Let's get you to the doctor's," he says firmly, helping you to your feet again. This time, you manage to stand with less pain, though your ankle still throbs with each step. Jannik supports you as you hobble towards the edge of the court, his arm around your waist like a warm embrace.

The walk to the car feels like an eternity, the gravel path digging into your good foot with each step. You lean heavily on Jannik; his solid presence is a comfort. His car is parked in the shade of a large oak tree, the leaves casting dappled shadows on the hood. You lower yourself into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief, the cool leather a stark contrast to the warmth of your flushed skin.

Jannik starts the engine, and the car hums to life. He glances at you, his eyes full of apology. "I'll take you to the nearest clinic," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "They'll know what to do."

The drive is silent except for the soft murmur of the radio playing low in the background. You can feel the tension coiled in his muscles as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The scenery outside the window is a blur of green and brown, the world moving too fast for the pain in your ankle. The air in the car is thick with the scent of your combined sweat and the lingering smell of freshly cut grass from the court.

When you arrive at the clinic, Jannik helps you out of the car and into the cool, sterile waiting room. You're grateful for his support, his arm around your waist as you limp to the reception desk.

The nurse's eyes widen when she sees your ankle. "Let's get you right in," she says, her voice filled with empathy.

Jannik insists on staying with you, his hand squeezing yours tightly as the doctor examines your ankle. The doctor's face remains neutral as he palpates the swollen area, but you can't help but notice the furrow in his brow. "We'll need to do an MRI to rule out any serious damage," he says, his voice calm but authoritative.

Jannik's grip tightens. "I'll stay with you," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nod, trying to keep the fear at bay. The thought of being alone in this unfamiliar place is almost as daunting as the pain. The nurse wheels in a chair, and you sink into it gratefully, the plastic cold against the back of your legs. Jannik follows, his eyes never leaving your face, his hand still wrapped around yours.

The MRI machine is a white, monolithic beast that hums to life as you're wheeled closer. The nurse gives you a reassuring smile and helps you onto the narrow bed. "Just try to relax," she says, placing a pillow under your head. The coldness of the metal sends a shiver down your spine as you lay your ankle on the soft cushion.

Jannik is standing on the other side of the glass, watching as you're slid into the MRI machine. His eyes are fixed on you, a silent promise of support. The nurse gives you a pair of earplugs to muffle the loud noise that's about to fill the room. You nod to him, trying to convey your thanks and bravery in a single look.

The world outside the MRI tube fades away as the machine starts its rhythmic clanging. You close your eyes and focus on the sound of Jannik's voice, the steady beat of his footsteps as he paces outside. The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony that fills your head, but you cling to the knowledge that he's there, that you're not alone in this.

When the MRI is over, the nurse helps you out of the tube with a gentle smile. "You did great," she says, as if you've just conquered a fearsome beast. You manage a small laugh, the pain in your ankle a dull throb now.

Jannik is there, waiting, his eyes scanning you for any sign of distress. "How was it?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You offer a weak smile, trying to shrug off the discomfort. "Loud," you reply. "But I've had worse."

The doctor returns with the results, his expression unreadable. Jannik's grip on your hand tightens as the doctor speaks, his words a blur of medical jargon that you struggle to process. You catch phrases like "ruptured ankle ligament" and "surgery may be required." The room feels like it's closing in, the air thick with the weight of the news.

Jannik's eyes widen, the color draining from his face. "Surgery?" he echoes, his voice hitching. The doctor nods solemnly, explaining that it's not a simple sprain, but a more severe injury that could potentially keep you off your feet for months. Your stomach drops, the reality of the situation setting in.

You try to pull your hand away to wipe the tears that have started to form, but Jannik holds on tight, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "It's okay," he whispers, his voice soothing despite the panic in his eyes. "We'll get through this together."

The doctor continues to speak, his voice a gentle drone in the background. You nod, trying to focus on his words, but the pain and the fear are too overwhelming. Jannik steps in, asking questions you can't form, his voice calm and composed. He scribbles notes on a pad of paper, nodding intently at the doctor's instructions.

Once you're back in the car, the reality of the situation starts to sink in. "Surgery," you murmur, the word feeling heavy on your tongue.

Jannik's eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror, a mix of sympathy and determination. "We'll figure it out," he says, his voice firm. "You're not alone in this."

The drive home is quiet, the gravity of the situation weighing heavy in the air. You lean your head against the cool window, watching the scenery pass by in a blur. The sun has fully set now, leaving only the twinkling streetlights to guide the way. The world outside feels distant, as if you're trapped in a bubble of pain and uncertainty.

When you reach your apartment, Jannik insists on helping you inside. Each step up the stairs feels like climbing a mountain, but his presence beside you makes it bearable. He opens the door and the warm light spills out, welcoming you home. You manage to hobble to the couch, the weight of the day crashing down on you.

Jannik moves around the room, bringing you a pillow and a blanket, his movements swift and sure. He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and carefully wraps it around your ankle, securing it with an ace bandage. The coolness is a relief, but it does little to soothe the ache in your heart. You watch him, his every action filled with care, and wonder how you got so lucky to have someone like him in your life.

"Rest," he says, his hand brushing your cheek. "I'll be right here."

You nod, your eyes drooping with exhaustion. The pain has dulled into a constant throb, but the fear of what's to come is like a storm cloud hovering over you. Jannik sits on the arm of the couch, his gaze never leaving you. You can feel the warmth of his leg against yours, the steady beat of his heart.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the silence stretches out between you, filled with unspoken words. Instead, he takes your hand in his, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. His thumb traces a comforting pattern, grounding you in the present. You look up at him, and in the soft light of your living room, you see the concern etched on his face.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice hoarse. "For everything."

Jannik's eyes searched yours, his thumb still tracing patterns on the back of your hand. "Of course," he said softly. "I'll always be here for you."

The days that followed were a blur of doctor's appointments, physical therapy, and endless hours on the couch with your ankle elevated. Jannik was a constant presence, fetching ice packs, making meals, and even helping you to the bathroom when the pain was at its peak. He never complained, never showed a hint of frustration, even when you snapped at him in pain. His patience was a balm to your soul, a gentle reminder that you weren't facing this alone.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session of therapy, you sit on the couch, your eyes glazed over with pain and fatigue. The TV drones on in the background, but neither of you are watching. Jannik sits next to you, his hand resting on your leg just above the cast. The weight of his touch is reassuring, a silent promise that he won't leave you to face the storm alone.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice cutting through the haze. "You okay?"

You nod, your eyes still fixed on the TV screen. "Yeah, I just… I'm tired."

Jannik's gaze is warm and understanding. "It's a lot to take in," he says. "But you're doing great. You're stronger than you think."

You look down at your cast, feeling a mix of anger and despair. "I just wanted to play tennis with you," you murmur.

Jannik squeezes your leg gently. "And you will," he says with conviction. "We'll get through this. Together."

You give a small, tired smile, feeling a flicker of hope. The days pass by, marked by the steady tick of the clock and the monotony of your routine. The pain begins to subside, replaced by a restless itch to move, to do something other than sit and watch the world go by.

Jannik senses your frustration and tries to distract you with stories of his matches, his travels, his dreams for the future. His tales are vivid, painted with a richness that transports you to far-off courts and grand arenas. You find yourself smiling, lost in his world of athletic prowess and passion for the sport.

As the weeks turn into months, your ankle slowly heals. The cast is replaced with a brace, and you begin to tentatively put weight on it again. Each step is a victory, a testament to your perseverance and the relentless care Jannik has provided. You start to regain your strength, doing simple exercises under the guidance of your physical therapist.

One sunny afternoon, you're sitting on the edge of the couch, the brace off for a few hours of freedom. Jannik comes in from a training session, his hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed from the exertion. He sees you and his smile falters for a moment, his eyes flicking to your bare ankle.

"How does it feel?" he asks, his voice a mix of hope and trepidation.

You test your ankle gently, rolling it from side to side. "It's… better," you admit. "I can actually wiggle my toes without wanting to scream."

Jannik's smile brightens, and he sits beside you, his eyes never leaving your ankle. "That's good," he says, his voice filled with relief. "Really good."

You look up at him, feeling a wave of gratitude. "I couldn't have done it without you," you say, your voice sincere.

Jannik's eyes meet yours, his expression a mix of pride and something more profound. "You've been so strong," he says, his voice gentle. "I'm just here to support you."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "But you've done more than that," you reply. "You've been my rock."

Jannik's cheeks color slightly, and he ducks his head. "It's nothing," he murmurs, but you know he's pleased.

The following days are a mix of excitement and nerves as you start to put more weight on your ankle. The brace feels like a part of you now, a constant reminder of the journey you've been on.

Jannik's training intensifies as the next Grand Slam approaches. You watch him from the sidelines, his focus and determination a stark contrast to the pain you're feeling. But every time he glances over, his eyes light up, and you know you're his source of strength too.

On the day of his quarterfinal match, you're dressed in your favorite outfit, the one that brings him luck, according to his superstitious beliefs. The stadium is a cacophony of cheers and applause, the energy palpable as he takes the court. You hold your breath with each serve, your heart racing with every volley. His opponent is formidable, a seasoned player with a reputation for his aggressive style.

Jannik glances at you, giving you a quick nod of acknowledgment before the game begins. You watch as the two men become a blur of motion, the white lines of the court disappearing beneath their sneakers. The thwack of the ball, the grunts of exertion, the squeak of shoes on the court - it's a symphony of power and precision. Each point is a battle, each set a war.

As the match progresses, you can see the strain on Jannik's face, the beads of sweat on his brow. He fights with everything he has, pushing through fatigue and pain. And with every victory, he looks at you, his eyes speaking volumes. You're his anchor, his reason to keep going. You cheer louder, willing him to win, feeling a strange kinship in your shared struggle to overcome your limitations.

The match is tight, each point a nail-biter. Jannik's opponent is relentless, but so is he. The crowd roars, their energy swirling around the court like a tornado. You grip the armrests of your chair, your knuckles white, your heart in your throat. This isn't just about tennis anymore; it's about the human spirit, about fighting for what you love despite the odds.

Jannik wins a particularly grueling point and the crowd erupts. He turns to you, his eyes alight with triumph. He raises his racket in a salute, a silent 'Thank you' that echoes through the stadium. In that moment, you know you've given him something more than just luck. You've given him the belief that you're both capable of overcoming adversity, together.

The final set is a nail-biter, each point more tense than the last. Jannik's opponent is formidable, but so is your resilience. With every grunt and swing, Jannik seems to be playing not just for the match but for you, for the bond that has grown between you through this trying time.

As the score reaches match point, the tension in the stadium is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Jannik serves, his eyes never leaving the ball as it arcs through the air. The opponent returns with a powerful forehand, but Jannik is ready, his backhand slicing through the air with surgical precision. The ball kisses the line and bounces back. The opponent scrambles, but it's too late.

Jannik wins the match, the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers. He drops his racket, his face a mask of disbelief and elation. You watch him, your heart swelling with pride. The pain in your ankle forgotten, you stand up, clapping and screaming his name. He looks over, his eyes finding yours in the sea of faces, and a grin spreads across his face. He jogs over to the sidelines, scooping you into a gentle embrace.

The press swarms around, flashbulbs popping like a storm of lightning. Jannik holds you close, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to your skin. The questions come rapid-fire, but all you can do is cling to him, soaking in the moment. His heart beats against your chest, a steady rhythm that mirrors your own racing heart.

"How does it feel to win with your biggest supporter here?" a journalist shouts over the din.

Jannik pulls back, his eyes shining. "It means everything," he says, his gaze never leaving yours. "Having them here, watching me, it gives me strength."

You whimper as his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging on it until the back of your head was resting against his shoulder. "Look at yourself in the mirror," Christian orders, his voice so deep in your ear it has your pussy clenching around the two fingers pushed deep inside of you. You squeak as he tugs at your hair, too impatient to even give you a second to follow his orders. "Look at yourself and watch me play with this pretty pussy," he purrs, untangling his fingers from your hair to wrap his free hand around your throat.

Following his command, you stare back at yourself in the mirror, a breathy moan spilling from your lips at the sight of you both. He had you sitting on the end of your bed, your jeans and panties removed, discarded in a heap on the floor. You were positioned between his own legs, two strong thighs enduring a small amount of pain as you dug your nails into them. And, with your legs forced apart, he pumped two fingers in and out of you, spreading your wetness over your pussy each time he pulled them out to tease your clit.

His thumb strokes over your pulse point, feeling its erratic pace, and sniggers in your ear. "You thought you were being smart wearing his shirt, didn't you?" His grip tightens as you look away from the mirror. "Don't look at me! Don't you fucking look at me! Look at the fucking mirror and watch yourself cum all over these fucking fingers!"

"Christian-"

"Shut up!" He dismisses your protest, groaning in your ear as the squelching on his fingers moving in and out of you fills the silence. His thumb presses harshly onto your clit, stroking it in a way that has you struggling to keep focused on your reflection.

"You better fucking cum for me, princess," he says, now watching your reflection, studying the expressions that were twisting and appearing on your face, "you're taking these fingers far too well to come this far and not cum all over them."

His long, thick fingers intensify the throbbing you feel building up in your core and have your hips bucking wildly against his hand. Incoherent moans and phrases of praise slip from your lips.

"That's it," his voice rasps in your ear, "cum all over my fingers. Show me what it'll feel like when I've you face down on this bed and my cock buried inside you."

Every part of your body is physically shaking as your orgasm rips through you. You cry out his name, feeling your pleasure spreading through your body, the sensation showing no signs of stopping as Christian keeps pumping his fingers. "Chris-" You stutter and splutter his name. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your back arches away from his chest.

"That feels so good, doesn't it?"

You nod your head, feeling like a mess as you slump into him. "Too good," you mumble, a moan tripping off your lips when pulls his fingers out.

He taps his fingers to your chin, mumbling, "open up," as he presses his lips against your temple. Humming, you oblige his request and wait with your mouth wide open to him. "Suck," he tells you, pressing his two wet fingers against your tongue, "clean your mess up." A groan sounds in your ear as you do as you are told, smirking when you feel his head hide in your neck. "I should've fucked that pretty little mouth instead."

"You still could."

You take his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your tongue on the underside of them, making him groan again as he thinks about your tongue running along his shaft. Dropping his hand, you sink onto the floor and turn yourself around to face him, resting your bum on your ankles as you tuck your feet underneath you. Before, you could feel his hard cock pressing into you, but now that you were knelt in front of him, you could see just how much he was straining against the confinement of his grey boxers.

You run your hands over his bare thighs, trying not to smile at the indents your nails had left behind. "Can I?" You ask, batting your eyelashes.

"I don't know," he answers, taking himself out. He tightens his fist around the base and pumps it a few times. "Do you deserve it?" You nod your head with enthusiasm. He cocks his eyebrow. "Do you? Have you been good enough to deserve it?"

"Yes."

He bends down and kisses your forehead, a fleeting moment of softness amongst the rough handling you had experienced since he had shown up at your door. "You're such a fucking liar," he whispers against you, sniggering at the gasp that escapes. And just like that, all the softness was gone.

"Put your hands behind your back," he orders, shifting to sit on the very end of the bed. You obliged, bending your arms behind you and locking your fingers together. With one hand, he holds the back of your neck, whilst the other guides his hard cock toward you. "Come on, open up," he instructs, keep hold of your gaze as you stare up at him, "stick your tongue out for me, baby." You do as you are told, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the pre cum that seeped from the head. "That's a good girl," he groans, placing some tension on the back of your neck.

You wrap your lips around him, gently sucking on his head, before taking as much of him as you possibly could into your mouth. But it isn't enough for him. "You can take more than that. I know you can take more than that," he grunts, taking his hand off your neck and burying it into your hair. He drives his hips forward, the tip nudging the back of your throat, making you gag and splutter around him. "Breathe through your nose," he releases his hand from the base of his shaft, bringing it over to join his other in your hair, "that's it. Just like that! Fuck, y/n."

Through watery eyes, you watch his head fall back, deep, satisfied grunts and groans coming from his mouth as it hangs open. "Fuck," he curses, driving himself deeper and nearly cumming there and then as he feels you hollowing your cheeks, "shitting fuck, baby girl."

You moan around him, the vibration running through his hardened length, leaving him choking on an intake of air. "Do that again," he orders, pulling on your hair and then pushing your head down as he flexes his hips. His hand tightens and his body spasms as you moan around him again.

"You're such a fucking slut," he grunts, clearing his throat. His thrusts become hard and sloppy, letting you know he was close to finishing. "Should've done this the second I saw Reece's name on your back," he says, staring down into your eyes, "should've done it in front of him-" He quickly shakes his head no. "-should've done it front of all the boys, let them know just who this whore belongs to."

His body spasms, his thighs and the muscles in his stomach tensing as his hips come to an abrupt stop. "Oh, Je-" His words get trapped in the back of his throat, grunting and spilling himself into your mouth. You swallow every bit of him that he has to give you, using your thumb to clean up any spillage, a sight that has him groaning out loud as you suck your thumb clean.

"Did you swallow it all?"

Nodding your head, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him to see. "Ever last bit," you reply, grinning up at him.

His fingers hook under your chin, using the leverage to pull you up to your feet. "Good girl," he hums, taking his free hand and guiding your body to stand between his legs, "see, I don't know why you have to act like such a brat when clearly you can be a good girl for me."

"It's all your fault," you whimper as he sits you down on his thigh.

He tilts his head to the side. "My fault?" You nod your head, rolling your lip between your teeth as you bite down on your bottom lip. Pinning you against his thigh, you give into him and let him grind you against his thigh. "How is this any of my fault?" He questions you, spreading your wetness over his thigh as he drags your hips back and forth over him. "I wasn't the one who started this, remember?" He releases one of your hips, guiding his hand to wrap around your neck, grabbing at it with a tight grip. You gasp as he pulls you towards him, his eyes staring into yours as he whispers, "you did."

Crashing your lips against his, you bury your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp. He hisses and tightens his grip, but you don't release the tension. You pull harder on his hair, only to whimper when he bites at your bottom lip, dragging it with him as he pulls away.

"Answer my question." He flexes his thigh and your body jolts at the added pressure against your clit. "Tell me why this is my fault."

"Because you never pay me any attention," you stutter, meeting resistance as you try to grind your hips at a speed that didn't antagonise you.

"I don't pay attention to you?" He sniggers, or rather snorts. "If I don't pay attention to you then what is it that I'm doing right now? Huh?" He moves his hand to grip your jaw, pinching it between his fingers. He kisses the base of your neck, pushing your head back to allow him more access to you. "Am I not paying you attention right now? Am I not letting you get off on my thigh? Did I not just let you suck on my cock?" You whimper and whine, the sound cut off as he pushes his thumb into your mouth and pulls your head back down to look at him. "Is that not enough for you?"

"No," you answer, mumbling around his thumb that was gagging you.

"No?"

You take his thumb out of your mouth, wiping the bit of spit that lingered away on the back of your hand. "You only pay attention to me when it matters to you," you find the courage to tell him, the recent developments in your arrangement not to your liking at all. It was why you had chosen to wear Reece's jersey over his own. You wanted to show him that you weren't a form of property.

That you weren't his property to use when he felt like it.

Your arrangement had become one-sided. You were the one who was expected to drop everything when he called. You were the one who was expected to go over to his place in the middle of the night because he was rock hard and his hand and five minutes of porn couldn't do the trick. He'd never do the same for you.

He used to.

But not anymore.

"You use me like I'm your personal fucking sex toy," you bite, trying to still your hips. You wasn't going to give him the satisfaction on cumming on his thigh. "I'm not your personal fucking sex toy!"

"But that's what you are, princess," he replies with a coldness that strikes you as being odd to you like he was trying to mask something. His thumb pushes into your cheek, prodding and poking at it. "You're my personal sex toy, my property to use whenever I want," he amuses, smirking to himself, "and you're no better than a common whore for answering every time that I call. I bet you are already dripping when you see that it's me calling you late at night. Thinking about all the things I'm gonna do to you when you get to mine. You love it."

"Don't call me that!"

"What? A whore?" He rolls his eyes. "Funny. You were begging me to call you one the other night." He gives your ass a harsh squeeze, the tips of his fingers bruising the skin, and drags your hips further up his thigh. "Don't act like you don't like it when I call you a whore," you whimper as he tightens his grip, "don't act like you don't like it when I say that this pussy, or this ass, or these tits are mine, because they are mine and you like it. Say it. Say that you like it when I say all of these things."

"I don't."

It was a lie.

"Yes, you do."

He sighs and pushes you to stand up. "I'm tired of looking at your face," he waves his hand towards the bed, "go on. Hands and knees."

And despite everything that had just been said between the two of you, you do as your told.

He tugs on your hips until your ass is resting in the air. It's a view that has him licking his lips. "Hold onto the bed," he mumbles, not waiting for you to reach for the bars of your bed frame before he is lining his cock up. Your pillow absorbs the satisfied cry when he slides into you, stretching you slowly. "I'm going to fuck this pussy like it's mine," he grunts, forgetting to wait for your body to adjust, "because, princess, this is my pussy. And you're going to take it like a good girl, aren't you?"

You're stunned to silence, too much pleasure and overstimulation leaving you without the ability to talk back. Pushing your hips back to meet each of his thrusts, your ass bounces off him and lets him go even harder, filling the room with the echo of skin slapping against each other. "Christian," you finally find your voice again, squeezing the bars until your knuckles were straining against your skin, "gonna-"

"No, you're not!" He cuts you off, grunting as he abruptly pulls out of you. You whine, backing your hips up in seek of a release, but he grips them and pushes them into the mattress. "Take it off!" He's pulling at the jersey and you were surprised that he hadn't just tried to rip it off your body. "You're not cumming with his fucking name on your back," jealously rolls so easily off his tongue, "not again."

Helping him to remove the jersey, you whimper as he tugs it harshly over your head.

"It's a little late to reach for a condom, isn't it?" You ask, turning to watch him reaching for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you feel his cock pressing into your ass as he leans forward, teasing that dull emptiness you were feeling again. "Not to mention, I keep them in the other one. Pretty sure you should know that by now."

"I'm not reaching for that," Christian replies, whatever he had taken out was concealed in the palm of his hand. His lips graze against your bare shoulder, biting down against the base of your neck and leaving a fresh hickey as he pulls away. "You've had Reece's name on your back for far too long today," turning your head you see him holding a marker pen in his right hand, "I think it's time to put my name where it's rightfully meant to be."

"Rightfully?" You raise your eyebrows. "I'm not yours," you goad him, sucking in a sharp breath as he uses his free hand to push the head of his cock against your entrance, "I can wear whatever name I want on my back; maybe I'll ask Kai for his shirt-"

"Kai has a girlfriend-"

"And so does Reece," you talk over him, "but he didn't seem to mind giving me his shirt."

He gasps and groans, relishing in the moment as slips himself back inside, feeling your walls tighten and pulsate around him. "Yes, he does," he remembers his original train of thought, releasing his hand from the base of his shaft and taking hold of your hip. His tight grip prevents you from moving your hips, much to your own displeasure. "And that girlfriend isn't you."

He bites off the pen's lid, spitting it away from both of you, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. The tip of the marker is cold against your warm, sweat-glistened skin, and it doesn't take long to figure out he was writing PULISIC in the space between your shoulders. Your head snaps back to look at him, ignoring the ache between your legs as he stares back at you with dark, lusty eyes and a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat.

"Watch how you look at me, princess," he warns, twirling the pen around his finger like he was gloating or something, "I might just end up writing my name on other parts of your body. Parts of your body that belong to me."

"They're not yours," you bite back. He tosses the pen carelessly over his shoulder, not caring where it landed, or if the ink would run into your bedroom carpet. "None of my body parts are yours," you still bite back, despite the whimper that slips off your lips when he grabs your bum fully in both hands, "I don't belong to you."

He's still grinning and starts to thrust into you in a slow manner that drives you crazy. "She says, despite it being my cum she just swallowed!"

"Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Wasn't a joke, baby girl. Only the truth."

Your head hangs into your chest, your eyes rolling when you hear his cocky snigger. "I hate you," you mutter under your breath.

He stops thrusting his hips, the tip only nestled inside, teasing a whimper and whine of protest to spill from your lips. "What was that?" He tuts when you don't answer him. "Oi," he gives your bum a pinch. Your head snaps back at the fleeting moment of pain, meeting that cocky grin all over again. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," you lie, wiggling your hips to try and ease the ache. He shakes his head, "no," pulling completely out of you. "Christian-"

"Tell me what you said," he cuts you off.

He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, guiding the tip between your folds, teasing you as it trails from your clit to your hole. The light touch has you squirming, whimpering, and clenching around nothing, and Christian was loving every second of it.

"Tell me what you said and I'll put my cock back in." He leans forward, kissing along the back of your shoulder and up your neck. "And that's what you really want, huh? You want this fat cock back inside of you, don't you?" He spoke directly into your ear, his lips pressed up against the shell. "Now stop being a dirty fucking brat," he rasps, making you gasp out loud, "and tell me what you said!"

Pushing up onto your elbows, you work with the minimal space available to you and turn over onto your back. You collapse back onto the mattress, your head sinking into the pillow, and look up at Christian, who props himself up on his biceps, caging you underneath him.

"Well?" He waits for you to speak, raising his eyebrows, which had a small amount of sweat to them, as he keeps hold of your gaze.

"I said, "oh, daddy, that feels so good,"" you decide to lie, internally cringing at calling him daddy. 'Daddy' was one of the few terms that were quickly made of limits during sex. Neither of you felt right about it. "So big and so good," you coo, running your hands down his toned chest. He chokes on the air as you wrap your hand around his shaft, pumping it up and down at a slow pace. "It's just perfect to fill this dirty, needy, fucking whore up." A sharp gasp follows as you slip his cock back inside.

His eyes fall shut and his jaw tenses. "Stop prattling about and tell me what you said," he says, lifting one arm off the bed. Reaching for your wrist, he pins your arm above your head. He grunts as his hips stop moving, the full length of his cock pushed deep inside of you. "Say it," he whispers, his breath touching your lips as his mouth hovers above yours.

You chase his lips, meeting the corner of his mouth as he turns his head away from you. "Fine," you sigh, wriggling your wrist to feel more comfortable, "I said I hate you."

"No, you don't."

You nod your head, biting your bottom lip to stop the moan from creeping up your throat as he rolls his hips into you. "I do," you stutter, a whimper now falling from your lips as Christian pulls back, thrusting his hips forwards as far as he could until he met resistance.

"You don't," he chuckles, "I know you don't."

"I do."

"Well, that's a shame," he drawled, the corners of his lips tugging into a lazy smile. He dips to kiss your neck, humming contently when your head instinctively rolls back to give him extra room to reach. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand down in search of your leg. "Because I like you," he whispers into your skin, grabbing you by the knee and lifting your leg higher around his waist. Your other leg follows it, your ankles locking together and caging him in. His hands cradle your face, lips brushing against your hairline as he whispers, "I like you so fucking much, baby girl."

It was a lie, you told yourself, just something to feed your delusions and to get you to cum for him. But it worked.

It always worked.

He holds his face close to yours, his lips absorbing every little sound you made as your hips moved together with his. Your skin, clammy with sweat, burned with fire, and tingled with pleasure. You cry out his name, throwing your head back into the pillow, when he brings his hand down between you both, touching your clit in a controlled and deliberate manner.

"That's it," he encourages, "give it to me." His head dips into the crook of your neck, kissing and tasting the sweat on your skin. "Give it to me, baby," you arch your body into him, feeling his chest vibrate against yours as he spoke, "fucking give it to me." Not too long after, with the encouragement of feeling you tightening and pulsating around him, he finishes inside you with a loud groan and his fingers bruising your skin as he grips your body tightly.

Convincing himself to finally pull out, you were glad to see him sitting on the edge of your bed, pulling his boxers back on as he stands. It meant that he would be leaving soon; leaving you to wallow in your regret, only for you to do it all over again the next time he calls. His head turns back, looking over his shoulder, and watches you climb off the bed. He should've stopped you, told you to stay where you were and that he would get you a warm cloth to clean yourself with, but you were already walking out of the door before he could think of the words to say.

He finds you in the bathroom, looking at your back in the mirror, trying to clean off his name. "Let me-"

"No," you sigh, failing to reach your back, "I've got it."

He ignores you and you don't protest as he takes the warm cloth from your hand. He takes care not to be too rough as he drags the cloth across your skin, wiping away his own handwriting. Out of the moment, he now realised how immature and possessive he had been writing his own surname on your back. "I'm sorry," he apologises, bending down to kiss your shoulder.

You shift uncomfortably on the spot. "Don't do that," you mumble, tightening your grip on the bathroom counter. A knot has formed in the back of your throat and you believed if you were to look at him, even for a second, you would burst into tears. Grabbing the old t-shirt you had taken into the bathroom, you pulled it over your head, ignoring Christian when he tells you he hadn't finished. "It'll come off in the shower," you mumble, trying to squeeze past him.

"Please," he reaches out to you, touching at your sides as he runs his hands up and down your sides, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever," you mutter, looking down at your feet.

He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. His face sinks when he sees the tears brimming in your eyes. "Fuck," he mumbles, this isn't how he wanted any of this to go down. His hand cradles your face and it takes every bit of your strength not to lean into his touch. "Oh, god," he stumbles over his words, trying to apologise to you, "I didn't mean to upset you when I wrote on your back. It was immature, I know that - fuck -"

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you shove his hand away. Tears roll slowly down your cheeks, fresh tears falling from your eyes every time you blinked. "You could've written on my pussy, for all I care," you cut him off, feeling the bathroom counter press into your back as you step away from him, "I don't care about that!"

The crack in your voice makes him want to touch you, wipe away your tears, and hold you, but he doesn't move. It's the harshness in your tone that makes him stay stuck in the same spot.

"I knew this would've never worked," you dismiss yourself, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you wipe away your tears, "we actually thought you might finally crack if you saw me in someone else's jersey. How stupid I was for believing that you might have actually liked me more than just enough to have sex with me." Sniffling, you glance up at him. "But I guess I was wrong."

He frowns. "You think I only like you enough to just have sex with you?"

"Clearly," you murmur, chewing down on the pad of your thumb.

"That's not tr-"

"Don't tell me it's not the truth, when I know it is the truth, Christian! I meant it when I said you only pay me attention when it matters to you!" His expression hadn't changed and he was still frowning. "What happened? When did your needs become greater than mine? You make up excuses not to see me, but then expect me to drop everything when you call, which I do, every single time, and I hate myself for it. I hate you for it! And I know I should tell you it's over, that I can't see you anymore, because every time I let you in, I break a piece of my heart hoping that maybe, just maybe, you'll drop the roughness and tell me you love me like I love you!"

You clamp your hand over your mouth, the last part slipping out without a second thought. "I-I-I-" You're like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over again. Never had you said those words before. Ever. They were meant to be said when you were happy, not with a face dampened with tears and pain so heavy in your chest.

"You love me?" Christian asks, the colour draining from his face.

You take a deep in, attempting to calm your hammering heart. "I don't know."

"It's a yes or no answer, Y/N." You let him take a step towards you and you let his hand sit on the back of your neck. His thumb stroking the hairs at the nape and his eyes holding your gaze as you finally look up at him again. "I'll ask you again: do you love me?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"Why shouldn't I lie to you?" You ask, tears rolling down your cheeks. The pain in your chest intensifies as you look him in his eyes. Like his smile, they were burned into your mind and they were the things you saw every time you closed your eyes. "If I say yes, you're only going to break my heart. You're always breaking my heart, this time shouldn't be any different."

He shakes his head. "I never want to break your heart, Y/N."

"Then let me go."

"But I can't do that either," he replies, bringing his thumb around to caress your cheek, wiping away your tears, "I don't want to let you go."

You pull away from him, pushing his hand away. "So I must have my heart broken just so you have someone who you can fuck?" It's not what he meant but you didn't know that. The tears dry up as you scoff at him. "Very mature and toxic of you."

"No-" He sighs, trying to reach for your hand but you pull it away. The rejection stings in his chest and hurts like a punch to a gut. "Listen to me," his hands cradle your face and even as you try to fight him off.

"No, you listen to me," you raise your voice above his, finally pushing him away, "I don't want to hear whatever lie you have to tell me. So..." You step to the side, giving him enough room to leave. "So, just leave."

"I-"

"Go!" You insist, now pointing to the door.

Christian decides not to fight it, even if everything in him is screaming at him to not leave, and leaves the bathroom, his shoulders slumped and one hand cradling his face. You waited, rooted to the spot, listening as he shuffles about your apartment to collect his things. Fresh tears burned your vision and loud sob finally escapes the second your front door is closing.

He was gone.

For now.

You crawled underneath your covers, too tired to change the sheets and finding a minimum of comfort in his scent that lingered on them. Reaching for your phone, you find a couple of messages from Reece.

Reece: Did it work?

Reece: I'm gonna take the silence as a yes 🤞

You don't bother to reply.

And just as you're about turn off your phone, your phone pings.

Christian: I love you.

~~~~~~~ | F O O T B A L L T A G L I S T | ~~~~~~~

"Be honest with me," he props himself up on his forearms, his body pressed against yours, his hard cock being gripped by the tight walls of your cunt, as he cages you underneath him, "is this the real reason why you really flew out to London? So you could see me?" He doesn't see you rolling your eyes, dipping to bury his head into your neck, kissing over the hickeys he had left there earlier that evening. A faint whimper slips off your lips, unable to resist the feeling of him sucking on the sweet spot behind your ear. "Answer me, princess," he encourages you to find your words, "you don't really have a job opportunity lined up, do you? You just missed this, didn't you? Missed shouting my name and taking this cock like the slut that we both know you are?"

"That head of yours has gotten far too big for your shoulders to carry," you respond, dragging your nails down the back of his head, stopping at the nape of his neck, "I don't just fly out to another country just for some boy." He scoffs at you for calling him a boy, mumbling into your neck about how he was a man. Truth be told, you did have a job opportunity lined up in the city; you were doing a bridal shoot for the daughter of some Lord. But that didn't mean you couldn't have just a smidgen of fun whilst you were here. And Christian just that. Your smidgen of fun. "You're just the starter before the main course."

Removing his arm, he wraps his hand around your neck, constricting his grip just tight enough to make the corners of your lips curl upwards into a wicked grin. He takes a deep, staggered breath as he feels you pulsate around him, your pussy clenching as his hand clenches around your neck. "I'm the starter, the main course and the desert, baby," he grunts, snapping his hips into yours, feeling himself burying deeper into you, "there's no one more delectable than me."

"Delectable?" You dig your nails into the back of his neck, your grin widening as you listen to the string of curses being spilt under his breath. "That's a big word for you," you tease, moaning as he silences you with a tighter grip.

"Speaking of delectable things," he mumbles, pulling out with a hushed grunt and releasing your neck. His mouth moves lazily across your chest, leaving a line of his own saliva as he licks between the valley of your breasts. Your back lifts away from the sofa as he pinches your nipple between his finger and thumb, rolling and twisting it until the pain feels pleasurable to you. "I've missed having my head between these thighs," he nips his teeth at the inside of your thigh, his beard grazing and scratching you, "so gorgeous and soft for me. And this pussy, too. So pretty and dripping wet for me. You're practically making a mess everywhere, baby, on my cock, on my sofa, all over the tops of your thighs. Has it been that long since someone gave it to you as good as me?"

You don't answer, silenced and ridden of your ability to talk as he collides his tongue against your pussy, licking up and down between your swollen lips, swirling it around your clit, and tasting every bit of you as your wetness pools onto his tongue. His noises were obscene, animalistic even, groaning every time he slipped his tongue inside you while nipping, slurping, and eating every inch of you like he was eating his last meal. "More," you bite your bottom lip and buck your hips into his mouth. You whimper as he pins your hips, pushing you harder into the sofa to stop you from moving.

"What is it, baby?" He asks, licking his lips as he pulls away. His mouth and chin were glistening under his living room lights, making you moan at the visible evidence of yourself on him. "Tell me what you need," he encourages, placing a soft kiss against your hip, "I can't give you what you want, if you don't tell me what is that you want."

"Your fingers," you tell him, bringing his hand to your mouth, sucking on his fingers until they are wet enough. His cock twitches as he watches your fingers repeatedly disappear into your mouth, reminding him how much he had missed the feeling of those very same lips wrapped around his cock. "I need to feel them inside me."

He brings his fingers down to touch your pussy, slowly rubbing them against your clit in a circular motion, chuckling as you squirm below him. "You want me to stuff you with my fingers, baby?" You nod your head with an eagerness he deemed as being far too adorable and a whole lot of desperation. "Fine, I'll give you my fingers if you promise to cum in my mouth," he negotiates, teasing your entrance, "you can do that for me, can't you? Be a good girl and do as you're told?"

"Yes," you answer, sitting up on your elbows. He grins, letting you watch as his fingers disappear inside you. "Oh, god," you moan at the pleasure you were feeling as he fucked you slowly with two fingers.

"There's no god in this room, princess, just me," he replies, burying his mouth into your cunt, wrapping his lips around and sucking on your clit. You chanted his name like a prayer as he buried his fingers deeper inside, curling them to reach the spot he knew would leave you gasping and grasping at the edge of the sofa. "That's it, baby," he encourages, groaning as your taste floods his mouth, "just fucking cum on my mouth. Come on, now, be a good girl and do as I fucking tell you to!"

"Fuck, Christian, don't stop!" You cry, fisting one hand into his hair, the other grasping at the cushion underneath your hips. With your thighs trembling and your stomach clenching, you throw your head back, crying out his name again and again. "Shit, I'm gonna cum," you warn, squirming your hip, trying to buck them up into his mouth, "shit, shit, sh…"

"That's it! That's my good fucking girl!" He praises, watching as your body trembles, grunting and groaning as he feels you pulsate and tighten around his fingers. "Just a good fucking slut, aren't you?" He places soft kisses against your hips, lazily trailing them up your body as he moved in search of your lips. "Taking my fingers, swallowing them up inside your cunt, and squeezing them like a whore." You whimper, feeling the emptiness as he removes his fingers and dances them across your bottom lip. "You know the rules," he whispers, watching you intently and pushing his fingers past your lips, "you make a mess, you clean it up."

Wrapping your hand around his tattooed wrist, you push his fingers deep into the back of your throat, gagging and spluttering around them. He groans, biting his bottom lip and pushes them deeper until he starts to feel resistance. That's it. He'd had enough of the teasing and needed to feel your lips wrapped around his throbbing cock.

Without warning, he rips his fingers back, a trail of spit still connecting you both together. "My turn," he stands to his feet, running his dry hand through his own hair, fixing the mess you had caused, "get on your knees, baby, I want to see if that throat still feels the same as I remember."

He's already groaning as you wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, watching you with lust drunk eyes as you just take the tip into your mouth. "Come on, no teasing," he orders, resting his hand on the back of your head, "let me see you take it all." Gazing up at him, you give in to him, breathing through your nose and relaxing your jaw as you take as much as you can into your mouth. He grunts, feeling himself already hitting the back of your throat. "What's the matter, princess?" He chuckles, pushing down onto your head. "Is it too big for my good girl to handle?"

You pull off, shaking your head and pumping him in your hand. "Big?" You goad, swirling your tongue around his tip, running along the slit. "Is that what they tell you? That it's the biggest cock they've ever taken?"

"I know it's the biggest cock you've ever taken," he fires back, suppressing a moan as you use your free hand to massage his balls the way you knew he liked, "you wouldn't keep coming back to me, if it wasn't."

"I come back to you?" You laugh, speeding up the way you twisted and jerked your hand over his shaft. He grunts, bucking his hips as you squeeze your hand around his tip. "That's funny, because weren't you the one who came to me last time? And the time before that?" He rolls his eyes, trying not to break his demeanour. "It sounds like you're the one who comes back to me."

"Well, no one will suck my cock the way you do," he replies, digging his fingers harder into the back of your head, and groaning as you lick your tongue along the underside of his shaft. His head rolls back at the feeling of you taking him back into his mouth, grunting as you start to bob your head at constant, steady pace. "Only sluts suck cock the way you do," he pushes you down, feeling his cock twitching in your mouth every time you gagged around him, "god, baby, keep doing that!"

"Gonna paint my throat white, baby?" You catch your breath, feeling him twitching in the palm of your hand.

"And leave those perfect tits untouched?" He shakes his head, his chest heaving as he swallows a deep breath. His stomach clenches, grunting as his hips snapped forwards to meet each of your strokes. "Keep stroking me like that," he encourages through partial groans and a whole lot of grunts, "that's a good girl! That's a good fucking slut! My good fucking slut!" Ropes of cum cover your chest and your hand as he finds himself cumming for you, crying your name out between broken grunts. You giggle at the grin he gives you, his cheeks darkening as a partial flicker of softness flashes in his eyes. "Just take it," he throws his head back, knees buckling as pleasure continues to shoot up his spine, "take my fucking cum. Take it all."

Your naked, clammy bodies collapse back onto the sofa, the two of you only laughing as you catch a glimpse of each other out of the corner of your eyes.

"Give me a second and I'll grab you a towel," Christian tells you, reaching to grab his boxes dangling off the arm. He moves towards you, your thong hanging from his finger, moving them out of your reach as you try to grab them. "Though you do look very pretty painted in my cum," he catches your lips with his own, putting your panties in your hands when he pulls away.

"What time is it?" You ask, looking around his living room for your phone.

"Why?" He replies, kissing along your shoulder, groaning as you move out from underneath him.

"Because I have a check in to make."

He sits back, lifting his hips as he pulls his boxes on. "I don't know why you just don't stay in my spare room," he throws out, finding your phone hidden under his shirt, "or even my own bed."

"That's exactly why I don't stay here," you take your phone from him, smiling when you see you still had some time left before you were needed at your hotel.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he chuckles, adding a comment about going to fetch you that warm cloth he had promised, "but we both know you'd like a personal, on the house, stay at Hotel Pulisic."

"Unfortunately, I only stay in five star rated hotels," you call after him, giggling like an idiot, "and I've heard Hotel Pulisic is only rated three. Something about poor service."

He emerges quickly from his kitchen, the warm cloth in his hand. His touch is gentle as he wipes the cloth over your skin, obeying his own rule and cleaning up the mess he had created. "That was definitely not three-star rated sex," he adds to the joke, holding your hip with his free hand. You feel compelled to touch his tattooed arm, tracing the ink with your thumb. "You get perfect service every single time."

----

F O O T B A L L E R T A G L I S T

you weren’t sure how you safely returned home after your tiring shift at the hospital. debilitated legs climbed the stairs where your flat awaited, there was nothing more you wanted to do than to sleep away your existence. 

work had made for the perfect distraction when it came to blocking your mind from remembering the sorrowful voicemail you had left christian a couple of days ago. 

had you regret it? you weren’t sure.

if anything you hoped leaving the voicemail would bring you a sense of closure but it had only scratched wounds that were beginning to heal. 

you began rummaging through your bag to locate your keys as you started to approach your front-door. 

head down with concentrated eyes focused on finding your keys, you didn’t notice the figure standing in-front of you. 

“y/n.” 

you were sure you were suffering from whiplash on how fast your head had snapped up due to the sound of your name. it wasn’t so much of your name being called but who had called it. 

the one person who you were actively trying to block from your memory. 

christian

your mouth gaped open and closed as you tried to find words, you weren’t sure if he was actually here or if your mind was playing games on you due to the lack of sleep. 

“i got your voicemail.” he spoke again, fiddling nervously with his fingers as he stared at the floor beneath him, not having enough strength to look you in the eyes just yet. 

you stood frozen parallel to him, staring at a hole in the middle of his curly brown hair, clasping your hands together to mask the urge to reach out to him. 

“i went and read the book, the one you were talking about”

no response.

“i’m not sure if you knew but the author also wrote another one. funny enough it’s called, theories that explain why we fall in love.” he scratched his beard anxiously.

christian then lifted his head, sending you a tight-lipped smile before he began to speak again. 

“likewise, a few of them made me think of you.” 

“chr-” 

“first theory was two am is awfully heavy to handle all on your own.” christian whispered, head turning back down to look at the floor. “remember how i would always get those horrible panic attacks? around two am too strangely, they were about anything and everything that was troubling me? and no matter where i was you’d show up? shit, y/n, i had one in honduras and you were knocking on my door two hours later” 

you knew christian was fighting back tears because of how his voice had noticeably become raspier, sniffles coming from his nose as well. 

“second theory being life before you knew their name was horrible.” he wiped the snot that was beginning to leak out of his nose on his sleeve, finally having the courage to maintain eye contact with you.

“you have no idea how much i hated england before i met you. i had never felt so alone. then i met you, and you made me hate england a little less, you made england feel like home.” christian’s voice died off at the end of the sentence. 

you wondered if that remained true, you would’ve thought with you turning down his marriage proposal, he’d want to burn down the home you two had built together even though you had already left it vacant.

“because of fear, because constantly running is exhausting.” you felt that one right in your chest.

“y/n, i understand you are afraid. hell, with what you’ve shared with me regarding everyone you’ve ever loved, i’d be scared to. but i’m not them, you have to understand that. you think i didn’t notice how you were holding yourself back from loving me? i could see it in everything you did, and i foolishly enough thought asking you to marry me would cause you to open your eyes and see that i’m not going to leave you like everyone else, that i’m in this for the long haul but that only scared you more and caused for you to run off. i am sorry for that for scaring you” 

your eyes began to watery as you listened to christian ramble, his feet navigating closer to you with every word. 

“because we don’t always have a choice.” 

christian took your shaky hands into his, lacing your fingers together as he gave your knuckles a gentle kiss. 

“because we had bravery to try.”

“because trembling hands needed something stable to hold on to.” christian pressed his forehead to yours as he whispered his next words. “ i know you think you don’t deserve me, i know you think that you don’t deserve a happy ending, however that is not true. you deserve everything this galaxy has to offer, and if it takes a month, a year, or a decade for you to realize your worth, i’m still going to be right here, holding your hand because you need me just as much as i need you.” 

christian pressed his lips to yours, a feeling you’ve grown to miss these past eight months. 

"Goddamn, this just got interesting" Wes laughs again towards him, noticing the smile on Christian's face as he nods. "So the short one that might have a drinking problem is yours, I'm going for the tall one that's flirting with the band," he smiles at him giving him a nudge, "we'll let the others fight it out over the last one."

You make it to the stage, passing the shots off to Anna. Amelia hands the four shots she has to the band while you sit your vodka and sprite and the two seltzers on the edge of the stage. Anna shouts something to the lead singer as she passes each of you one of the shots she's holding. You can feel eyes burning into you as you turn around slightly, your eyes locking with a pair of dark brown ones.

You smirk at him over the top of your shot glass before you throw it back, the whiskey burning your throat as it goes down. You shake your head in an attempt to clear the taste as you reach for your drink. Taking a long sip from it, grabbing the lime from the side and squeezing it into your drink before dropping the wedge in and pushing it to the bottom with the straw.

The band starts playing your requested song, a countrified version of Genuwine's "Pony". You always request it from this particular band, it's not on their regular set list, but for four shots of Jack Daniel's they will play it and it's always a hit with the crowd, no one can resist dancing to it.

"Fuck yeah," Weston shouts as he makes his way to the stage, straight towards his intended target, your friend Anna. He wraps his arms around her from behind, and loving the attention, she instantly pushes against him with her hips, grinding into him. You and Amelia share a knowing look, she always garners the attention of men when you are out, she exudes chaotic energy and they feed off of it.

You continue dancing, spinning around to see Christian standing about a foot from you, Tim wandering over to try his luck with Amelia. You arch an eyebrow at him as he holds your gaze, he offers you a smirk but doesn't make a move to get closer so you shrug your shoulders and spin back around, shaking your ass and circling your hips to the rhythm of the song, if he's not going to dance with you, you're at least going to give him a good show.

Tyler wanders over and nudges him, nodding in your direction but he keeps his feet firmly planted to the sticky floor of the bar. "Is your friend gonna dance with her or just stare at her all night," Anna shouts to Weston causing him to cackle. "He's a shy one," he shouts back. "Well so is she," she echoes to him, "bet a shot on which one of them makes the first move?" he arches an eyebrow, "deal" she holds out her hand, "but if she gets him to dance he's done for, I've seen it happen too many times," she winks.

Just then someone knocks into you, causing you to lose your balance and take several steps backwards, a pair of hands grabbing your hips to steady you. Your eyes instantly lock onto the tattooed arm that's around your waist as you turn around.

"Sorry" you say over the music. "No problem, wasn't your fault anyways," he says back taking a sip of his beer. "I'm Tyler, this is Christian," Tyler says causing you to break your gaze as you turn to him to shake his outstretched hand, Christian's hands still on your hips. "Nice to meet you, I'm good now," you smile at him when he realizes he's still holding on to you, he drops his hands and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

"Interesting song choice," he smirks at you, "your request?"

You nod, "it usually gets the crowd going, most people dance to it," you smirk back at him, "but clearly not everyone."

"I'm not much of a dancer," he offers you a shy smile. "Bet I could make you look good," you smile back at him but he still doesn't budge.

"Ok, well, if you're not gonna dance, I'm going back to my friends," you say, turning to join the rest of the group.

"You're a fucking idiot," Tyler glares at Christian, clearly unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm for dancing with you, but he just shrugs. "You know I don't just hop onto the dance floor with anyone, man," he says back, watching as your dance alone, clearly unbothered.

The band returns to their normal set list and Wes and Tim invite you and your friends to join them in their VIP booth out on the rooftop. You take a seat on one of the couches near Christian, but Tyler strikes up a conversation with you, the two of you chatting easily, your friends talking to the rest of the group.

Weston returns with a tray of shots that he passes around to the group, everyone holding them up and tapping them to one another's in a cheers before throwing them back. "Fuck, what the fuck was that," Christian makes a gagging sound. "Fireball" you also gag next to him, "Jesus Christ, he's not trustworthy with shot choices," you laugh next to Tyler as he shakes his head furiously.

"So do you guys live here?" Tyler asks, as Christian leans in, clearly wanting to hear your answer. "Not in Nashville, no, but we all live not too far from here."

"So is this like a girls weekend or what?" he continues making conversation with you, hoping Christian will eventually step in. "Kind of, we were college roommates, we try to get together every couple of months, we always say we are going to go somewhere else, but then end up here," you smile back at him.

You all continue talking, Christian beginning to relax a little more as he scoots closer to you so that Weston can sit down beside him, Anna plopping down in his lap. "Christian, right?" she says looking him up and down as he nods under her incredulous stare. "You always this quiet?" she laughs and you look to Amelia for help, knowing where this line of questioning is going.

"He's shy unless he's..." Weston starts but Christian quickly elbows him and gives him a warning glare. "So what are y'all in town for?" Anna continues, breezing right over the fact that Christian just cut Wes off from saying something. "Work" Christian answers her as the other guys chuckle. "Big group of y'all for a work trip," she says absentmindedly, "is there a conference going on or something?"

"Something like that," Tyler offers trying to be helpful.

"So, are you gonna dance with y/n or are you just going to stare at her all night?" Anna fixes her gaze back on Christian, Weston once again letting out a laugh. "Anna," Amelia shouts, "let's go dance," she says pulling her up and throwing a knowing look towards you.

They leave the booth, Weston and Tim following them as she turns to look at you, "thank you," you mouth towards her and she nods and throws you a wink.

Christian leans over and asks you a couple of questions about the band and you tell him other songs you know they will play for shots or tips, along with a few things that are on their regular set list. "So are you a groupie?" he asks, "you seem to know them pretty well."

"No, but they play here a lot, and like I said, we always seem to end up here," you smile at him. "They play a lot of country," he says as you nod. "We are in Nashville," you chuckle at him.

Just as they start playing a song by Morgan Wallen you stand up, "I'm going to dance, you coming?" you offer your hand to him. "I told you I'm not much of a dancer," he smiles at you a bit shyly. "Just one song, if you're not having fun you can come back over here and be boring."

He gives in and stands up, taking your hand as you pull him towards the floor.

"You owe me a shot," Anna laughs into Weston's ear when she sees you pulling Christian behind you to the dance floor.

You dance towards your friends laughing and smiling with them as Christian stands nervously behind you. You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck while he settle his hands over your hips. "It's a country bar, Christian, loosen up and have some fun," you say as you start swaying with him to the music. "This music isn't really grinding music, so it's pretty easy to get into," you eventually turn around and press your back to his chest dancing and singing along to with the band as you feel him relax behind you and start to sing along as well, his hands settling over your hips.

"See, this isn't so bad," you smile back at him, "told you I could make you look good."

"I see what you mean by him being done for," Wes says into Anna's ear, "he's smitten."

"Told you" she winks at him.

"Really, I've never seen him actually look like he was having fun dancing," he chuckles.

More country songs play as Christian spins you and dips you and the two of you sing to one another almost as if no one else is in the bar except for you.

"I need another drink," you stand on your tip toes to speak into his ear. He nods and shows you his empty beer bottle as you turn to your friends. "We're going to the bar, want another" you tilt your head towards them as they nod, "Boys?" you look at Weston and Tim who also nod at you.

You grab the bartenders attention, Christian standing behind you with one hand over your hip since there was only room for one at the bar. You order beers for the guys and another round of drinks for you and your friends, also ordering two buckets of beers to be sent to the VIP booth for the rest of the guys that are still sitting up there.

"I'll get it," Christian leans down to speak into your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. "Nah, I already put it on my tab," you smile back at him, "you can get the next round."

"You want another shot, definitely not fireball," you laugh.

"Yeah, why not, we've got tomorrow off anyways."

You order two lemon drop shots, something that goes down a lot easier than either of the whiskey shots you've had tonight.

You and Christian gather up your drinks, heading back towards the group that is still dancing. He seems much more relaxed, wrapping his arms around your waist as you start dancing again.

"Thank goodness you decided to dance with me instead of staring at me like a creeper all night," you grin at him.

"So you noticed?" he answers dropping his head against your shoulder in embarrassment as you nod.

"Those two are straight chaos, by the way," you say gesturing towards Weston and Anna. "Don't I fucking know it," he chuckles back at you.

"Where are you guys staying?" he asks you as he spins you around a couple of times, showing off the fact that he's really not a bad dancer.

"We've rented a condo about two blocks from here for the weekend, figured it was worth it to be within walking distance," you smile as the band starts playing something a bit slower and he pulls you into him.

The tension between you is palpable but you aren't one to make out in public and you get the feeling he's not either.

"You want to get out of here?" you ask him, chewing on the inside of your lip and hoping that you aren't overstepping.

"Absolutely," he says giving you a squeeze with the arms he has wrapped around your waist.

"I'm gonna go close my tab," you say to him as he nods.

You lean over to tell Amelia that you and Christian are going back to the condo as you walk past her and she nods and kisses you on the cheek. "Have fun," she winks as you shake your head at her.

Christian meets you back at the bar while you are settling up your tab and follows you as you make your way outside.

He links his fingers through yours as you make the short walk back to the condo. "This place is nice," he says as you enter the code into the keypad and open the door.

"Yeah, it's more space than we need but we each have our own rooms and there is a hot tub on the back patio..." your words trail off as the door shuts behind you and you are met with a pair of very hungry eyes.

He presses your back against the door as one hand slides to your waist while the other makes its way to your jaw, tilting your face up towards his. He licks his lips as he stops millimeters from your face, his eyes dancing over your features looking for any sign of resistance. When he doesn't find anything that tells him you don't want him to kiss you, he presses his lips to yours. He kisses you gently, his lips slotting perfectly over yours.

A flicker of a smile dances across his lips as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him back into you. This kiss is much needier, his tongue dipping into your mouth, groaning as you swirl your tongue swirls around his. He tastes like whiskey and beer and something else you can't quite put your finger on, but the way his tongue expertly explores your mouth makes you wonder what else it might be good for.

You both pull away from the kiss, breathless and he follows closely behind you when you make your way into the kitchen area. "We have beer, seltzers, liquor, and Jell-O shots," you say opening the fridge.

"Jell-O shots?" he arches an eyebrow at you. "Yep," you say as you pull out several. You slide them across the island towards him before you pull out a few snack options as well, putting a pan of pizza rolls into the oven, knowing your friends will want them when they get back.

You hop up on the counter and Christian stands between your legs as you pick up a shot and hand it to him. "Just a warning, you can't taste the vodka in these, and that makes them lethal" you grin as you tap the plastic cup with your shot in it to his.

"Um, how do I get this out of here?" he asks as he looks at the jello congealed in the small plastic cup.

"With your tongue" you smirk at him, swirling your tongue around the inside of your cup and swallowing the shot down easily.

"Or you can squeeze the sides of the cup and loosen it if you want to be less adventurous," you arch an eyebrow at him.

You watch as he swirls his tongue around in the cup, mimicking what you'd just shown him. You really wish you could clamp your legs together right now because watching him take that shot definitely sent a searing heat to your core.

As soon as he sits the plastic cup down he crashes his lips to yours again, your heated kiss is quickly interrupted though when you hear the door to the condo open "hope y'all have your clothes on," you hear Anna shout as she bursts into the kitchen, followed closely by the rest of the group.

Christian drops his head against your shoulder as you look up and roll your eyes at your friend. "When we mentioned having Jell-O shots here, they all wanted to move the party," she shrugs her shoulders at you.

"Oh, I see you've already shown him how to tilt and swallow," she winks at you. "Excuse me, what?" Weston says as he moves to stand beside her. "Tilt and swallow, the only way to take a Jell-O shot," she grins, "show them, y/n, you're the best at it."

You pull another shot off of the counter and demonstrate for them just as you'd done a few minutes ago for Christian. "Jesus Christ," Wes mumbles.

Christian also grabs another one and takes it, using the technique you'd shown him. "Oh, he's good with his tongue," Anna chuckles, "lucky bitch," she smirks at you and you just shake your head.

Before you know it, shots are being taken around the kitchen, snacks are being eaten, music is playing, and a few of the guys are sitting on the edge of the hot tub with their legs dangling in the water. You escape to your room deciding you really want to change into something comfortable and escape the jeans you're wearing.

You make your way into your en-suite bathroom and pull on some shorts and a bralette before realizing you left your shirt laying on your bed. "Shit" you gasp when you walk out of the bathroom, finding Christian sitting on your bed.

"Sorry, I was looking for a bathroom, and I uh" he stammers trying his best not stare at your tits since they are only barely covered by the sheer lace bralette you are wearing.

You chuckle and grab your shirt from beside him, pulling it over your head, "better?" you ask.

"Yes and no," he grins back at you pulling you to stand between his legs. You dip your head and press your lips against his and just as you do the door to your room flings open. "Found them," Weston shouts, "but I don't think they wanted me to," he chuckles closing the door back.

"My god, our friends are ridiculous" he says pressing another kiss to your lips as he stands up. He makes his way into the bathroom and you debate if you should wait on him in your room, but you ultimately decide to go ahead and join the others.

"That was quick," Wes chuckles when you flip him off. Christian emerges from your room a few minutes later and sits down on the couch beside you. A drinking game ensues as you all spill one secret after another in a game of never have I ever. You notice that Amelia and Tim seem to have sneaked away from the crowd and you lean over to whisper your suspicions in Christian's ear as he nods and turns to whisper something back to you, lightly kissing your neck in the process.

Tyler grins at you with an "I saw that" look and you just smile back at him playfully.

Everyone heads outside to sit on the patio for a while and you make your way into the kitchen. You already told them they are welcome to stay since you actually had more beds than you need and plenty of space if they didn't want to take an Uber back to the hotel they were supposed to be in, so you are expecting everyone to crash here most likely.

You clean up a few things and put anything that needs to be refrigerated back into the fridge. As you are bent over putting things away, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you as you stand up. "Do you mind if I stay with you?" Christian whispers against your neck, feeling you shudder against him.

"No, not at all," you whisper back to him turning to kiss him softly. You stand there kissing for a few moments, happy to not be interrupted for once.

"Come on," you say as you pull him towards your room, shutting the door and locking it behind you.

"You aren't drunk are you?" he asks as he pulls you against him, "no, are you?" you respond and he shakes his head.

He dips his head to capture your lips in a fiery kiss, knowing you won't be walked in on again. You walk backwards until your knees hit the back of the bed causing you to sit down and start inching your way towards the head of the bed. Christian follows you, his lips attaching to your neck, jaw, collar bones, anything he can get them on as he lifts your shirt over your head.

He dips his head, grazing his teeth over one of your covered nipples pulling a quiet gasp from you before sliding his hand under your bralette and palming your other breast. He slips the thin lace covering up and over your head, tossing it across the room.

He pulls his own shirt over his head and you make an ill attempt to cover yourself with your hands, suddenly feeling self conscious about yourself when faced with his impeccably toned body.

Jesus, what does this man do for a living? you think to yourself.

He confidently moves your hands from your body, "you're gorgeous, let me see you," he whispers against your lips before kissing you softly. He moves his way back down your body, placing slow open mouthed kisses along the way until he reaches them waistband of your shorts.

He glances up to you as you slide your hands down your body and into the top of your shorts, lifting your hips as he pulls the shorts and your underwear down your legs.

You sit up quickly, moving to unbutton his shorts and push them from his waist along with with his boxers, his hardened cock springs free as he settles himself between your legs when you fall back onto the pillows, kicking the rest of his clothes off the end of the bed.

He glides his hand down your body, cupping your pussy, "I want you so bad" he whispers against your neck pressing his hardened length into your leg as he dips one finger into your entrance. "So fucking wet for me, y/n" he groans, hissing as you wrap your fingers around his cock. It's thick and heavy in your hand as you grip him, moving your hand up and down slowly as he involuntarily thrusts into your hand.

"Will you be able to get off from my cock, or do you need me to go down on you?" he asks, placing sloppy kisses over your chest and sliding another finger into you, noticing the way your back arches and you clench around them when his thumb brushes over your clit.

"Yes," a breathy moan escapes from you as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. He chuckles, "that didn't answer my question, y/n, which one do you want, my tongue or my cock?"

"Cock, definitely cock," you moan as he continues working his fingers into you. You let out a whimper when he withdraws them and slips them into his mouth, humming at the taste. "Maybe I should go down on you, you taste fucking amazing," he groans almost as if he is pained by the decision.

You waste no time as you line him up with your entrance, "please, I need you inside of me, Christian."

He pushes into you, just barely with the tip before withdrawing, sliding the head of his cock, now covered in your juices, over your clit before returning to tease at your entrance again.

"This what you want, y/n? Hmm? You want this cock in you?" he says with a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, please," you lift your hips just barely, trying to pull him into you further.

"I think you can do better than that," he grins, once again rubbing over your clit with his tip, "beg me, tell me how bad you want it."

Your eyes snap to his in a silent stare off. You're not usually one to beg for anything, but this man, this man has some kind of unexplainable hold over you and you realize you will do anything to feel him.

"Christian, please, please fuck me, I want to feel you inside of me, please fill me up, I want to feel every inch of you," you trail off, breathless, panting, begging him for more.

"Look at you begging me to fuck you," he smirks leaning down to press a heavy kiss to your lips, "ok, y/n, I'll fuck you," he groans as he slips into you just another inch or so, feeling you contract around him.

"Take a deep breath for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he pushes into you fully causing you to let out a gasp at the delightfully painful stretch.

"Fuck" he moans, "you feel good, taking all of me like a good girl."

Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his words. You never knew you had a praise kink until just now, but hearing him call you a good girl is driving you mad.

You pull one leg up over his hip while he snakes his forearm under your other leg, driving himself even further into you as he starts to move.

He watches as he slides in and out of you, watching where your bodies meet and feeling you clench around him.

"God you're amazing" he grunts out as he leans down to flick his tongue over your nipple. He pulls your fingers into his mouth before grabbing your wrist and moving your hand down your body.

Your back arches when you make contact with your clit, "that feel good," he pants out.

"Yes, so so good Christian, keep going, please don't stop," you beg as he grazes over your g-spot with his cock.

He lets out a moan watching the scene in front of him, you toying with your clit, him slipping in and out of you, his cock glistening with your wetness, the view nearly causing him to cum on the spot.

He fights off the urge to cum with everything that he has, slowing his pace slightly and giving you a few slow and deep thrusts. You let out a moan and feel yourself clench around him.

"Fuck, y/n, if you keep doing that I'm gonna explode," he groans.

"It's not like I can really control it, you know," you pant out.

He lets out a chuckle, burying himself fully inside of you, his hips flush against yours as he kisses you deeply.

You clench around him again, this time on purpose, silently begging him to start moving again.

"I know you did that one on purpose," he says as he nips against your neck.

"You want me to start moving again, huh? Need to feel me pounding into you, yeah?" a cocky smirk playing on his lips as you nod and lift your hips.

He starts moving again as you resume circling your fingers over your clit. Your head thrown back against the pillows as he picks up the pace chasing his own high.

He slides his hand around the back of your head, "lift your head up, y/n, look at us, look at how wet you are for me, look at how I'm pounding into you, look at you taking every inch of me," he grunts out between a few strangled moans.

"Fuck, please tell me you're close, I'm not sure how much longer I can hold off," he whimpers.

"Yes, I'm close, so close," you breathe out, feeling your orgasm building.

"Cum for me, y/n, please cum for me," he moans.

"Now who's begging," you grin, but you are cut short when a particularly deep thrust sends you toppling over the edge. Your eyes slam shut as your vision blurs, white spots dotting it when your back arches off of the bed and you come undone around him.

Your body shudders as he pulls out of you, pumping himself a couple of times with his hand and spilling all over your abdomen with a quiet moan of your name into your neck.

He slides his hand over your hip, giving you and appreciative squeeze as you both work to steady your breathing while he places a few lazy kisses over your neck and jaw.

Your hands drag delicately over his back, feeling the muscles ripple under your finger tips when he shivers slightly.

He presses his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes before kissing you softly. As he moves to get out of bed, he leans down and flicks his tongue over your nipple, causing you to squirm and let out a little squeal. He chuckles to himself as he disappears into the bathroom looking for something to use to clean you up.

Your eyes dance over his body as he leaves the room, the well defined muscles on his back and ass fully on show.

He quickly returns with a towel, cleaning you up a little before you grab a T-shirt from the floor and head to the bathroom to finish properly wiping yourself down.

You throw the shirt over your head, realizing it's his when it hits the tops of your thighs. When you exit the bathroom, he's back in the bed, his boxers pulled back on as he waits for you. He eyes you up and down in his shirt, thinking to himself how good it looks on you as you slide into bed next to him.

"So, I probably should've done this before," he starts, tucking your hair behind your ear, "but, I'm in town for a few more days and I'd love to take you to dinner, or coffee, or whatever you want to do before I leave."

"Look, I don't usually sleep with guys I just met, Christian, but you don't have to take me on a date out of some weird obligation," you smile at him, bringing your hand up to graze over the stubble on his jaw.

"It's not out of obligation, I swear, I wanted to ask before we slept together, but now I definitely want to see you again," he offers you a kind smile.

"Ok" you answer him quietly.

"Ok?" he questions and grins when you nod and he places a kiss on your forehead.

"So what do you do for a living?" you ask him, not really sleepy and in the mood to get to know him a little better.

"Um, I play soccer," he gives you a sheepish smile.

"That's a hobby, what do you do for like work?" you press him a little further.

"I'm a professional soccer player, y/n, or football depending on where you're from, I play for a professional club in England, and I'm here right now with the US national team, the other guys, they all play too," he says as he watches the blood practically drain from your face.

"You're a professional athlete?!? Jesus Christ, Christian, you could've said something," you search his face, thinking maybe he's messing with you, but you can tell he's serious by his expression.

"I mean, it didn't really come up I guess, and does it matter?" he questions you, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans your stunned expression.

"No, I guess it doesn't matter, but I might have thought differently about agreeing to a date," you let out a sigh.

"Why is that?" he asks with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, the thought of going out with you is a little scarier I guess," you answer him quietly.

"Look, you don't have to go out with me if you don't want to, I really want you to, but I get it if you don't," he smiles sympathetically, "but it is really nice to meet someone who isn't hunting me down for my name, so I'm hoping you don't change your mind."

"So you're like famous? I'm sorry, I don't follow sports much, so I had no idea, I hope that's not insulting," you say, now questioning how you could've missed it.

"I mean, yeah, I guess I'm kind of famous, but obviously not that famous if you didn't recognize me," he chuckles.

"Where's your phone?" he asks, sliding his hand up and down your arm trying to comfort you.

You reach to the bedside table, opening your phone to the home screen and handing it to him.

He puts his number in and sends himself a quick text so that he will have your number, saving himself as CP⚽️ while you watch.

"Really, that's how you're going to put yourself into my phone?" you roll your eyes playfully.

"Just don't want you to be confused about who I am when I text you" he grins back at you.

He opens your Instagram app, scrolling through a few pictures on your profile before pulling up his own profile. "This is me." he says, handing the phone back to you noticing your eyes widen at the number of followers before you scroll through some of his pictures and view his stories from earlier in the night, including one where you could see yourself dancing in the background.

You smile at your phone, liking the story before closing your phone and putting it back on the bedside table.

"What no follow?" he chuckles pulling you to face him again.

"Nope." you grin at him.

"Really, though, I want to take you out, please at least think about it," he says as he cups his hand over your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"I'll think about it," you lean over and press a soft kiss to his lips.

A short while later, Christian was snoring quietly beside you after asking you about what you did for work and where you live.

You lay there staring at him, wondering how in the hell you'd just slept with him without knowing who he was. Finally after what feels like forever, you drift off to sleep, his arm thrown over your waist pulling you closer to him.

Tag list:

"hey, y/n, is it cool if we pick up a friend? his car bro-" mason tried to explain, as if you could get mad at him for helping a friend out. you were arriving early to training anyways, so picking up his friend wouldn't do any damage.

"it's okay, mason, it's your car" you laughed, still appreciating the fact that he was asking for your approval before actually doing it, making sure that you were comfortable.

since that day, even when his car was fixed, christian would always tag along you two for a ride to cobham. at first, he started making excuses, trying to not raise suspicions about his sudden interest in joining his friend to go to training. then, the visits to your brother’s house started growing exponentially, wishing and waiting that, someday, you'll be there. and when you were, the day just couldn't get any better for him: watching movies, playing games, cooking and eating the cookies he wasn't supposed to eat -because of his diet- only to hear your laugh was the highlight of his day. and because mason, who was involved since the beginning, -unfortunately for you two- had eyes and ears, he could see how you two looked at eachother and how you laughed harder when it was one of you that told the joke, even if they weren't half as funny. all of these facts he recollected quietly, helped him figure out what was happening quickly. quicker than the protagonists, at least.

"is there something going on between you and my sister ?" he asked suddenly, one day after training.

christian could feel how the blood drained from his face, leaving his whole upper body cold. he thought that, maybe, he could have a month or two more before confronting his friend about it. bust most importantly, before confronting his own feelings. after all, he had started dating a girl a few weeks before meeting you, and he felt like an asshole. she was nice, sure, but she wasn't you.

"we're just friends, mate. why?" 

he smiled, nodding, like he had answered correctly. at least, it was the answer mason wanted to hear. he said, in a jokingly tone, shoving him softly, "great. didn't feel like murdering my best friend for cheating on his girlfriend with my sister, you know?".

you had met christian's girlfriend, avery, at a game held at the bridge. you used to be there every game you could, always cheering for your brother and your best friend, but it was that particular game the first time that you saw her there, even when you knew that they had been dating for quite a bit. still, when you saw the girl, you understood why he had chosen her: she was like a dream, taken right out of a hollywood movie. but not only because of her perfect, model-like figure: she seemed sweet and kind, a girl perfect for christian, who, in your eyes, deserved nothing but the best. you were actually excited to have finally met her, hoping to get a girl friend to hangout with, someone who you could talk about your love life without feeling weird about it, like it happened when you tried to talk about love with your american friend sometimes. you had started off on a good foot, and christian was glad to see you two getting along.

you had disappeared to the bathroom quietly during halftime, wanting to come back as fast as possible to not miss anything. apparently, christian's significant other had gotten the same idea, entering the bathroom a few minutes before you, just as you were about to exit the cubicle. you could hear her and her friend, who she came along with, talking about someone, so you didn't dare come outside just yet, opting to stay quietly.

wrong choice.

you guessed that her friend was the one talking, since you didn’t quite recognize her voice. "who's that girl that's been screaming nonstop?", she said, and you cringed internally when you realized that it was probably you. confirmation hit a few seconds later, when avery shared the information with her. 

"that's christian's best friend".

she giggled, loud and obnoxious, like the mean, popular girls in teenage drama movies did. "god, she's so annoying". you figured it was too late now to get out of the cubicle, even if you didn’t want to hear more about their conversation, fearing you could learn what she really thought about you. oblivious to your presence in the room, the other girl continued. "did you see how long she hugged him before he left? she's 100% in love with him" she joked, and even when you knew that it was a lie -at least, that was what you told yourself each time someone commented about your relationship with christian-.

the self doubt started to hit harder when the girl you had just met, who pretended to be friendly with you, continued to tell her friend what she had learned from your previous encounter. "i know, right? i just met her and i already can't stand her". 

god, why were they taking so long? why couldn’t they just leave? 

you didn't want to know more information, you had learned enough to last you a lifetime. certainly, enough to keep your distance with avery. 

and with christian too.

"if she bothers you that much, why don't you make him choose?" her friend suggested, and your racing thoughts feared that she already had delivered her ultimatum. after all, she was his girlfriend, and it was a no-brainer that he would choose her.

and when you thought that, surely, it couldn't get worse, it did.

"it's insignificant, really. he'll never pick her. he already told me she's mason's little sister, so she's like a little sister to him too".

getting out of the bathroom just in time before the whistle blew, indicating the start of the second half, and having to sit next to avery and offer her a smile, was one of the hardest things you had to do. at least, during that day.

after the incident, you decided to keep your distance. no longer going to the bridge in fear of crossing paths again and having to pretend that you didn’t hear what she said, putting on a friendly mask, was enough to convince you that it wasn’t your place anymore. it had been difficult to justify your choice with christian, who inquired you about it the first weekend you missed, and they unfortunately had lost the match. eventually, you figured that you couldn't lie to him about being sick every weekend, so you made something up, like your schedule with college had just gotten too crazy to handle in the last couple of weeks.

mason, knowing you like the palm of his hand, didn’t buy it. but he also knew that he shouldn’t push it, and you would, in due time, tell him what was going on. he was your twin brother, after all. you couldn’t hide the truth from him forever.

that was how you ended at christian’s birthday party, without wanting to. all thanks to your brother’s persuasion.

it had started well, really. you had greeted the birthday boy when you two arrived at his once, but since then, he seemed to have banished from the face of the earth, and you, for once, were glad with his disappearance. 

to endure the night, you had resolved to alcohol, which proved to have been not the wisest decision when it was time to meet with christian again, all warnings made by your sober brain about not going near him, in case his girlfriend was close, flew right through the wind when the first drop of alcohol entered your bloodstream. that was how you ended up dancing with him, maybe a bit too close to be excused as just friendly.

"stay away from him" a female voice was heard from behind you when you went to grab another drink. in your drunk, slurred brain, you couldn’t decipher who she was referring to, even if you recognized it was avery speaking. "what? from who?".

the girl rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed at your ignorance. "don't play silly now. you know christian's with me. he's about to propose, and there's no place for the both of us, so back off. I don't care that you're his fucking best friend or whatever shit you made him believe. he'll never chose you over me".

the harshness in her tone had drained the alcohol out of your system, and you found yourself to be in an awkward position after processing what she had just said. 

proposing?

unknown to you, christian was looking for you, since you had disappeared from his sight for far too long. when he saw the two of you, a confused expression was painted on his features, and his anger grew at hearing what she was telling you, even if he just got to catch the last part. "what the fuck are you talking about, avery?".

"I'm sick of her. you'll have to choose. it's me or her".

he frowned at her request, but still made his way over to you, standing so close that you could feel his chest touching your back. "i thought that i had made it clear that we’re over" he coldly said. the girl in front of you let out a furious scream, face turned red, and shoving whoever came in her way, earning herself some nasty glares. clearly avery had thought that you were the reason behind their breakup, but honestly, you had no idea that they weren’t together anymore, after almost totally cutting contact with him to avoid her. nevertheless, her plan of getting to talk to you alone and draw you away from him had clearly backfired.

“why didn’t you tell me before that she was mean to you?” christian said, with a stoic expression. you shrugged, “thought that you would have believed her instead”. he shaked his head in clear disagreement, questioning you again. “was she the reason you stopped going to the matches?”. having never been capable of lying to christian, even if it would be wise to hide the information to him, you conceded. “you’ve caught me”.

"Gossip Girl? Again?"

"Stop judging my watch list," Christian huffs, resting his arm on the back of his sofa.

There's a pattern of rom-coms and TV series he had already watched in their entirety, with a sprinkle of recommendations from yourself in there. You fought back a smile knowing he took your recommendations seriously. "Give me your right hand," you request, setting the remote on your lap. He raises his eyebrow but doesn't question it. "Just as I thought," you mumble, nodding your head as you gaze down at his hand, inspecting his palm and scanning the long length of his fingers, "you need to stop abusing this hand and get yourself a girlfriend."

"Oh-" He rips his hand back with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "My dry spell isn't as bad as yours," he makes a good point, welcoming the vanilla and sweet citrus scent that hangs around you as you shuffle closer. Your leg brushes against his and a small smile pinches on the corners of his lips, little butterflies fluttering their wings in the deepest part of his stomach. "When was the last you got laid?"

"Hopefully, this week." You go back to scanning his Netflix account, missing the bridge of his nose turning pink. "Italy is full of gorgeous men," you hum, wrapping your arm around your tummy, caging it underneath as you lean forward.

"Just put your glasses on," he sighs, watching you squint your eyes, "you're making your eyes worse doing that."

You glance over your shoulder. "When did you suddenly change your career?"

He doesn't appreciate your smart mouth, getting up off the sofa in search of them. "It's called being a caring friend," he mumbles, taking one last look at you bent over and leaning forward, before slipping out of his living room.

He hears you call out to him, something about them being in his guest room, but he's already one step ahead of you, opening the bedroom door and taking a step inside. "Don't you mean your room?" He calls back, treading over a pair of heels you had complained about wearing.

Another smile, an even bigger smile, appears as he thinks about last night. Blood stirred and heated his cheeks as he thought about the simple yet beautiful way your dress hugged your body. His skin tingled remember the smell of vanilla and how it clung to every inch of your skin, so much that it made him dizzy. And he swallows a hard breath as he recalls being at the foot of the bed, his thumbs stroking over your soft skin, before unfastening the straps and helping you out of your heels.

"Ha! Nice one!" Your voice cuts him out of the memory.

"It can still be yours!"

You were a freelance animator, recently coming off the success of a short film for some company in London that Christian couldn't remember the name of. It was a dark piece, playing heavily on the tropes of loneliness and trying to find a sense of belonging, told through the POV of a colourless character in a world full of bright colours. Definitely not for children, Christian realised the first time he watched it, wiping away a tear as the credits rolled, a beaming smile on his face as your name flashed on the screen.

It won the company an award, and added a little more attention to your name, making it easier to do the whole "freelance" part of your job description.

It was that part of your job description that Christian used in favour of you moving in with him. Back in London, you were living four streets away from him, and there wasn't a day he didn't go without seeing you. He missed that. Italy was lonely without you.

Everywhere was lonely without you.

Your glasses are sitting on top of your open sketchbook, partially lost under covers, and Christian clears away a cushion, neatly placing it against the pillows. A hedgehog wearing a mask of sorts has been sketched onto the page, with an owl wearing clown makeup sketched on another area of the page, a knife dripping with blood held in its beak. Cute little woodland animals made to look like something from a horror movie. He didn't know if he should be impressed by your talent or shudder from his own dislike of horror movies.

Both, he had decided, grabbing your glasses and leaving the room.

"No."

"What?" Your arm hovers in the air, your hand wrapped around the TV remote, with the 'Horror' section of his Netflix up on the screen. "What's the matter?" You ask, with a coy smile, knowing exactly what his grievance was. If there was one rule for any impromptu movie night, it was no horror movies allowed.

Christian's rule, of course.

You, on the other hand, loved horror movies. The blood. The gore. The old classic slashers. Movies with a budget so low they either become cult classics or a painful ninety minutes. You loved it all. You loved the suspense and the anticipation of waiting for the next jumpscare. The adrenaline that pumped through your veins every time that it happened. It left you feeling more alive than ever.

"We are not, and I can't stress this enough, watching a horror movie."

"I'm not wearing them," you distract him enough to keep flicking through the catalogue. Saw. Don't Breathe. Last Night In Soho. Halloween. You flicked over each one of them, hoping at least one of them would spike your interest. "I hate them," you mumble, ducking and turning your head away from him. He grumbles something about you being stubborn under his breath, his body partially leaning over you as he places his knee on the edge of his sofa. "I don't- Ow!" You gasp, mouth hanging open and head turned up to look at him. "You just poked me in the eye-"

"Because you wouldn't stop moving!"

You readjust your glasses, your head still turned upwards, eyes squinting up at him. "God, is that what you really look like?" He doesn't appreciate your joke, rolling his eyes as you lower your glasses. "Seriously? I should've worn these things the night we met," you continue, adding a second act, "might have thought twice about falling into bed with you."

A deep blush sets on his cheeks, reaching his ears as partial moments of that night come to the forefront of his mind. Hands tracing soft skin. Mouths coming together in feverish exchanges. Him stumbling over his words the next morning, unable to bring himself to ask you if you wanted to get breakfast, settling on remaining as "just friends."

His teammates had even joked that he had fucked his way into the friend zone.

"Give me the remote," he stretches out his hand. You pull your hand into your body, restricting his access to the remote. "You know we have one rule for a movie night: no horror movies."

"Oh, come on," you tease, biting the tip of your tongue, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into a smile, "it's not my fault you're a big scaredy cat."

He rolls his eyes, despite liking the mischievous glint you got in your eyes every time you saw an opportunity to tease him.

"I think I might have to start telling people your tiger tattoo is just a botched job of a sweet, little Tabby, because a real tiger definitely wouldn't shit themselves at the likes of Scary Movie." You point the remote back at the TV, flicking through a subsection of the horror genre until one of them seemed the right fit for tonight's festivities. "It's not even a horror movie. It's a parody!"

"First of all," he reaches back, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn, "I didn't shit myself." He tosses the pieces of popcorn in your direction, the sweet pieces of confection bouncing off your shoulder and your cheek. You pick it up, the tips of your fingers feeling sticky from just one touch, and throw it back at him. He bats it away from him, and you stick your tongue out at him. "It was you who kept purposely making me jump by jabbing your finger into my side."

"I always find it funny how you and I recall events so differently," you mumble, clicking the down button and flicking onto the paranormal section.

"Okay," he talks over you, reaching forward for one of the two beers sitting on his coffee table, "just stick a movie on." He pops the cap off the bottle with a low grunt, flipping it onto the coffee table. It bounces twice, hits the edge of the centrepiece, a decorative glass bowl his parents gave him as a moving away/house warming present, and flips onto the floor. "And just don't pick a super scary one," he mumbles, taking a sip, "I actually want to sleep tonight."

"Scared you're gonna get nightmares?"

"I don't get nightmares."

"No, of course you don't," you shake your head, "you're Mr Captain America! How could you let yourself get scared over something that's not even real?" He rolls his eyes, giving you a soft shove to the side with his elbow. You pluck the brown stained bottle from his hand, noticing the not so subtle way he was watching your lips as you take a sip. "Do I have something on my face?" You ask, the bridge of his nose blushing red. He turns his head away from you, mumbling something under his breath but you didn't catch it. "Sorry?" It was like poking a sleeping bear. "What did you say?"

"Come on," he mumbles, motioning his hand in the direction of his TV.

"Don't rush me," you hiss, catching your tongue between your teeth, the tip poking out from between your lips. It amused him greatly how serious you took picking the movies for movie night, but it was just one of those 'little things' that he loved about you. "You wouldn't want to be rushed whilst taking a penalty, or something."

He pulls a face. "I don't see how those two equate to being the same thing."

"I-Shut up."

You settle on an old favourite: Paranormal Activity.

It was scary enough that you knew Christian would jump a few times, but not scary enough to have him crawling into your bed in the middle of the night. A single creak could be a footstep. Pipes cooling down could be a ghost groaning. Silly tricks of his mind and all enough to scare him into your bed, with his tail tucked between his legs like a scared puppy. If you wanted that, maybe you would've picked something like The Ring or The Blair Witch Project.

"Shouldn't be too scary for you," you tease him, grinning over your shoulder.

———————

"You don't use-" Christian lifts his head from the cushion, his mouth turned down into a frown, his focus turned away from his television and now on you. You had moved to the end of his sofa, moving to give him space to stretch out, with your knees pulled up to your chest, toes wiggling as they sat over the edge. "Are you going to sit there the whole time?" He quizzes, meeting your eyes as you turned to look at him.

"Yes?" You pan down to his body stretched out on the sofa. One knee was pointed to the ceiling, his other leg stretching the length, with his foot tapping against you. It wasn't deliberate, almost like he was still checking to see if you were still there. "Where else am I meant to sit?" You fire back your own question. "For a little guy, you sure know how to take up a lot of room."

"We both know I'm not little," he replies nonchalantly.

"I don't know," you shrug, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling, "it didn't really leave a lasting impression." You giggle, his foot tapping against you deliberately this time. "But, seriously, where else am I meant to sit? On the floor?" You motion in front of you. "On you?"

He grins, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back his thoughts, but you roll your eyes like you had read his mind. "Just lie with me," he mumbles, patting his hand against his chest.

"What, and crush you?"

It was now his turn to roll his eyes. "You're not going to crush me."

"I might."

"Do you see me?" He pans his hand down his body. "Do you see this? I can take my shirt off so you can better look-"

"Please don't."

He taps your leg again. "We both know you like me better when I have my shirt off," you avoid his eyes as he teases you like your eyes might deceive you and tell him he was right, "But, c'mon, I'm getting cold over here." He pouts, eyes looking rounder as he tries his best at 'puppy dog eyes.' He grabs at the air. "Please?!"

"You're actually the worst," you mumble, giving in to him, "the worst of the worst." Your bodies become a tangled mess, legs wedged between each other, his thigh half-straddled as you rest your head on his chest. His hand travels down your back, his fingers skimming along the band of skin exposed above your jeans. "Also, I call total bullshit on 'getting cold'," you add, unconsciously tucking your hand under his shirt. Your touch makes his skin tingle.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows, looking down his nose. "Why's that?"

"Because you're perpetually warm."

Christian's attention flickers back and forth between you and the movie, pressing his fingers harder into your skin whenever Katie screams Micah's name, which you didn't mind, even though it would happen a lot. When he wasn't subtly trying to hide the jumping, he was glancing down at you, focusing on the steady and relaxed movement of your breathing. He would half-smile at the way you mumble your reactions under your breath, humming a simple "yes" or "okay" to acknowledge them.

He takes in a deep pull of your scent, closing his eyes as he lets the smell of honey and vanilla wash over him. Everything about you could make him dizzy. From your laugh to your smile. To the way you would always cut your sandwiches into four small squares because it made you think of the nostalgia of the school lunches your mum would make you. But nothing was like that honey and vanilla aroma that managed to stick to you like a second layer of skin.

"You better not be falling asleep, mister!" He grunts as you pinch his hip, his eyes snapping open at the sound of your voice. "I didn't lie down with you just so you could take a nap," you prop your chin against his chest.

"Then why did you?"

"Like I already said, you're always warm, and your apartment is freezing!"

Our apartment, he thinks to himself, knowing he'll bring the question up once more before you have to leave. "It's not cold," he says instead, tucking his free arm underneath his head, "and I wasn't falling asleep."

You raise your brows. "Yeah? Then what just happened?"

"He's just shown her the quija board and you just commented on them being stupid for using one." Your eyesbrows drop and the corners of his mouth twitch. "See," he gloats, giving the small of your back a soft pinch, "I wasn't falling asleep."

You chew your bottom lip. "I am right though, you should never use a quija board."

"No?"

"No!" You shake your head. "You don't know who you could be communicating with, or what you could be inviting in!" He smiles, making you squint your eyes and frown up at him. "What's that smile for?"

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?"

You turn your head down, mumbling your answer into his chest, using it to hide the embarrassment in your voice. Yes, you had thought about it. You had thought about it multiple times and every time you watched a movie where one would be used to contact the vengeful spirit haunting the unsuspecting couple, but it's the last thing you would admit it to Christian. It would just be another thing for him to tease you with.

"Sorry," he laughs, his whole chest shaking, "what was that?"

"I said I'm putting another movie on," you lie. He bites his tongue to stop the soft groan that nearly slips out when you straddle his waist, silently praying that his body can stay calm for all of two seconds. "This is getting boring," you stretch across and grab the remote, "I want something proper on."

He lets his hands travel down from your hips and onto your thighs, drumming his fingers against the dark denim. "This is something proper."

"Babe, this is two tropes away from being a parody!"

Babe. It makes his heart beat twice as fast. He clears his throat, doing his best attempt at dislodging the feeling from his chest. "There's not much left," he mumbles, lifting one hand away and following yours until it's out of his reach. He chuckles, the soft sound growing a little louder as you beam down at him with a triumphant smile. "Just leave this one on."

"Or," you press pause, silencing the screams, "we could have some fun."

"Fun?" His throat bops. "You and I have very definitions of what fun is." Your lips twitch. "And I don't like that smile."

"You shouldn't," you giggle, letting your weight sink further onto him, your core pressed firmly against his crotch. The not-so-subtle way his mouth parts on a slight groan makes your stomach flutter. For a second, you slip back into the memory of his hands grabbing at your hips and guiding them, as he threw his head back into his pillow, groaning your name which back then was foreign to his tongue. "Let's make a bet," you snap back to reality, "the first person to jump has to go down on the other person."

He mules it over for a second, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and spreading to his ears. "But what if neither of us jumps?" He asks, keeping his focus on something that isn't the movement of your hips as you shift above him.

"Then no gets to come today."

"You mean: you don't get to come today," he fires back, "you don't know what I was doing this morning."

"So, that's why I heard my name coming from your bathroom?" You throw him a wink. "Don't worry, I've basically nicknamed my vibrator CP." He rolls his eyes and mumbles a soft 'ha, ha' under his breath. If your current position wasn't already bad enough for him, then hearing about you using a vibrator on yourself was nearly tipping him over the edge. "So, do we have a deal?" You raise your eyesbrows.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Why not?" His tongue darts across his bottom lip, looking at you like you might be his last meal. "I've been looking for an excuse to eat your pussy again."

———————

Christian frowns. "I don't get it." You lift your head from the comfort of his shoulder, unable to hide a half-smile when you catch sight of the crease in his brow and the slight way his bottom lip would pout. Flashes of confusion fill his eyes. "She was the one sucking on his toes?"

"Yep."

"But she thought it was that...other thing?"

"Yep."

He sighs, running his hand down his face. "This is so confusing."

You prop your hand under your chin, using your free hand to poke his cheek. He bats your finger away, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "You're very pretty," you mumble, bringing your finger back against his cheek, touching the constellation of freckles that reside on his face. They were his prettiest features, after his eyes of course. "How are you single?"

"Me?" He slides his hand down your back, bunching up the fabric as he reaches the small of your back. His touch is warm and it makes you shiver. "What about you?" He counters, tucking his head down. His nose brushed against your temple, and you could smell the faint smell of beer and toothpaste on his breath. "You're a lot prettier than me."

"I go on dates," you shrug, finger drifting down to his bottom lip. It was soft and light shade of pink. And very, very kissable.

"You do?" His body tenses and the jealousy he feels churns in the pit of his stomach. "Oh..."

You wish you could say that your dating life was a story of success and one that involved you finding true love but, unfortunately, that just wasn't the case. The apps were full of guys looking for a night of easy sex or carrying bouquets of red flags. And the dates you were set up with either talked only about themselves, were hung up on their exes, or talked about their mothers at an alarming rate.

Oh, and none of them were Christian.

"But clearly none of them have worked out for me," you sigh, removing your hand and settling your head back down on his shoulder. His body relaxes, pulling you firmly against him. "It doesn't matter though, I don't need them," you mumble, breathing in the smell of the cologne that stuck to his skin. After being apart from him, you had come to realise that it smelt like home. "I've got you."

"For now and always."

For now and always.

It was your thing, you could say, a promise that neither would be alone.

You first said after Christian suffered one of his first injuries whilst at Chelsea. His stubborn ass had ignored your messages after the injury occurred, a part of him, he supposed, didn't want you to see him like that, but your ass was just as equally stubborn as his and you didn't take his silence as a final answer. You were there for his recovery every step of the way, and for every disruption that came afterwards, repeating the words: 'for now and always.'

You sit up on your elbow. "Christian?" He hums but doesn't look at you. "Chris..."

"What's u-" You silence him, pressing your lips against his, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel him kiss back. "Uh," he pulls back, touching his hand to your face, his fingers softly stroking your jaw, "hi-uh, what?" He nervously laughs, the tips of his ears turning red. "W-W-What was that for?"

"I don't know." You shrug, touching your hand to your mouth. "I'm sorry."

His eyes widen. "What? No! Don't apologise for kissing me. I liked it."

"You did?"

"Should that even be a question?" He scoffs, smiling at you. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, the softness of your skin shooting goosebumps up his arm. "Of course, I liked it. Why wouldn't I have liked it?" His gaze lingers on your mouth. "Come closer and kiss me again, please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

It's with a smile on both of your lips that you lean in and press your mouth to his. His lips are soft and willing, parting to welcome you as you run your tongue against his bottom lip. At every groan he made, you would whimper, and Christian would swallow each of the sweet little sounds. They were his to keep. They were his to remember when you left at the end of the week.

His hand grabs your thigh and pulls you to straddle him, rutting his hips up as you settle on him. "Feel that?" He grabs your ass, squeezing firmly as he pushes you down onto his bulge. You grind your hips against him, your movements slow and torturous. "That's it, baby," he bites his bottom lip, groaning your praise and grabbing your ass in both hands, "keep grinding like that for me - make us both feel good."

Your lips roam his jaw and neck, imprinting your whimpers into his skin. "I guess the bets off then?" Your laugh is sultry and yet still sweet.

"Bet or no bet, I would still love to eat your pussy," he purrs, flipping you onto your back, "can I take this off?" He fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

"Only if you're taking yours off."

You prop yourself up onto your elbows, watching him sit back on his knees. He grabs the back of his collar and removes his T-shirt with one sharp tug. "Beautiful," you whisper, letting your hands roam freely over his chest. They start at the waistband of his jeans, your fingers stroking over the soft trail of hair, before travelling over his naval and feeling every muscle.

Christian was right; you did like him better with no shirt on.

Your eyes pan back down to the bulge in his jeans. "Can I taste you?" You ask, looking back up at him as his hand nestles firmly on the base of your skull.

"Go ahead," he nods, with excitement in his voice, "take it out."

Your eyes shimmer with anticipation as you take a better look at the tent in his boxers, his jeans pulled low enough down. Peeling back the waistband, his cock springs free, slapping hard and heavy against his stomach. He was big, bigger than you had remembered, and your face grows hotter as you try to think of a way to fit him all into your mouth.

"It'll fit," Christian says like he could read your mind, "trust me." He wraps his hand around the base, pushing the tip gently against your mouth. "Give it a kiss." You pucker your lips and lay a soft one against the crown of his cock, tasting the pre-cum as you pull away and lick your lips. "Now open your mouth," he instructs, gliding it against your wet tongue, "already being such a good girl for me."

You swirl your tongue over the head, smacking your lips as you pull off him. "Definitely the prettiest dick I've ever had the pleasure of sucking," you tell him, replacing his hand around the base.

"Sucked many dicks?" His face quickly drops. "Don't answer that."

You run your tongue against the underside of his shaft. "Not in a long time," you answer anyway, giggling as he scowls.

You wrap your lips once more around his cock, focusing on the tip, sucking it lazily in and out of your mouth, as your hand worked the base. "Fuck, that feels good," he pants, hanging his head back, exposing the column of his neck and the beard that scattered the underside of his jaw to you. "But I'm gonna have to make you stop."

"What?" You pull off him, a string of spit still connecting you. "Why?"

"Because it's been way too long, longer than I would like to admit since I was last with someone, and if you keep sucking me off like that, this is going to end quicker than it started."

You wipe your mouth. "Oh."

"Yeah," he blushes, tucking himself back into his boxers. He tugs his jeans up but leaves them unbuttoned. "Now," he clears his throat, "wanna help me take your clothes off?"

———————

"Fucking gorgeous!" Christian touch sears your skin, burning his prints into you as he grips your thighs. You pinned to his mattress, with nowhere to go, looking down at a pair of hungry eyes. His tongue splits your folds and draws a line between your entrance and your clit. "This pussy has been a part of my dreams for years," he confesses, turning his head, kissing the inside of your thigh, "god, I think about it-think about you when I'm touching myself."

Your lips part on a silent breath. "You do?"

"Every time, baby." He blows hot hair against your clit, grinning as your squirm. "Every. Single. Damn. Time."

"Good," you giggle, cupping your breast and tweaking your nipple, "because I wasn't lying about nicknaming my vibrator CP."

His cock strains in his jeans at your words. "Don't say that," he growls, rutting his hips into the mattress, "not unless you want to be cleaning the cum off my cock."

You prop yourself up, looking down at him between your thighs. "Sounds tasty," you throw back, licking your lips.

His lips twitch. "Speaking of tasty..." He drags his tongue back and forth along your slit, groaning as your wetness pools in his mouth. You were intoxicating. A drug for him to get high off. "Tastiest thing I've ever eaten, baby," his praise has you throwing your head back into the pillow, "and the prettiest, too."

"Oh, my..."

He pushes the air out of your lungs, stretching you out as he slowly works two fingers into your pussy. They twist and curl up to stroke your g-spot, and you feel him grin against your clit when he wrangles out a pornographic moan. No one had made you feel this good. Not in a very long time.

"Christian," you pant his name, pushing your hips up. He groans, flicking his tongue faster over your clit.

He was playing like an instrument and eating you like were his last meal.

"So fucking tight," he licks his lips, tasting you on him. He twists and scissors his fingers, stretching you some more. "And wet, baby," he purrs, rotating his thumb in circles over your clit. His honey-dipped eyes look up at you, roaming every part of your naked figured. "If you could see the mess you're making - just dripping everywhere."

"I want you to look at me like that all the time," you stare down at him.

"I do." He kneels between your legs, dipping to kiss over the tops of your breasts, the dip at the base of your neck and then your lips. "I look at you like this all the time, baby," he presses his thumb harder to your clit, making you squirm, "I've just gotten good at hiding it." He crashes his mouth against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste your arousal off his tongue. "I'm gonna grab a condom."

You stop him as he reaches into his bedside cabinet. "I'm on the pill."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you answer, kissing over his stubbled jaw, nipping playfully at his ear, "now lose those jeans, pretty boy." He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips curving up with amusement. You give a sharp tug on his belt loop. "I said lose the jeans."

He chuckles, pushing to stand up. "What is this?" He pulls his jeans down, kicking them off as they reach his feet. You bite your lip, eyes zoning in on his cock bulging in his underwear. They were removed next, a smirk gracing his lips. He wraps his hand around his shaft, jerking his wrist a few times, wincing a little when he squeezes the tip. "Think you're in charge here?"

"Maybe."

He shakes his head, brushing his lips against your temple. "That's very cute." He kneels between your legs, tapping his tip against your clit, chuckling as you whimper. There was nothing worse than being teased. "But that's not happening, baby."

He slips the first few inches inside, watching your pussy swallow and clench around him. He waits, giving himself a second to adjust. "Just remember it's been a while, okay?" His cheeks blush, spreading down his neck onto his chest. "Don't be teasing me if I end up coming too quickly."

"Hey, look at me." You reach out to touch his face, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He leans into your touch. "We're in the same boat, remember?"

"But what about all those dates you've been on?"

You shake your head. "The last guy I had sex with was Kal." Sliding your hand between your bodies, you sink the last few inches inside. The feeling of fullness has you losing your breath, but you find it again when Christian leans over to kiss you. "Forget about the timestamp on your last time, and stop worrying about blowing your load too quickly," you talk against his mouth, soothing your hands over his chest, "just be here with me, okay?"

He nods, biting his bottom lip. "I can do that." His head dips and kisses the centre of your chest, hands exploring your thighs and the globes of your ass as he ruts into you. "Fuck," his voice is strained, "you feel...you feel perfect, like you just for me."

"Yes," you whimper, your heart aching as the words hit your ears, "just for you."

He nuzzles his stubble into your cheek. "Say it again."

"Just for you," you repeat, now grinding your hips up to meet each thrust, "just for you." You pull his head up and crash your lips together, exchanging a kiss like it could been your last. Never had you imagined this is where you would be when you got on the plane four days ago. "You," you managed to make out through a moan, breaking apart, nuzzling your face against his cheek.

He chokes your name on a sob, "I'm not gonna last must longer."

"Let go, Christian," you wrap your legs around his waist, and run your nails down his back, scratching lightly at the muscles that strained, "come for me, baby."

"Inside you?" His rhythm is sloppy and you have to keep grinding against him. "Can I come inside you?" He grabs your hips and clamps them against him, moaning into your shoulder as his whole body shakes above you. "Oh, god," he whines, his cock twitching and pulsing, "I'm coming-I'm..."

Silence.

For the next few seconds, Christian is silently mouthing your name against his skin.

You soothe your hands through his hair as he finishes inside you, letting your hands roam over his shoulders and down his back. "You okay?" You whisper, tucking your head to brush a kiss to the side of his head. "Christian?"

"I think I just had an out-of-body experience," he answers, audibly groaning as he pulls out. You giggle, tiredly rolling onto your front, moving with him as he collapses next to you. His arm comes up over his face, hiding his eyes, before ripping away to look at you. He looked worried like he was realising he had done something wrong. "You didn't come?"

You shrug, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's fine." Which it was.

"No, it's not." He tries to sit up but crashes back onto the mattress. "When I have recovered, you are coming," he declares, pulling the pillow over his face. His voice is muffled as he adds, "we are not leaving this bed until I've made you come."

———————

—

Last night, USMNT just won CONCACAF Nation League and after the post-match press conference, Christian spent the whole night celebrating with the players. They won with 2-0 score – just three days before, they won 3-0 against Mexico – their biggest rival – in the semifinal and he scored two goals for the team. I went with him, the guys, and their families but not long after I decided to go back to the hotel early to get some sleep – at least that’s what I told him. Before I left, he asked me if I wanted him to go with me – I told him to stay because I thought he deserved to finally celebrate a win after a horrible season at Chelsea.

I whispered into his ears, “I’ll give you the special winning prize later on, Captain.”

Clearly knew what I was talking about, he smirked at me then whispered back into my ears as he playfully slap my butt, “I can’t fucking wait.”

—

Just two hours after I settled in my room, I got a text from him telling me he’s coming back to the hotel. I already have my lingerie on – I put on the white lace lingerie he loves so much – and hide it underneath a robe. Not long after, the doorbell rings.

“Hey!” He greets me.

He shows up all smiling and kind of wet, smelling like champagne covered his whole body. He still has his medal and captain armband on.

“So, I’m here to claim my prize…” He smirks.

“Wanna tell me what is it?”

“Well…” I say as I open my robe and reveal what’s beneath it, “you just have to find out for yourself.”

“Woah,” he gulps, “am I the luckiest man or what?”

He starts kissing my neck.

“Wait…” as I reluctantly lean away, “I have something you may like.”

I go to grab something near the bed and he follows.

“You know how you’ve talked about wanting to be tied up? If you still want to, we can try it tonight…”

His eyes widen and his jaws drop open.

“Are you serious???”

“Yes.” I say as I show him the cotton ropes I brought just in case he wanted to try.

“I never thought this day would finally come... Fuck, I love you Y/N!”

—

He immediately takes off his shirt and puts the medal on the bedside table – and before I asked him not to remove his captain armband and pants – then gets in position as I tell him to get comfortable first since he will not be able to move a lot. He looks so giddy and excited as I tie his hands to the bed – obviously because he has been asking for this for quite a while but I was never really sure… Until today.

I get on top of him and remove my robe.

“Shall we begin?”

He licks his lips and nods.

I start by kissing the little freckle behind his ear, move to his ears, lick them and give each a little bite, then kiss and suck his neck and leave him a hickey – he loves to leave one on me and now it’s my turn to leave my mark.

My lips then find their way into his, sliding my tongue into his mouth and swirling mine around his tongue.

As we kiss, I put my hand inside his shorts and rub his bulge – which is starting to get hard.

“Fuck…” He moans between kissing.

I rub it even harder and he bites my bottom lip.

“Do you want me to set your cock free?” I whisper to him.

“Yes… Please…” He whimpers.

“Mmm, as you wish.”

I pull down his shorts and his underwear, his cock is now fully erect. I start stroking the head and slowly moving my hand up and down.

“More…” He begs.

I change my pace and start twisting. He closes his eyes and hisses once in a while – soaking the pleasure in.

“Baby… Don’t you wanna taste it?” 

“Taste of what?” I play innocent.

“You know…  My lollipop.”

“Ugh, don’t call it ‘lollipop’!” I’m jokingly disgusted – though I don’t like that term.

“Why do you think you deserve me to blow you away?”

“I’ve been good, I just won a fucking league… Please...” He faintly begs.

I start going down on him – I trace his chest with my lips and as I get in between his legs, I lick his cock from the bottom up. I swirl my tongue around the tip and he quivers – it feels so good his thighs start to shake.

“Put it deep into your mouth…”

Our eyes meet while I slowly put his cock into my mouth. He bites back a moan.

I get deeper and deeper, and when he feels closer to reaching the back of my throat, he gasps and growls.

As I continue fucking his cock with my mouth, his toes curl up and he rolls his eyes.

“Y/N… I’m about to cum…” He trembles, his breath hitches.

I pull off and pump him with my hand to finish.

“Don’t, not until our next act...” I tease him.

He groans – he was really close but I stopped before he finished.

—

As I’m about to get on top of him, he stopped me for a second.

“Wait, I have an idea.”

He looks at the medal on the bedside table.

“Why don’t you wear my medal?”

I take the medal and put it around my neck. The medal lies between my breasts, and Christian seems to love the view.

“Now, take your lingerie off.”

I take it off and now fully naked.

“Y/N,” he stares at my bare chest and bites his lips, “that medal looks so fucking good on you.”

I get seated on top of his cock and rub my clit and wet pussy onto it.

“Oh, fuck… Baby you’re so wet…” He murmured.

“I want to be inside you… Now.”

I bury his cock in me – both of us instantly moan once he is completely inside me. With my hands on his thighs, I start riding him at a slow pace. Our skins slapping against each other feels so good.

“Faster…” He moans.

As I move faster, he can’t keep his eyes off my bouncing breasts and medal in-between. He licks his lips and gulps.

“I have never seen someone this hot while wearing a medal.”

“Yeah, lucky you.” I jokingly reply.

I’m now riding him at a much faster and deeper pace. Enjoying the ride so much, he squeezes his eyes shut and groans.

He starts clenching his fists and breathing heavily.

“Baby don’t stop…” he begs, “I’m close…”

I squeeze his cock while he is still inside me and I feel his cum running down all over my pussy. He lets out the loudest moan – he tilts his head backwards, his eyes are shut, and he breathes heavily.

—

“Untie me?” He softly asks as I get off of him.

I untie his hands and throw away the ropes.

“Thank you,” he says, “this was super hot. And fun.”

I smile and give him a quick kiss.

“My pleasure as always.”

“And now it’s my turn.” He says as he grabs my waist and flips me over.

Christian is now on top of me, laying between my thighs.

“Oh, up for the second round already?” I laugh.

“With you? Always.” He strokes my hair and smirks.

He kisses my neck and sucks it until he leaves a hickey – as he always does. He moves to my breasts – he plays my nipples with his tongue and gently bites them. The rippling arousal feels so good I never want it to end.

My pussy starts to get wet again and I can tell he feels it dripping down on him.

“Shall we begin?” He seductively repeats what I said at the beginning.

“Yes, Captain, get in…” I murmur.

He slides his cock inside my pussy and grinds his hips against me at a steady pace. I put my legs around his waist and scratch my nails across his muscled back.

“This feels so good…” He murmurs.

“Yeah… H-harder…” I whimper.

He changes his pace straight away. His chain is dangling on my face, the faster he moves the more it dangles.

“Say my name, baby girl…” He says as he deeply looks into my eyes and holds my hands.

“C-Christian!”

The way I gasp his name makes him thrusting even harder – and now deeper. 

“Good girl...” He whispers.

I can feel my heart pounding really fast as he called me a good girl.

“Are you close, baby?”

The feeling is so intense I can’t even speak one single word – so I just nod while whimpering.

“C-Chris…” I tremble, my hands are holding his arms tightly.

“Cum for me, baby girl.”

He intentionally messes up his rhythm as I am so close to reaching climax.

“F-fu-oh…”

I roll my eyes back, bite my lips and my whole body is shaking. When it happens it feels like time just stops and the powerful explosions of pleasure just leave my body.

—

After we finish, he lays his sweaty body on top of me and rests his face on my shoulder – catching his breath – before moving his body to the side.

“Baby…” He pants – still sweaty and breathless after the wonderfully steamy and passionate session we just had.

“Yeah?”

He turns his head towards me, looks down at the medal that is still on my chest, and slightly picks it up.

“I’m gonna win every single league… Just so you can wear another medal when you’re riding the fuck out of me.”

I laugh then lean in closer to his face.

“You better work even harder then, Pulisic.”

—

You were sleeping peacefully when you felt kisses on your face, your boyfriend Christian was trying to wake you up. When you opened your eyes, you saw that he was looking at you with a silly face that reflected his love for you. His eyes shone differently when he looked at you.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Mmhh, good morning, babe."

Your boyfriend got out of bed, not before leaving a quick kiss on your lips. While you had been sleeping, he had done the daily shopping and also made breakfast. When you approached the kitchen, you felt the rich aroma of food and you brought the cup of coffee to your mouth. You saw Christian's back move back and forth in the kitchen, until he finished breakfast and left it in front of you. Not only did he wake you up with kisses and food, he also gave you a bouquet of flowers, your favorite flowers.

You loved those gestures in him, because no matter what day it was or what occasion, he always liked to show gestures for you.

"You got me flowers?"

You smiled at him.

"Seeing you happy is all that matters."

You were so in love with your caring boyfriend. You shared a long breakfast, both talked about what had happened the day before and he talked about his training and the games to come. Only got interrupted when your phone rang and you saw that your best friend texted you. You had promised her that you would take care of her children, because she urgently needed someone to do it while she had some problems to solve. You didn’t mind, the two children were kind and nice, you liked to spend time with them.

You told that to Christian and he offered to go with you. He was good with young children and he adored your best friend's kids. You prepared and drove to the house, where you arrived and your friend welcomed you with open arms in search of a hug. She left you the instructions of what you had to do and said goodbye, while you approached the kids. Both of them ran to hug you happily, while Christian smiled and watched the scene. Something stirred in the American’s heart every time he saw you interacting with kids.

Your friend’s children approached Christian and he grabbed the little girl in his arms as she hugged him and looked at him with dreamy eyes. Your friend’s daughter was innocently in love with Christian and you could totally understand her. Your boyfriend was charming and gorgeous.

After the hugs, the girl started doing your hair, a braid the princesses were supposed to have, while Christian played football with the boy. Your heart grew bigger and bigger when you saw him interact with children. Christian and the boy came back after playing for a while and your best friend's daughter had a wonderful idea. You waited for her to come back and she handed a fake sword to Christian, while she gave you a princess crown.

"You are the princess and Christian is the prince."

"Really?" You smiled at your boyfriend. Christian didn’t know what he was getting into when he agreed to come, the kids could be very imaginative.

"But you need to fight with the dragon to get the princess out of the tower!" the kid yelled, explaining the rest of the story.

You stood aside, while Christian pretended to fight an imaginary dragon. The two children watched the scene with their eyes wide open, happy and imaginative. Once he supposedly defeated the threat, he approached you and stood face to face. You couldn’t shake that silly smile out of your face, you loved him so much you could hear your own heart beating.

"Hi, babe." you said to him, once you were face to face.

"Now you have to make a declaration of love!" the girl shouted, giving instructions.

Christian cleared his throat and thought about it for a few moments.

"Sweet princess, I have saved you from a dragon and I have won. Could you give me in return your love? I will fight every day to be worthy of you, darling."

You knew that it was all acting but his words were, in fact, real. He was honest with his feelings for you.

You smiled at his statement, "As you wish, Prince Christian."

"This is the moment when you have to kiss." This time, the girl whispered and the two of you looked at her with doubt.

Christian returned his gaze at you again, trying to understand what he was supposed to do. "I’m not kissing you on the lips in front of children."

You smiled at him, his cheeks were red.

"A quick kiss on the cheek, then. You should kiss me, that would make them happy."

And so he did. Your boyfriend kissed you on the cheek and when you were done, he looked at the children. The two of them were celebrating that the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. You laughed, a couple of seconds later they were distracted talking about a videogame or something that you didn't understand. You hug Christian.

"I love you, my captain America."

"Now is prince Christian, in fact." he joked.

When you were returning home, he looked you in the eye and held your hand.

"I never want to stop making memories with you, princess."