summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ you convinced yourself that being a footnote in jude’s life was better than getting hurt again. truly, you were finally distancing yourself away from jude. but this time, jude bellingham refused to let you go.
warnings 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ unprotected sex, fem reader, jude is begging, crying, plenty of praise, apologising, hair pulling, fingering, slight angst, miscommunication, light choking, soft dom!jude, overstimulation ig, oral, & fluff at the end (7.8k wc)
note 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ wrote this while listening ain't too proud to beg by the temptations, so, there was my inspo. and, boom, there you have it! 50s music always gets me in a jude mood. also, my 3 part series has concluded. i hope this lived up to the hype, i really enjoyed finishing this story and having jude reconcile. THIS IS THE FINAL PART to a 3-part series. you can read PART ONE HERE, and PART TWO HERE.
You couldn’t believe him, which was ironic, really, because this was probably the most believable thing Jude Bellingham ever did.
The photos found you before he was able to explain—or rather—excuse himself.
You were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a terrible habit of yours. Suddenly, you came across a blurry picture of Jude outside an expensive restaurant, then another from inside. Jude sat across from a woman you recognised immediately, the same woman he’d mentioned the night of the gala: “I was supposed to bring someone tonight… but she cancelled.”
Evidently, she’d made it up to him. Wow.
Your manicured thumb hovered over the screen, refusing to scroll any further. Instead, you found yourself reading the comments beneath the post. There was complete strangers picking apart every detail, convinced they knew exactly who she was to him. Some called her his girlfriend. Others insisted she was just a friend. Others called her all sorts of horrible names. A few were already congratulating him, saying how pretty she was.
You exited the app before you could read another word. Because the truth was, it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter whether she’d been a date, a friend, or someone Jude simply shared dinner with. It didn’t matter if the internet had gotten it completely wrong.
What mattered was how easily your stomach sank. How quickly every conversation you’d had with Jude over the past few months came rushing back. Every lingering glance of his. Every touch that lasted a little too long. Every time he’d found you in a crowded room as though there was nowhere else he’d rather be, touching the small of your back so intimately as he did so. Every time you had made love to each other. Every time you had left his warm embrace in the morning when the consequences of your actions caught up to you. You knew this, yet kept running headfirst into a brick wall.
After the party, you’d walked away convinced that would be the last time. The last time you’d let yourself mistake his attention for affection because you knew better now. The last time you’d convince yourself that maybe he’d changed his mind. That, maybe, the boy who swore he didn’t want anything serious had finally realised he wanted something more. Then, the gala happened; you were thrown back back to square one.
Looking back, it made you cringe. You found yourself doing that a lot more recently.
You’d spent months clutching pieces of Jude because they felt better than having none of him at all. A hand on your thigh beneath a dinner table, arm wrapped around your shoulders in crowded rooms. Pillow conversations that blurred into early mornings, with you making eggs for yourself while Jude fixed his premade nutritional bowl. The little moments that felt far too intimate to mean nothing, yet never enough to mean something of fruitfulness.
Jude gave you just enough to keep hoping, then reminded you, without ever having to say it again, that hope was all it would ever be. And the worst part was that you let yourself become content with it.
You convinced yourself that being a footnote in Jude’s life was enough, even when he had somehow become the centrefold of yours. You were willing to exist in the margins of his world, to take whatever pieces of him he was willing to offer, while he occupied every corner of your thoughts without even noticing it.
He’d told you from the beginning; he didn’t want a relationship. Jude didn’t want commitment, didn't want to make promises he couldn’t keep. So why had he spent months making it impossible for you to leave?
Your phone buzzed against the comforter, the sound breaking through your thoughts. It's almost like he knew you had found out, that you had been thinking about him. You eyed your phone with disdain as his name lit up your screen before it disappeared again. Another message came through less than a minute later, then another.
Normally, you would’ve answered by now. Even if it was hours later. Even if you wanted to be angry with him. Somehow, you always replied to Jude because you cared about him.
However, not this time.
You turned your phone over, burying his name against the mattress before it had the chance to taunt you again.
You were sick and fucking tired of his bullshit. Tired of trying to decipher someone who had already given you his answer months ago. Tired of letting his actions convince you of one thing while his words insisted on another. Tired of being pulled back into his orbit every time you finally found the strength to walk away.
Maybe this was exactly what you needed. To be disappointed enough to finally believe Jude; he truly didn't want anything, and it didn't mean anything to him.
Jude knew he screwed up big fucking time. The worst part was that he couldn’t even pretend he didn’t understand why.
At first, Jude brushed it off. Maybe you were busy; you had a tendency to sleep for long periods of time. Or maybe you were finally giving him a taste of his own medicine. But after the fifth unanswered text and the third missed call, something in his chest began to tighten. You never ignored him before. You might’ve been frustrated, you might’ve needed space, but you always came back to him. You were always so understanding.
It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had happened. The photos had been everywhere before he’d even made it home. One dinner with a woman he’d known for years, someone he’d promised he’d make it up to after she cancelled on the gala, and suddenly the internet had decided he had a new girlfriend.
The thought would’ve been laughable to Jude under any other circumstances. She was nearly ten years older than him, someone he’d always viewed as a close friend and nothing more. There had never been anything romantic between them, nor would there ever be.
Jude could only imagine what you thought when you’d seen them. The explanation sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill the second you answered his phone calls. But the longer you ignored him, the more he realised the explanation wasn’t really the problem; the problem was him.
After the gala, Jude convinced himself everything had finally settled into place. The two of you had started talking more than ever before. Good morning texts became routine, calls that were supposed to last ten minutes somehow stretched past midnight. He found himself reaching for his phone after training without thinking, itching to tell you about another ridiculous argument that had happened in the dressing room or to tell you another funny story about Mastantuono or something Kylian had raved on about during ‘team meetings’.
Jude genuinely enjoyed your presence. The constant pressure that followed him—the cameras, the expectations, the endless rollercoaster that is football—disappeared whenever it was just the two of you. You never asked anything of him besides his company, and somehow that became the thing he looked forward to most. In fact, you really didn't even care about Real Madrid or football, nor did you bring it up unless he did first.
He’d convinced himself he finally had his feelings sorted. Or, at the very least, under control. Jude told himself there was no rush to put a name to whatever the two of you were. Things were good as they were! That eventually, when the timing was right, he’d figure the rest out.
Looking back, it was beyond selfish of him. Jude was asking you to wait for an answer he wasn’t willing to find because every time things edged toward something real, he’d retreat behind the same sentence he’d repeated from the very beginning: I don’t want anything serious.
But, at the time, Jude believed he was doing the right thing.
Football had to always come first. The scrutiny that followed him everywhere was relentless, and he knew better than anyone what happened when the public got hold of someone’s private life. Every relationship became a headline, every minuscule move was analysed for entertainment on social media.
Jude told himself that keeping you in the grey area was protecting you from all of it. If there was no label, there was nothing for the media to destroy; there was no way they could take you away from him as they had done to so many others.
It sounded noble in his head, but, really, it was just a shitty excuse. Because while he’d been trying to shield you from the outside world, Jude had been hurting you himself.
You’d become the person he wanted to tell everything to. The first face he searched for after a good match. The opinion that mattered more than thousands of strangers praising him online. Being around you never felt like another obligation. It felt like home, and he’d grown so used to having you there that he’d stopped appreciating how much of yourself you were giving him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was selfish.
Jude accepted all the parts of a relationship that came naturally, your company, your comfort, your unwavering support, while refusing to give you the one thing you deserved in return: certainty.
He thought back to the gala more than he’d care to admit. The way you had fit beneath his arm as though you’d always belonged there. The way he’d found himself looking for you in every room, wanting you beside him even when he was surrounded by people. Asking you to be his date hadn’t been planned.
And that, he realised, should’ve been enough for him to face the music: Jude Bellingham wanted to be yours, and he wanted you to be his.
Maybe some part of you had always known Jude would eventually reach out. He never stayed away for long, even if you were the one that sought him out moreso. There was always a text after a few days of silence, some excuse to start a conversation again, some small reminder that he was still there. You had gotten used to him finding his way back into your life before you had the chance to fully convince yourself he was gone.
But you hadn’t expected to open your door and find him standing there.
The knock had been quiet, his knuckles barely making enough noise against the wood to announce his presence. It was almost like Jude wasn’t sure he wanted to be heard, as if some part of him was still giving you the chance to ignore him. Had you not been home, had you not been standing close enough to hear the faint sound, Jude probably would’ve convinced himself that it was a sign and gone back to his car. He would’ve told himself he tried, that showing up unannounced was too much, or that you deserved space from him and his selfishness.
Yet, you were home.
It wasn’t that Jude was someone who avoided difficult conversations. He was passionate by nature, someone who felt everything deeply and never did anything halfway. Jude knew from an early age that he couldn't get what he dreamed of in life without that. But standing outside your door, knowing there was a chance you might not let him in, was different. This wasn’t a conversation he could charm his way through. There was no crowd to distract him, no confidence to hide behind, no easy smile that could make everything feel alright.
For once, the mature Jude Bellingham had no idea what to say.
When you finally pulled the door open, he looked nothing like the man you were used to seeing. He wasn’t carrying that effortless, nonchalant confidence he wore around everyone else. There was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue, no playful grin to soften the tension between you.
Jude just stood there, framed in your doorway, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders tense as his dark eyes immediately found yours. They were red around the edges, a little swollen. You could tell Jude had spent the entire drive over fighting back tears or had already lost that battle before he reached your door. It was unsettling seeing him like that, to say the least.
“Can… we talk?”
You stared at him.
For a second, you hated that your first instinct was still to let him in. You hated that even after everything, after seeing those photos and convincing yourself you were finally done, some part of you still softened at the sight of him looking this lost. Stop, you won’t give in.
You didn’t move, instead, your face hardened. “You came all the way here just to fucking talk?”
His expression tightened slightly, and his lip trembled. “I know—I know how this looks.”
A quiet laugh escaped you. Not that anything was funny, but because you couldn’t believe his audacity.
“No, Jude. You don’t.”
The words left your mouth before you could soften them. Jude’s eyebrows pulled together immediately, a small crease forming between them as if he genuinely couldn’t understand why you were pushing back. His lips parted, ready to argue, but there was no confidence behind it.
“I do.”
You shook your head slowly. “No, you really don’t.”
Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the door, the only thing keeping you from crossing your arms or stepping back completely. You needed the barrier. And needed the reminder that he was standing on the other side of it for a reason.
“Because if you did,” you continued, your voice growing steadier despite the ache building in your chest, “you wouldn’t be standing here acting like this is just a misunderstanding.” Jude’s expression shifted. You watched the realisation settle in his face. “You wouldn’t show up whenever you decide you’re ready to have a conversation and expect me to just forget everything that happened. Or that it’s okay to treat me like shit.”
As you spoke, you realised you knew Jude too well. You knew every small change in his expression, every hesitation, every moment where he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
“That’s—that’s not what I’m doing.” His voice was quieter now. You let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no amusement behind it.
“Then what are you doing?”
For a moment, Jude just stared at you. His mouth opened slightly; he had an answer ready, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered away from yours for half a second before returning, and somehow that frustrated you even more.
Because Jude always had something to say. He was quick with his words. Always knew how to lighten the mood, how to make you roll your eyes when you were trying not to smile. He could talk his way through almost anything.
But now, when he was standing in front of you, seeing the hurt he had caused and realising there wasn’t a simple explanation that would make it disappear.
For once, Jude didn’t have the right words. And maybe that was because, for once, there wasn’t an excuse good enough.
“I was worried.”
You blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow in confusion. You hadn’t expect him to disregard you. “What?”
“I was worried when you stopped answering me.”
The words almost made you laugh again. “You were worried?”
“Yes.”
“You were worried!?” You repeated it, shaking your head. “Jude, do you know how many times I was worried about you?” That shut him up. “Listen, you don’t get to just come to my fucking house and act like you’re the one who got hurt because I finally stopped putting up with your bullshit. You just can't.”
“I know what you saw.”
The words came out suddenly, almost like he couldn’t keep them trapped inside anymore. You looked at him, and Jude immediately shook his head, taking a small step forward before catching himself. His hands slipped from his pockets, fingers dragging through his hair in frustration as he tried to find the right way to explain himself.
“The photos,” he said, voice strained. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Jude watched as you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. “She wasn’t what you think.”
A bitter laugh left you before you could stop it. “Jude—”
“No, please. Please. Just let me explain.” There was something different about the way Jude said it. No confidence. No attempt to brush it off, but rather pure desperation. He was begging you to hear him out. “She’s my mate. That’s it.” The words spilled out of him quickly, like he was afraid you’d interrupt before he could finish. “She’s been my mate for years. She’s, like, literally ten years older than me, and I have never looked at her like that. Not once. There has never been anything romantic between us.”
His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that you believed him.
“The dinner was exactly what it looked like. Dinner.” He swallowed, settling on that. “I told her I’d make it up to her after she couldn’t come to the gala. That was all it was. I swear, I swear.”
You stayed quiet, and the longer you did, the more unsettled he became. He was worried you’d leave him alone one and for all, that this was the nail in the coffin. That you’d never talk to him again, never forgive him, never let him back in over a miscommunication. That you’d would never accept one more idiotic action of his. And Jude couldn’t blame you one bit.
“I know how it looks,” he rushed out. “I know, God, I’m fucking daff. I know you saw those pictures and the first thing you probably thought was that I’d been leading you on.” His voice faltered, his expression twisting sour; he was fighting back tears. “And I—I understand why you would think that.” For a second, he looked away, jaw tightening as he tried to compose himself. “But please don’t think that.”
His eyes found yours again, all red and glassy. “Don’t think that I was sitting there with someone else while you were just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “While you were nothing to me.” The last sentence seemed to hurt him more than anything else he’d blurted out. “Because you were never that.”
His voice cracked, trembled and shook. “God, you were never that.”
Jude dragged a hand down his face, frustration and regret mixing together until he looked like he didn’t know what to do with either.
“I know I’ve given you reasons to doubt me. I know I’ve made you feel like you weren’t important enough, like you were just someone I could come back to whenever I wanted.” His voice shook as he spoke. “But it was never because of someone else. It was me being a fucking right dickhead.”
You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his breathing had become uneven, the way his fingers kept flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with all the guilt he was carrying. Jude had always been someone who held himself together. The person who found a way to keep going, even when things got difficult. He was stubborn like that, always convinced he could handle everything himself. Right now he looked completely worn down. And honestly, it had worried you. Deep down, you always would love and care about him, which is why you took everything so hard. And also why you kept coming back.
“Jude,” you sounded quietly, his eyes frantically lifted to yours. “Hey. Look at me, it's alright.”
For a second, Jude didn’t move. Then he shook his head, dragging a hand over his face as he let out a rough breath. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, like he was trying desperately to pull himself together.
“No, no,” Jude pursed his lips. “It's not alright.” You frowned slightly at the correction. His eyes flickered back to yours, red around the edges, his expression twisting with frustration. “It’s not fucking alright because I know what I’ve done.”
His voice cracked slightly, and you could hear how much he hated admitting it.
“I know I can explain the dinner. I know I can tell you she’s just a mate,” He shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure you understood. “But that’s not even the point, is it? I was a proper idiot.” The words were so simple, so unlike him, that they almost hurt more. “I should’ve realised sooner. I should’ve seen what was right in front of me instead of convincing myself I was doing the right thing.”
Your expression softened slightly. “Jude…”
“Stop!” He shook his head immediately. Not angry, rather desperate. “Don’t do that.”
“Wh—Do what?”
“Make it easier for me.” Jude’s voice dropped. “I know I hurt you. I know I messed this up. I fucked up.”
You reached for him slowly, your hand resting against his arm. “Jude, please, it’s okay.”
He looked down for a second, breathing out shakily before looking back at you.
“It’s not.” His fingers curled around your hand carefully. He felt like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold onto you anymore. “I don’t want you to forgive me because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want you to just forget because I’m standing here apologising.”
His eyes searched yours. “I want to actually fix it. Let me make it up to you.” His voice was quieter now, almost a plea. “Please.”
You faintly smile and it’s so, so sad. He feels his heart crack and his eyes burn. He wants to make the warmth of happiness touch your features once more. He has let you down so much lately. Jude wanted to make it right, wanted to show you how much he did really care about you. And something in him shifted, you could tell. His gaze held yours, darker now, not with anger, but with a kind of certainty you hadn’t seen from him before. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifted, sliding up and down your shoulder.
Jude feels like he’s sinned and you are the only one who can absolve him of it.
“I—I need to make it up to you," he chokes out, and he is painfully aware it’s not that late and that the two of you are standing in your apartment doorway. Therefore, anyone could walk out of their door and see Jude Bellingham was begging for forgiveness. But he couldn’t give a shit. You need something to soothe the hurt. He can give that. He would give anything. His pride is minimal when it comes to you, especially now.
"Just tell me what to do," he breathes as he steps closer, toe to toe now, large hands cradling the sides of your face.
“Be only mine,” you whisper, and there isn't even a warble in your voice. That’s all you could say, that’s all you wanted him to do. And he could grant that wish. He can see it from the heat and challenge in your eyes. So, he kisses you.
He kisses you with that need that burns him from the inside out every time he sees you, with long and possessive sweeps of his tongue that make your knees weak. He steals your breath greedily and you moan in response. Then when your fingers curl into his shirt, he knows immediately where he needs to take you next.
The two of you barely stumble in through the door of your apartment before he grumbles, “Hold on tight.”
He hooks your thighs around his waist, the deep timber of his voice has you doing as he commands without hesitation. Your teeth latch onto the tendon in his neck as he jumps you against the bulge of his cock. The two of you make it down your narrow hallway to the bedroom. He hisses his approval as your mouth worries that sensitive area, bruising him for the future.
"Mine," you growl against him, and Jude quietly chuckles. He loved this sudden possessiveness you had over him—perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was relief that you knew he had let you into his heart.
You don't want him to think about anything right now; you felt rather selfish. You want his thoughts to be only of you. That's the least Jude could do after all of this shit he put you through.
Suddenly, he groans before he drops you on the bed; you know that sound by heart. It’s the sound he makes when everything is too overwhelming and you have him wrapped around your finger. It’s the sound he makes when he is trying to control himself, when his cock is kicking and threatening to spill. You knew it all too well.
You sigh, your fingers eagerly making work of his T-shirt. Meanwhile, his hands snap the elastic of his sweats, making you shiver as he slowly peels them off himself.
You bite your lip as you fall back against the mattress, watching him slip out of his boxers easily and prowl towards you. Seeing Jude naked and his cock hard, flushed at the tip and sticky with precum, is such a fucking beautiful sight to behold. You could never get tired of this.
No matter how many times you promised yourself you would walk away, you always ended up back here, because, really, you couldn’t get enough of Jude.
Not the version everyone else saw, but this one. The one who let his guard down with you. The one who showed up on your doorstep, begging for your forgiveness. The raw, authentic Jude Bellingham.
And maybe that was your fatal flaw. Because slowly, you began to forgive him as you realised this wasn’t Jude trying to keep you as something convenient. He was just a man who had been too stubborn, too afraid, and too blind to recognise what had been right in front of him the entire time.
Jude undresses you slower. Each sliver of skin he exposes is blessed with his mouth, kisses, licks, bites, and scrapes of his teeth. He worships you just like you wanted, just like you deserve. He spells his apology out in silent words against your sternum. He whispers his love against the softness of your stomach, he says how beautiful you are with deliciously slow kisses on the inside of your thighs.
"You are so perfect. More than I ever fucking deserve, I swear," Jude huffs, dragging his cheek along your pelvic bone. “Thank you, thank you.”
Light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with Jude’s fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours—but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.
You were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan. Your hand flew to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.
Jude was watching you as if you were God’s gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut, head falling back against the wall.
“You’re soaked already, baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.
“For you,” you breathed out—not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the footballer smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.
Suddenly, it was becoming hard to keep quiet, with strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession. Which made Jude’s hard-on strain against the bed. But that was the last thing on his mind, preferring to hold you against the mattress with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.
His name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so Jude thought no one else should ever speak it again—nothing could compare to you. He got it now, God, he was stupid.
“Look at me, please,” Jude’s demand was so gentle you almost missed it, eyes still fluttering shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. Despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.
Jude’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. So it was when his free, large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that’s when your eyes shot wide open.
His eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gauge a reaction to the action. Your lips parted despite having no pressure applied. Though it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.
The slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and Jude could only hum in content. Jude could die right here, and he'd die a happy man, he thought. You were so fucking perfect.
It was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly. Your eyes poured into him as you struggled to form words. “S’close,” was all you managed out; Jude’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers, your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.
You were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.
“Let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.
Jude had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. Your beauty truly knew no ends—and he was now more eager than ever to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.
Admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer down at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.
“You’re incredible,” Jude couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard. “You are so perfect—so patient with a right idiot… I—I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
The sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his toned frame as he stood again at the foot of the bed. You quickly felt overdressed, seeing Jude’s naked body. Your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the Brit.
You could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your naked body as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. The man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows. No matter how many times he saw you, you never ceased to render him utterly speechless.
Jude was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he’d practically whined, your fingers finding the back of his head once more. You could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.
“Want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip—the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him. Even when he swore this was about you, you felt the need to make him feel oh-so good.
Jude simply shushed you, however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head smacking against the pillow as you tried to control your breathing—left to stare with wide eyes at the ceiling momentarily.
“I feel amazing already,” Jude spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking. Your eyes flickered down, not expecting to meet his brown ones. He looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core ache. He offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.
“Jude,” you whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “Please,” the plea left you in desperation.
“Oh, baby,” Jude just clicked his tongue in reply, leaning up to give you a delicate, sensual kiss to silence your pleas. He pulled away, eyebrows twisted exasperatedly. “I should be the one begging you.”
Then, his tongue follows, tracing a flat path down your lower stomach to your throbbing clit. He nips sharply at your hip and relishes your breathless squeal. This time when he licks you, the tip of his tongue presses inside your fluttering walls. Then the width of it slips all the way up to your mons. He laps over every pearl of your slick; he savors every moan and sigh he pulls from you.
“Oh, fuck, Jude! S—so good,” you groan while you twist beneath him. Jude’s strong grip latches onto your arms, pinning you down.
“Ah, don’t run away from me, babe, please,” Jude whines against you. He sounded so inebriated, so desperate, so needy. All for you. It made your mind spin—you could feel your sanity slipping away. Everything. The photos, Jude showing up and sobbing at your door, his admission, his devotion to you, the way his tongue felt against you—it was all too much for you to handle right now.
Jude’s lips wrap around your aching nerves and pull blood to the surface with a strong suction. It makes you squeak and gasp, trembling. Your skin dances with heat that spreads across your body. With each roll of his tongue and suckle of his mouth you feel your mind whirl away just a bit more. You are fracturing under his guidance. He coaxes you with touches and murmurs, all languid.
"C'mon, baby. Y'know what I want. Tip over that edge for me," he smirks in a dragging purr, looking up at you through your legs.
It pulls your breath from your strangled lungs; it makes your hips buck futilely against his hold. You’re shaking with the sensations he is bringing to the surface now. Your hands move from grasping at the sheets to gripping his coiled hair. You think about pulling Jude away, but rather you instinctually hold him still while you grind softly against his mouth, shoving his face further down. Jude groans with approval and takes it. He flattens his tongue against you and instead of pinning you, he holds your waist so he can provide leverage for you.
You shudder and tremble at his allowance. At the way he bends and molds for you to take your pleasure from him. Normally, when you both had run-ins together, he would be in control, rough and leading. Though, that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you, and giving you everything you want and how you want it on a silver platter.
Jude realised what worshiping you means, he knows he is begging for forgiveness for dragging his feet when it came to you. And he will do everything in his power to lift you higher, even as you come for the first time that night on his tongue. Because you gave him everything—and, well—ignored his naivety. But at last, Jude finally understood what that meant to you, and what you meant to him.
It was a blur, the next few moments, you were not really present while Jude shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto the bed. Though once you realised the sight in front of you, it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.
“You good?” Jude’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. You nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. You just wanted to feel all of him.
“Perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. It was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again, tasting yourself on his mouth. You just wanted more and more, and the way Jude’s hands flew to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.
You pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now—it didn’t take much force; Jude was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.
Jude moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you both entered your room.
Jude struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure. Fuck, you could get used to that image.
“C’mon baby,” Jude rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips, guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, yeah? Would you do that? For me?” Despite his usual dominance, his gentle, submissive voice laced with his northern accent made you shiver with thrill. Your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.
The pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.
You stilled, needing time to adjust to his size, even after being with him for so long—and Jude had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him making him content.
“You feel s’fucking incredible,” the man rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.
“So—ah—fucking big,” you moaned; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving. You gazed at him hard, slowly riding him.
The closeness and intimacy would usually scare you. Hell, it would normally terrify him.
The vulnerability of it. The weight behind every lingering touch, every confession, every moment where there was no room left to pretend this was something casual. Jude had spent so long convincing himself that keeping things undefined was safer, that putting distance between what he felt and what he admitted was the only way to protect both of you.
But now, Jude accepted it. In fact, he wanted it.
He wasn’t pulling away when things started to feel real. He wasn’t searching for a reason why it couldn’t work or finding some excuse to keep you at arm’s length. For once, he wasn’t fighting the feeling that had been there all along.
He was letting himself have it. Letting himself choose you.
Your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, Jude’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you—letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.
“Fuck, Jude,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling. The sound of his own grunts and moans only added to the pleasure.
“Doing so good for me, baby,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. You sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow. “So fucking good.”
It wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything, a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.
You hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and Jude didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.
You were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.
“Oh—Oh my God, Jude, fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. So perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.
“Take it baby, y’doing so well.” Jude grunted, and you nodded so quickly, like you could ever disappoint him. Fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin—his thrusts harsh, not slow, but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.
Your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him, which Jude made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments. But as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.
“Open your eyes, please,” he practically insisted, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes blinking open to look at him.
His stamina was still so impressive, unsurprising, especially anymore, as he bounced you on his cock like you weighed nothing. Though the way Jude’s breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.
“Who’s making you feel this good?” Jude’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. Wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state, that you still wanted him. Your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.
“You, Jude, you,” you whined out in response. You felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “Feels so good,” you told him, squeezing him as you did so.
Jude groaned at the feeling, almost having cummed on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.
“Y’want to cum again, yeah? That you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.
His breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your bottom. He used the plush of your ass as his grip on your body instead.
“Wanna hear you say it,” Jude begged, head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.
You were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like, so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said. Instead, you just screamed out a moan.
“Too fucked out to form words baby?” Jude teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. You had your Jude back. “Want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.
“Wanna—oh, fuck—cum, agh, again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “Please—please let me cum.”
The man’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.
Your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warmth as you came on his cock, practically screaming his name as you did so.
Jude came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more, only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.
You were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his bare shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; loud, heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.
Jude’s hand gently moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation. Both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say, what to do. This was unexpected, to say the least.
After everything that had been said, after all the apologies and truths that had finally been dragged into the open, neither of you really knew what came next. It was strange, sitting here with the person you had spent so long trying to let go of, only to realise that neither of you had ever truly wanted the distance.
Jude’s fingers slowed slightly, his eyes dropping to where his hand rested before looking back at you.
“I’m sorry.” The words were softer this time, though his voice was hoarse after everything. Not rushed, not desperate. Just honest. “I’m so sorry.”
You could hear the weight behind it. Like no matter how many times Jude said it, he still felt like it wouldn’t be enough. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he looked at you.
“I know I’ve said it already—and I’m probably ruining the mood—but I mean it.” There was a small pause as Jude chuckled. “I should’ve done this sooner.” His gaze softened, “I should’ve stopped being scared and just told you what I wanted.”
His thumb brushed against your hand, clearing his throat. “So… would you be mine?”
And finally, you heard the words you wanted to hear all along from his lips. You didn’t have to think about it. Not because everything that happened suddenly disappeared. Not because the hurt wasn’t real or because forgiving him had been easy.
But rather somewhere along the way, you had realised Jude wasn’t asking you to forget what he’d done but he was asking you to believe he could do better. And that was the difference.
You squeezed his the nape of his neck gently, watching the tension slowly leave his shoulders as he looked at you.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
A small, boyish smile beamed across his face, almost disbelieving. “Yeah?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yes. Yes, Jude.”
And for the first time in a long time, there was no uncertainty between you. No wondering where you stood. No trying to decipher what his actions meant.
Just him. Just you. And finally the quiet understanding that this time, you were finally choosing each other.
summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶafter everything that happened at the party, you were determined to keep your distance from jude. it was just another impulsive mistake. unfortunately, jude bellingham had other plans.
warnings𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶmore unprotected sex, fem reader, thinly veiled angst, reader tries to stand up for herself, public sex, p in v, more praise, degradation, hair pulling, thigh riding, overstimulation, jude is a little less toxic in this one after he gets a taste of his own medicine, thankfully. (8.5k wc)
note𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶTHIS IS A PART TWO and is not intended to be read individually, although you can. you can read PART ONE here, make sure to heed the warnings in that one as well, thank you! also this is not proof read so if there are errors.. oops. if you enjoy my writing and would like more, please stop by in my inbox. UPDATE: PART THREE is out now! enjoy.
It had been a little over a week since the party. And it had been long enough for the ringing in your ears from the shitty dance music to fade, for the lovebites Jude had left on you to disappear, and for you to convince yourself you'd finally gotten over whatever wicked spell he seemed to cast over you.
Instead, you’d replayed it so many times that certain moments began to blur together. His laugh. The warmth of his hands around your waist. The way he’d looked at you like the room full of people didn't exist.
You were supposed to be done chasing the version of Jude you kept convincing yourself still existed.. how many times now? You were supposed to stop mistaking scraps of affection for something genuine. Supposed to walk away before you found yourself in the exact same position, wondering why he always had this effect on you.
And yet, there you were; a week later, still thinking about the way his thumb had absentmindedly traced your thigh. Still remembering how naturally you'd leaned into him, your body forgetting every promise your mind had made. Remembering how you always believed that real love should be messy and hard,
It was embarrassing. Pathetic, really.
Not to mention you'd spent months telling yourself you were getting better, that you were finally learning to keep your distance. Then one night, a few drinks, one stupid dorky grin from Jude, and every ounce of self-restraint you'd built had come crashing down around you.
Life had settled back into its usual rhythm, unfortunately; nothing ever changed when it came to Jude and his promises. You went to work, answered your friends’ texts hours late, and tried to convince yourself that enough time would eventually dull whatever this feeling in your heart was. Now and then, though, Jude would appear somewhere you couldn't avoid. A photo from training, an interview someone reposted, a clip of him laughing from training that you scroll past far too quickly, only to find yourself swiping up to watch it seconds later. It was exhausting.
So when your friend texted asking if you wanted to accompany her to a charity dinner-gala of sorts she'd been invited to, you accepted without much thought. It sounded harmless enough. A quiet evening filled with footballers, sponsors, and people dressed in clothes worth more than your monthly rent. Free food, free drinks, a reason to wear the dress that had been collecting dust in the back of your wardrobe.
You didn't think to ask who else had been invited. Why would you? You already knew. Maybe that was why you'd said yes so quickly. You could blame it on the free food, the open bar, or your friend's persistence, but the truth sat boldly in the back of your mind. Some part of you had wanted to see Jude again. Not enough to swallow your pride and seek him out yourself, of course not. If you happened to run into Jude, well, then so be it. At least that way you could convince yourself it was fate, not another broken promise of his.
White tablecloths stretched across the room beneath towering chandeliers, candles flickering between extravagant floral arrangements. Waiters zoomed through the crowd balancing trays of champagne while photographers called names from the entrance, flashes bouncing off polished marble floors. Conversations in all kinds of different languages echoed around the huge marble space, every corner occupied by familiar faces from clubs across Europe.
You'd barely accepted a glass of champagne before you saw him.
Jude stood near the front of the room, surrounded by teammates, sponsors, and club officials, dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him so perfectly it may as well have been stitched onto him. His head tipped back as he laughed at something Vinícius had said, one hand tucked casually into his pocket while the other balanced a champagne flute between his fingers. He looked happy, unbothered. Exactly how you’d imagined he'd been all week, and the thought made your stomach churn. How fucking dare he act like you're invisible again? After everything?
You watched him for a moment longer than you cared to admit before forcing yourself to look away. Right. He was just a man. Jude Bellingham was only a man. You repeated it to yourself once, twice. It didn't help. Ah, well. Jude Bellingham was only a man. And at least one day you would definitely die. Lovely, lovely, warm, sweet death. The thought nearly made you laugh to yourself.
Deciding you'd tested your luck long enough, you turned on your heel before he had the chance to notice you. Or so you thought.
"Aye, there you are."
Your shoulders immediately stiffened. That voice.
You screwed your eyes shut for the briefest second before turning around, finding Jude standing beside you with the same infuriating grin he'd worn the night of the celebration, looking entirely too pleased with himself. You hated this game. You hated that Jude always seemed to have the upper hand in this little game of cat and mouse, even when he was supposed to be the one running. Because he knew. He knew you would always come back. He knew, no matter how many times you promised yourself otherwise, you'd always find yourself chasing after him.
"I was wondering how long it'd take before I found you."
"You weren't supposed to find me."
"No?" Jude challenged, amusement flickering across his face. "I was actually counting on it."
You rolled your eyes, taking a slow sip of your champagne to hide the smile threatening to appear. "That's a shame, then."
"Listen, I’ve got a question for you."
You sighed, holding back an eyeroll. "You usually do, Jude."
Something about his expression shifted. Not enough that anyone else would've noticed, but enough for you to catch it. It was gone so quickly you could've convinced yourself you'd imagined it if you didn't know him as well as you did.
Jude was good at hiding things. Everyone saw the confidence, the effortless charm, the way he carried himself like the entire world was already at his feet. But you had always been better at noticing the moments in between.
"I was supposed to bring someone tonight."
Your brows lifted at his words. What is he getting at?
"But she cancelled."
"And?"
"And now everyone keeps asking where my date is."
A quiet chuckle escaped you. "Hm. Sounds like a you problem."
"It is," Jude admitted with an easy nod. "Which is why I'm asking you to fix it."
You stared at him in disbelief. "No."
"You don't even know what I'm asking."
"I have a feeling I do."
Jude’s grin only grew. "Be my date."
Silence settled between the two of you as the sounds of clinking glasses and distant conversation faded into the background. Your first instinct was to laugh in his face. Your second was to remind him that the entire reason you'd spent the last week avoiding him was because this, whatever this was, always ended the same way. Somehow, you always found yourself back here, standing too close, letting him make you forget every reason you had for staying away.
Instead, you simply looked at him blankly. He returned your gaze without a shred of hesitation, as though asking you to spend the evening on his arm was the most natural request in the world. Then, as if he already knew your answer before you'd even given one, Jude stuck his arm slightly between the two of you, offering it out with an almost amused tilt of his head.
"Y’know," he murmured, rubbing his arm before looking back at you, chuckling boyishly, "most people would be honoured."
You scoffed softly. "You're fucking impossible."
"Maybe." His smile widened as he licked his lips. "But you're considering it."
You hated that he was right. You hated that after all the promises, all the distance, all the convincing yourself that you were finally done falling into his orbit, your hand still moved before your brain could stop it.
Your fingers curled around his arm.
Immediately, his expression shifted just enough that you noticed the satisfaction he tried to hide, the small smile tugging at his lips as he had just won something far more important than a football match. And maybe, in a way, he had.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself," you muttered while scrunching your nose up.
"Oi, I didn't say anything!"
"You didn't have to."
Jude’s laugh was quiet, almost smug, as he guided you back toward the crowd. You hated how easy it was. How naturally you fell into step beside Jude, how your body seemed to remember him before your mind could remind you that you were supposed to be careful with the man. How you should be careful with your precious, fragile heart that had been broken so many times into two.
That was always the problem with Jude. Nothing with him ever felt like a decision. It just happened.
One moment you were keeping your distance, reminding yourself that this was exactly what you had promised not to do again. The next, you were standing beside him as though you belonged there at his side, listening to him make effortless conversation with people who wanted his attention while somehow still finding ways to include you.
And maybe that was what made it worse.
If he had ignored you, if he had treated you like everyone else, walking away would've been easier. But Jude never did. Every time you thought you had finally figured out how to let go, he gave you just enough reason to hesitate, enough reason to weasel his way back into the crevices of your deeply complicated heart.
The evening blurred into a series of champagne refills and conversations you only half listened to. Who wants to listen to men talk? You told yourself it was the alcohol making you less guarded, the warmth spreading through your chest, and the music filling the room making everything feel softer than it was.
"You've been quiet."
You glanced over at him. "Have I?"
"Yeah." Jude tilted his head slightly, studying you. "You've usually argued with me by now."
A small smile pulled at your lips. "Maybe I'm tired of arguing with you."
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't stop the laugh that followed.
Hours ago, you'd walked into the room determined to avoid him. Now you were laughing at his jokes, accepting another drink he offered, letting yourself forget why you'd been trying so hard in the first place. Sound familiar?
And when the crowd around you became too much, when the noise and attention started to feel overwhelming, Jude noticed before you even said anything.
"Come on," he murmured.
You looked at him suspiciously. "Where?"
"Somewhere quieter."
You should've said no; you knew that. Every warning bell in your head was going off, reminding you that this was the exact pattern you were trying to break. That this is exactly what happened last time you were together. Friendliness turned flirting, turned into more.
But then Jude smiled, that familiar, impossible smile that always made everything seem less complicated than it was. Thus, somehow, you found yourself following him anyway. Which, really, was the most predictable thing you could've done the whole night.
The hallway was noticeably quieter than the ballroom, the overwhelming noise of conversation and music fading into something softer with every step. For the first time all night, it felt like there wasn't an entire room of people watching. No cameras. No teammates. No strangers trying to figure out why Jude Bellingham had spent the evening keeping you by his side.
Jude leaned back against the wall, looking far too comfortable with the situation. Acting as if he hadn't just dragged you away from a room full of people after you'd spent the past week convincing yourself you were finally done letting him get this close.
"Y’know," he started, peering at you, "you make it very difficult to believe you actually want to stay away from me."
You scoffed, crossing your arms. "That's because I don't make it difficult."
"No?"
"No."
His eyebrows lifted, clearly unconvinced. You hated that he knew you well enough to do that.
"You're very fucking annoying, you know that?"
"I've heard."
"Probably because it's true."
Jude laughed, and for a moment you forgot you were supposed to be guarded. Forgot that you had walked into this evening with rules and boundaries and a very clear idea of how it was supposed to go. Jude had always been good at making you forget.
"You disappeared the other day," he reminded you eventually, his voice sighed.
You looked down at your heels, pursing your lip. "I was busy."
"Busy avoiding me, eh?"
You didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. His eyebrows turned upwards, and he almost pouted; in any other context you would have teased him for looking so exasperated.
"I was worried you were actually done with me this time."
Your eyes moved back to his dark gaze. The honesty surprised you because Jude was always confident and certain. But standing there, away from everyone else, he looked almost unsure. Which made that somehow worse; it would've been easier if he didn't care. It would've been easier if he was just the person you'd convinced yourself he was. Instead, he stood there looking at you like maybe he had been thinking about you too.
And you weren't sure what to do with that, all things considered; this was Jude. The same Jude who could look at you like you were the only person in the room, then remind you that he wasn't looking for anything serious. The same Jude who pulled you closer, who made you feel wanted, who sought you out in crowded rooms, only to leave you questioning what any of it actually meant, if it had meant anything at all.
He was the one who had drawn the line. He was the one who had told you he couldn't give you more, that he wasn't ready for something that required more than late nights, secret moments, and whatever existed between the two of you–or rather–the less romantic way–friends with benefits.
Yet here he was, looking at you like he was the one afraid of losing something. That was the part you couldn't understand. How were you supposed to believe this meant anything when he was the one who had made it clear it couldn't?
Therefore, for once, you didn't rush to fill the silence or reassure Jude. You didn't make some sarcastic comment to hide the fact that his words had affected you. You didn't give him the easy reaction he'd gotten so used to.
Your gaze moved toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room, trying to focus on anything other than the man across from you. You wiped at the slight smudges of mascara beneath your eyes, thankfully nothing noticeable enough to ruin your appearance. Next was the corner of your lips, checking that your lip gloss hadn't wandered anywhere it shouldn't have.
A pointless thing to worry about, but anything was better than looking at Jude and admitting that, despite everything, a small part of you still wanted to hear him admit he was wrong.
Jude watched you quietly with furrowed brows. Through the mirror, you could see the gears in his head turn. Eventually, he cleared his throat and walked towards you, planting his feet right in front of yours, leaning down to your eye level.
“Didn’t you tell me that the next time we won a match I could do whatever I want with you?” Jude was gaining your attention again, reaching his slender finger under your chin and directing your gaze back to him by turning your head slowly.
You giggled, eyebrows raising; not needing much reminder of the words you definitely muttered. Or maybe messaged; maybe both.
“That was because I wasn’t there,” you hummed, head tilting aside. “You don’t invite me to your games, remember?” you sassed, watching as his face faltered. Then, his eyes narrowed into a playful glare; one you returned with a teasing smile, as if to say you weren’t being serious.
You two moved past your comment; you made sure of it, although it would linger on Jude’s mind.
“C’mon, you have people waiting, I’m sure,” your hand pressed against his toned chest, gently patting him as you ushered him backwards toward the noise of the ballroom.
It was almost laughable. You were actually doing it! For once, you were the one walking away.
You were trying to have the upper hand this time, trying to make Jude wonder where you went instead of always being the one left wondering where you stood. Maybe if you pulled back first, he'd finally understand what it felt like. Maybe he'd finally wake up from this comfortable little daze he'd been in, where he could have your attention whenever he wanted without ever having to give you anything in return.
Or maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could. That you weren't as predictable as he thought.
Jude stared at you for a moment, almost like he wasn't used to being dismissed. Like he was waiting for you to change your mind, to laugh it off, to fall back into the familiar rhythm the two of you always found yourselves in.
You didn't. You simply smiled, taking a small step away. You didn't give him the chance to say anything else. Spinning on your heel, you slipped back into the crowd as discreetly as possible, weaving between conversations and groups of people before he could stop you.
The moment you rejoined the crowd, the atmosphere morphed to invite him back in. Jude had barely stepped back into the main room before people noticed him. Cheers erupted almost immediately, voices calling his name as he was pulled into conversations, surrounded by teammates, sponsors, and guests who all wanted a piece of his attention.
Just like that, he was swallowed by the crowd. The sight should've made you feel relieved.
Instead, you found yourself searching for him anyway. A terrible habit though a familiar one. You had just turned away, reaching for another drink, when Jude’s voice caught you before you could get too far.
"Hey, don't you dare go anywhere!" Jude managed to yell out to you before he was dragged off again, leaving you to laugh and only hum.
It was only your friend who met you with suspicious eyes; you found it comical she was the first person you came across, sheepishly smiling.
“Oh, you’re so full of shit!” your friend yelled, your cheeks heating as you shook your head; even pouting as you realised you had no defence. Or shame or regret. yet, at least.
“Stop,” you whined as you hit her lightly, huffing as you grabbed her drink off her–downing it quickly as she giggled. “We didn’t do anything.”
“No judgement; after you told me, I knew you wouldn’t stay away. I can’t say I blame you,” she mused, and your eyes were rolling once more that night, shaking your head as if you had no idea what she was talking about. As if you too shared the same thought process, as much as you’d deny it.
You moved the focus of the pair of you on quickly, returning to dancing and socialising–people coming and going as the hours ticked by into the late evening, crowd thinning but not by much.
Jude’s words were ringing in your head; don’t go anywhere. But when it was almost two you were thinking of leaving, doubting Jude would be making your company once more this night.
Why did you want to keep him company? You wish you knew. If you could figure out why you were unable to avoid the man, your life would be a lot easier. But maybe tonight was different; maybe it was a comfort.
A comfort to know he would spend a memorable night of his life with you. A night he’d never forget; you’d be right there in his mind, when he’s old and grey. It would be nice to know you weren’t the only one clinging onto the idea of the pair of you; that he too would reminisce and think about it.
Your doubt continued to grow, though, alongside the temptation of your comfortable bed.
You were stupid to doubt Jude, however. You spotted him easily, considering the crowd that seemed to follow him everywhere tonight.
You watched as Jude’s big eyes darted around the room, almost urgently, searching out something or someone; searching out you.
When his eyes met yours, you watched as he grinned widely, shoulders relaxing as he suddenly moved with intent; weaving past the people surrounding him towards you. You watched in amusement, almost shock; surprised he’d meant it. Confused if you thought too hard.
“You’re still here,” Jude was grinning ear to ear, hand finding your waist almost immediately when he was in reach.
You mumbled something playfully about how it wasn’t by choice, earning a laugh.
“We’re moving up to a booth, c’mon,” his statement was an invitation, and suddenly plans of going back home were long forgotten.
All it took was a nod before his hand took yours, fingers intertwined, leading the way to a booth that was decorated in more bottles of champagne and a ‘Hala Madrid’ sign; lucky partygoers and friends filling the seats, you shuffling in next to the footballer.
Jude’s iron grip didn’t leave you. Whether it was on your thigh, your hand, your waist, your shoulder; he was always touching you as the conversations flowed.
You failed to notice the little things at first. The way he would subtly pull you closer whenever you laughed a little too hard at one of his friend's jokes, like he wanted to remind himself you were still there. The way his attention always seemed to drift back to you whenever the conversation around him became too loud or too crowded.
But you did know what it looked like, though. The two of you.
You knew your friend would have laughed the second she saw it, probably asking what the fuck you thought you were doing after everything you had promised yourself. Because from the outside, the pair of you looked effortless. Like there wasn't a history of hesitation and almosts and conversations that never quite reached a conclusion and left more questions than answers.
But as the night went on, as the crowd slowly began to thin and the chatter around you faded, you found yourself caring less. The booth had emptied at some point. You weren't sure when. You hadn't noticed the way he had quietly encouraged the last few people lingering nearby to move elsewhere, leaving the two of you with a rare moment where you weren't competing with everyone else for his attention.
Maybe that should've been your hundredth warning. But you stayed.
“Have I told you how good you look tonight?” Jude’s question was accompanied by his hand returning to your thigh, resting higher than it had earlier on–head tilting towards you.
You giggled, leaning back into your seat and shifting to face him, side pressed against the back of the booth as opposed to your back now.
“No,” you told him, eyes flickering over his face, your gaze catching on his eyelashes, the small details you’d noticed too many times whenever you woke up first after a night together. His features always seemed so much harder to ignore up close.
“Look beautiful,” he hummed, and though he sounded incredibly sincere, you couldn’t help but laugh.
“What? You do, you are,” Jude huffed, not amused with your laughter–although the sound of your laugh had his lips naturally curving upwards despite his dismay, hand squeezing the soft plush of your thigh gently. “You always are.”
Your cheeks heated despite you shaking your head, hands moving up in innocence.
“I didn’t say anything,” you defended, not elaborating on what appeared to be doubt. Not at your own expense, rather more his intentions. You didn’t want to hear his compliments that had your heart fluttering. or notice the way he was looking at you with such admiration. You couldn’t afford to let your mind pick at and analyse every word and action with a hope that maybe he too felt the same as you.
Jude hummed aimlessly at your defence, hand dangerously high now on your thigh–but it felt right, as if it belonged there. Regardless, the feeling of it creeping upwards had your senses suddenly on high alert.
“Mmm… I’ve missed you,” Jude’s words left his lips before he could stop them, but he didn’t show any regret or panic, eyes pouring into yours. It’s the second time he’d said such a thing tonight, and you still didn’t want to hear it. Even in your tipsy state, it sent an alarm through your nerves. Don’t believe him, don’t get your hopes up again.
Your eyes were quick to leave his, hand reaching for your champagne glass in front of you; humming to try dismiss his words, missing the way his eyes squinted as he watched on.
“You don’t believe me,” Jude chuckled lowly as you sipped your drink, frame tensing as you prolonged shifting towards him again.
You weren’t given much choice, though; his hand–the one not planted on your thigh–was grasping your chin between his thumb and finger, bringing your attention back to him as you placed your drink back down. His eyebrows raised expectantly, silently telling you to speak, to confirm his suspicions. His thumb absentmindedly wiped a drop of champagne from the corner of your mouth as he waited.
“Jude, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you spoke softly, masking the weight of your words with a soft smile and watched as his face flickered in thought.
“You don’t know that.” Jude was quick, unlike you, tone one of certainty you almost envied; his grasp still set on your chin as if he was scared you’d try to escape his gaze once more. A reasonable fear.
“Yeah… okay,” you admitted defeat, in no way wanting to discuss this right now. Not while you were so close to him, so keen to get under him once more. You couldn’t think straight about him when he was invading your senses.
Jude wasn’t convinced that you suddenly believed him, but he wouldn’t push further; not when you were still in his grasp and glowing in satisfaction.
The footballer went to speak again; but for once you got on the front foot. there wasn’t much distance between the pair of you, so kissing him before he could get any words out was easy.
Perhaps Jude should’ve held his ground, stayed true to his intentions, and reassured you like a proper gentleman. Maybe he should’ve remembered the boundaries he’d set, the words he’d said before, the reasons he’d given you for keeping things the way they were.
But he didn’t; because with you, Jude had always been far better at feeling than thinking. Thus, naturally, Jude began to kiss you back. The light grasp on your chin turned to a firm hold of the side of your head, beckoning you closer as your hand planted on his chest.
You pulled away momentarily, barely; just so your lips left his, feeling his breath fan your face. You felt as if you’d overstepped, knowing he had reservations about PDA in public. You knew people spoke, and you weren’t his—realistically, the outrage would be immense.
Jude’s fingers brushed your hair delicately, as if he knew what thoughts were going through your head; and he didn’t hesitate to guide you back towards him, lips meeting once more. It was more heated this time; nowhere near as messy as the one in the bathroom a week ago, though.
Jude needed you closer, shifting his grip to your hips to pivot you up and onto his lap, your body sliding perfectly between his and the table behind you, straddling his lap with no complaints. It was out of character, knowing someone could walk up into the secluded section and see the pair of you, but if he didn’t care, neither did you.
Your dress rode up your legs from your new position, not enough to expose you, thankfully, but the rough fabric of his pants against your clothed clit had you whimpering against his lips.
The sound rang straight to his cock, which was already straining against his pants. He’d been fighting a semi since you slipped into the booth next to him earlier. Jude had always gotten so desperate and needy and the way you were slowly and not-so subtly grinding your hips against him made it a lot harder to ignore. It also had an idea forming in the wicked mind of his.
You were left to catch your breath as he pulled away this time, hands lifting you momentarily and easily handling you to straddle just one of his thighs now, your cheeks heating as you immediately caught on. It wasn’t the first time you’d been in this position with him, except last time it was in the privacy of his apartment while he was on a work call.
“Anything… I want, right?” Jude breathed slowly out, intense was his stare as his hands spread across your sides, smoothing your dress down despite wanting to rip it off of you.
It was like a trance when he got like this, eyes darker–the way his jaw was clenched shut, his gaze alone having you feel the need to squirm and stutter.
Your head looked over your shoulder, just once, needing the confirmation you were as alone as you could be; music still playing faintly at the gala, voices still heard from the floor down below—but you were alone up here. That’s all you needed to know.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, hands grasping at his suit where they were previously planted on his chest–left to watch as his lips curved upwards into that damn smirk.
“Go on then,” he hummed, adjusting slightly in his seat, getting comfortable as his head tilted back ever so slightly. “Use me to get off,” he sounded so casual, your cheeks roaring in heating as you suddenly wished you’d accepted that last round of shots half an hour ago.
But you didn’t need any more motivation when his hands tightened on your waist and dragged your hips for you—your jaw going slack from the sudden pressure.
His lips twitched upwards cockily once more, watching as it sprung you into action; your hips following his movements and rutting against his thigh, chasing the feeling you knew only he could give you.
The footballer’s hands folded behind his head now, watching intently as your bottom lip ran between your teeth, eyes flickering up and down your frame.
“Atta girl,” Jude praised through a soft hum, and you had to bite down harshly on the inside of your cheek to refrain from moaning.
He looked fucking incredible; and you were missing the feeling of his hands on you. Your hips worked faster as if it’d motivate him to touch you again. Jude had you read; he always did. He knew what you wanted and could tell by the way your eyes were pleading with him. How you were fighting back a pout and whine. Your grip on his button down had tightened, practically tugging at the material.
Jude could be cruel, but he was in no mood to deny himself tonight—considering the last time he got off was the quckie last week—he’d give you something; hand moving to cup your jaw, thumb pressing against your soft lips.
You didn’t miss a beat, allowing the digit to enter your mouth without any hesitation; Jude watching the way your eyes almost glistened in submission as he pressed down on your tongue.
You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, grunting slightly at the mere sight of you—your hips still grinding against him desperately as you treated his thumb as if it were his cock.
He was almost in disbelief, how he had you like this for him, where really anyone could see if they were to walk up the stairs. it was ridiculous actually, and stupid; both of you being incredibly idiotic, but too lust driven to care.
he wasn’t oblivious to the fact you made him think irrationally.
“Fucking look at you,” he muttered under his breath, his Birmingham accent deepening while his head tilted in slight awe. There was always a teasing tone underneath when he spoke like this. “So pretty like this, so needy, hm?”
You whimpered, unable to shut yourself up this time, surprised you’d kept quiet so long. Your thighs twitched a few times, still desperately chasing your high like he’d told you to. It was building, your stomach was tightening and you could feel the way your hips were beginning to move erratically. As could he.
“Come on baby,” he encouraged while sliding his thumb out of your mouth, selfishly wanting to hear you despite your best efforts to stay quiet. “Cum for me, yeah? All for me,” Jude edged you on ever so strategically as he tensed his leg and jolted it upwards once, then twice.
It was all you needed, your first orgasm of the night hitting you as you shook in his lap.
“Oh fuck,” you moaned through gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough for the music to drown you out. Your body folded over to hide your head in his neck, muffling any other sounds from escaping you.
“There you go,” Jude soothed, hand sliding down your back delicately, his other brushing the hair off your face as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Good girl, so fucking good.”
Even in your slightly dazed state, the affection had your chest tightening, still not used to the soft moments he always found time for between orgasms.
You took a few moments to compose yourself, lifting your head sheepishly as your eyes met his once more.
“Your trousers are gonna be ruined,” you mumbled, pouting up at him in slight embarrassment—watching as he chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“Last thing I care about right now,” Jude snickered, gently adjusting the strap of your dress that had fallen down your arm with his eyes lingering on your chest for a brief moment as he did so.
“Should I call the car?” he asked you, lips pressing a kiss to your forehead now, delicate this time, purely because he knew if he got too handsy now he’d not be able to stop himself.
You nodded, not allowing yourself the time to think too deeply about the prospect of leaving with Jude. Maybe that was easier. If you stopped to consider it, to really acknowledge what you were doing, you might remember every reason you had promised yourself you wouldn’t.
But you shouldn’t have been surprised at this point: you couldn’t resist him. It was a fact you hated admitting, but one you could never seem to deny.
The pair of you got outside relatively smoothly; you let Jude drag you to the exit as he simply waved and dismissed anyone who tried to speak to him, his large hand enveloping yours.
The car was waiting, a bouncer opening the door for the pair of you as you slid into the backseat, not phased by the fact the sun was preparing to rise, painting the sky a soft, deep purple.
The dark privacy partition separating the backseat from the front was all Jude needed to see before he was on you again.
Rushed and messy once more, you hadn’t even got your seatbelt on before his hands cupped his cheeks as he leaned over you, closeness a need as your lips moved against his perfectly.
Your chest was practically pressed to his, but still his hand found your back, attempting to pull you closer, earning a muffled giggle as you threw one of your legs over his.
“Need you so bad,” Jude grumbled against your skin as his lips shifted to your jaw, then down your neck, your head falling back invitingly as you grinned.
His lips moved to your cleavage now, kissing at the skin of your breasts. Jude was about to tug your dress down until you sat up straight and pushed him back towards the seat.
Your hands found the zipper of his pants before Jude could get a word out, the Brit relaxing into his seat, in no way going to protest.
Jude watched through hooded eyes as you made quick work of freeing his cock, which was painfully hard at this point. He hissed through his teeth as your hand wrapped around him, jacking him off once, twice, three times—smearing the precum across his tip and down his length.
His head threw back from the initial relief, and he couldn’t stop the noisy moans that escaped him when he felt your soft lips wrap around him. He peeked down at you quickly, watching as you leant over into his lap, head bobbing up and down now as he gathered your hair into his hand and out of your way.
“Fuck—oh, fuck—just like that baby,” Jude grunted as his hips jerked upwards, smacking the back of your throat momentarily, which made you gag. Yet you didn’t miss a beat in your movements.
Your hand gripped his thigh for stability, tongue swirling around him expertly, keen to get him off as his eyes rolled back from a feeling he could only describe as ecstasy.
Jude could’ve cummed there and then, no shame either; but Madrid felt so small and the car came to a halt much sooner than he’d liked. You reluctantly slid off him, wiping your mouth oh-so innocently as you did so, cheeks flushed and eyes watery. Meanwhile, Jude hissed, trying to stuff his burning hard on back in his trousers.
You giggled slightly, climbing out the car with him not too far behind.
Jude was sure to thank the driver, emptying his wallet of its cash to provide a sufficient tip considering Jude was unsure what the man would’ve heard, but frankly he didn’t care. Not when you were in his sights.
The elevator ride up to his apartment mirrored the first moments in the car, your body pressed between his and the wall of the elevator, lips in sync, make out interrupted by the ding of the doors opening.
You were kicking your heels off before he even got the door to his place open, discarding them the moment you stepped inside. Jude used you to shut the door, pushing you roughly against the surface.
“Nuh uh,” you stopped him as he leant in to kiss you once more; your hands pressing against his chest. “Want to make you feel good,” you spoke softly, hands returning to the zipper of his pants to free his cock once more.
His eyes squinted in thought, keen to be inside of you, keen to be watching you squirm and hear you scream his name was all he could bloody think about.
You recognised that look. “Please,” you added desperately, hands tugging the straps of your dress down, your tits spilling out, which had his eyes shamelessly flickering downwards.
Jude couldn’t say no to you, not when you asked so nicely. He simply stepped back, giving you space to sink to your knees as your hand wrapped around his cock once again.
You licked up the base to the tip, eyes fixated above you, watching him as he did so; noticing the way his adam’s apple bobbed from the single action.
“Tease me baby and I’ll happily play with your pretty pussy til you're crying,” Jude whined out quickly while his hand found its rightful place in your hair, giving it a not-so-delicate tug for good measure.
You moaned at the action, confirming what you both knew was that you got the reaction you wanted; thighs squeezing together at the ‘threat’ but taking him in your mouth fully regardless. quick to mumble a ‘so impatient’ beforehand.
Jude’s actions were identical to before, except his head fell forward this time while his free hand scrambled to grab the door in front of him, your name falling from his lips in a groan like a mantra. It only motivated you, the grunts and small sounds Jude made. You were so eager to draw more out of him. You wanted to hear him praise you like he always does.
His sounds mixed with your own, gagging around his length. No matter how many times you found yourself in this spot he would always be too big, but it didn’t stop or affect your efforts. And it only turned him on more, refraining from squeezing his eyes shut to watch as your eyes watered once more.
“Always—fuck—gagging for it,” Jude spoke cockily, a moan escaping him momentarily before he could continue his taunting. “Bit of a slut for me, no?” he chuckled hazily through gritted teeth. He couldn’t stop the grin for forming as you moaned around him. Jude’s head fell back now, a breath of content falling from his lips as he shut his eyes momentarily. “Too good to me, agh,” he grunted, hips thrusting forward, and you let him. Anything to get him off sooner.
Jude knew he was close, but he couldn’t push the need to be inside of you and while he thought he was out of self restraint for the night, he surprised himself in being able to pull you off of him, using the grip on your hair.
“Gotta get inside you, love,” he explained himself as if it wasn’t obvious, helping you to your feet as you refrained from huffing, wiping your mouth and chin of the saliva that had gathered.
You didn’t need him to lead you to his room, grateful it was the first door on the right otherwise you probably would’ve both ended up on the floor, not that it’d be the first time.
You properly unzipped your dress and stepped out of it, discarding it on his floor before sitting back on his bed. Jude followed suit, shirt discarded before he stepped out of his slacks and boxers.
You crawled back on the bed as he moved to hover over you, pushing you down to lay on your back before his lips were on yours once more.
Kissing Jude Bellingham never got old, your hands tangling in his curls as he used his knee to spread your legs apart. He hooked two fingers around your panties and slid them down your frame, practically ripping them off with aggression.
You had no warning before he slid inside of you, easily doing so due to how wet you were, but the stretch was always a shock. Your jaw agape as you moaned into his mouth while you pull a sharp tug on his coiled hair.
“Fuck, y’always wrap round me so fucking well,” Jude hissed, bottoming out and giving you a moment to adjust to his large length.
“Jude, Jude, please—move,” you whimpered, hands moving to grip at his back, back arching as he began to move; thrusting in and out. He wasn’t slow, but you knew he was holding back.
Your eyes watched his intently, his scanning your features and admiring the way your face contorted in pleasure.
“Jude, please,” you repeated, whimpering as you spread your legs a little more, so frantically desperate to feel all of him.
“What? Need more, huh?” Jude asked, the small gold-chain necklace that decorated his neck dangling from his chest and brushing against your chin with every thrust. “Needy little thing,” he grinned, and you could only whine as your eyes fluttered shut momentarily.
Jude’s hand shifted to your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and moving it upwards, pushing your knee towards your chest. The new angle allowed him to hit deeper, and suddenly his thrusts were harsher and quicker.
Your eyes rolled back instantly, a squeal like moan escaping you before you could even try to suppress it, nails dragging down his back as he pounded into you.
“Yes, fuck, yes,” you practically chanted as he fucked you, hard. Watching your eyes roll back and jaw go slack only had him motivated, enthusiastic to draw out every possible sound from you.
Jude was relentless, you still couldn’t get used to the stamina of a footballer, how there was never a break in the pace or harshness of his thrusts. No moment to breathe or try to compose yourself, choked out moans almost straining your throat from how often he slammed into you.
“Look at me, baby, please,” Jude pleaded with you, wanting your pretty eyes focused on him. He wasn’t surprised you didn’t listen. At this point, you didn’t really make sense of his words. A habit you seemed to have formed. It wasn’t like you could help it, the way your brain seems to shut off the moment Jude hits that special spot inside of you.
His hand around your throat was enough, eyes fluttering open and he squeezed softly, whimpering as you continued to moan and pant, met with his smirk.
“Fucked dumb already,” Jude boasted while he kept his hand around your throat; not applying much pressure but the feeling of it there alone had your hips spasming momentarily. “So easy for me, baby. Could have you like this all the time.”
You moaned at his words, hearing him loud and clear this time, nodding pathetically; you’d agree with anything he says right now. Anything.
“My pretty girl,” Jude was always quick with the praise after his harsh words, the contrast always welcome as your hands shifted from his back to his biceps. “All mine,” he reiterated.
The possessive tone he found would have you falling into wishful thinking if you possessed the ability to think straight, but thankfully you couldn’t; not when your vision was starting to be replaced with stars as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.
His lips caught yours in another kiss, tongues clashing as you moaned into each other's mouths—his turn to falter as your walls clenched around him, a string of curses being grunted against your lips.
You didn’t need to tell him you were close, no, he knew your body too well; he pushed your leg further back, as if it was possible, you in no place to recognise any slight discomfort when all you could feel was him inside of you, stretching you inside out.
You felt the difference in angle again, nonetheless. Your eyes lolled back once more as you came hard and fast, his name falling from your lips as you did so.
“Good girl baby, cum for me,” Jude encouraged, continuing to thrust into you as you rode out your high, back arching and pushing into him.
Your walls clenched around him once more, and he came almost immediately, releasing inside of you with a loud moan, your sounds intertwining and melting into one another.
Your nails were sure to have left marks along his back, body going limp beneath him as his head dropped to your chest briefly, catching his breath as he too came down from his high.
He wasn’t done though, despite it almost being six in the morning. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, the alcohol in his veins or you; but sleep was the last thing on his mind and his best guess was because of the latter.
He was moving again before you could fully recover, the sensitivity causing you to whimper immediately, his thrusts only slow now as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
“I know you’ve got one more in you,” Jude mumbled, and you wouldn’t ever dare disagree; nodding quickly as he gradually picked up the pace.
Before he got into a rhythm, however, he slid out, sitting back on his knees. You simply looked at him, awaiting his next move.
Jude then manhandled you onto your stomach easily like you were nothing. He tugged your hips up and you followed naturally, back arching as your ass propped in the air, his calloused hands grasping and squeezing the soft flesh before sliding back inside of you.
The way he contorted you into another position had you moaning out loudly, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as Jude found the pace he’d previously possessed.
Your whole body jolted with every thrust, face gradually pushing into the covers, moans muffled as your back arched further.
He didn’t like not hearing you though, obsessed with the way you’d moan and borderline scream his name. He flew into action by grabbing your hair and pulling so your head was lifted, which caused a loud whine to escape you on cue.
“So fucking good, y’take me so well,” Jude grunted his praise. With his hips slamming into yours, you couldn’t form words, only replying in little whines and whimpers, choked out moans as your body became overstimulated.
Jude knew your limits though, and knew how far he could push you. his hand snaking around your waist to find your clit, and rubbing circles on your sensitive bud had your body shaking immediately.
“Fuck! Jude, oh my God,” you practically cried out, unable to do anything but take all he was giving you, hand tangled in your hair still keeping you in place as he pounded in you.
“Take it love, know you can,” he grunted; fingers speeding up. He was obsessed with the way your thighs spasmed, your walls clenched around him and your hand reached back to try to grip his wrist.
You came again, unable to give warning as your eyes watered and vision spotted white from the mere overstimulation.
“Ah, there you go, good girl, so so good, could watch you come undone my cock every day,” Jude talked you through it, hips still moving relentlessly as he let go of your hair, your front half falling back into the mattress. Both of his hands gripped your hips now as he chased his own high.
You whimpered as he fucked you through your high, and when he came inside you again you swear it all became a blur, trying to recover from your back-to-back orgasms.
Jude slid out of you and rolled off of you after he caught his breath, much quicker than you. His hand delicately pushing some of your hair back had your head tilting to face him, a lazy smile grazing your features.
“You're incredible,” Jude mumbled, admiring you quietly; and if you weren’t exhausted you would’ve laughed at him.
“Shut the hell up.” you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut, legs still shaking as Jude rolled his eyes. There was a stupid smile that graced his delicate features still.
“No running out of me again, yeah?” Jude hummed and slithered an arm to wrap around your frame, easily pulling you into his chest. You should’ve been alarmed, gone into self-preservation mode and pushed away. But couldn’t, preferring to simply accept his embrace that you’d always crave, head finding a spot on his toned chest.
“Don’t think I could if I tried,” you chuckled, not sure your legs would hold your weight if you tried to stand, let alone walk.
“Yeah good. That was the whole point,” Jude scoffed playfully, fingers dancing up and down the side of your arm, gaze fixated on you below him. You laughed softly, knowing this conversation needed to be addressed properly. That would wait until the morning, or well, maybe early afternoon in this case—when you wake up, you’ll be met with that sinking feeling again. The one where you’ll feel the need to flee, to escape him and the domesticated side you so badly wanted to yourself.
But you’d settle for this for now, just like Jude would settle for you believing this was the most he could offer. Considering you can never really say goodbye to Jude, huh?
summary 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ you tried your hardest to swear off jude bellingham. but you can’t get enough of him, and he can’t get enough of you.
warnings 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ unprotected sex, fem reader, beginning is a flashback, angst???, reader needs to stand up for herself, public sex, p in v, plenty of praise, degradation (maybe), hair pulling, thigh riding. jude is a little toxic and kind of a slut but what’s new?
note 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ hi so… this is my first smut. ALSO NOT PROOF READ LMFAO i hope it’s alright, i’m finishing this at 4AM…. but ִֶTHIS IS PART ONE to a two part series. you can read PART TWO here, make sure to heed the warnings in that one as well. thank you for reading enjoyyy
You swore you’d stay away from Jude Bellingham. God, it made you cringe thinking about it now.
You’d stood in your bathroom one week ago, staring at your own reflection deeply. You were done settling for half-hearted conversations and a version of Jude that barely seemed to have room for you anymore. Granted, he was a high-performance athlete dealing with the pressures that came with the title… But still, that wasn't fair to you!
But… It also wasn’t your fault you were terrible at keeping your word.
“Where are you going?” Jude’s voice pulled you from your drowning thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, finding him stretched across the bed, watching as you wandered around the room collecting your things.
The wadded sheets that caressed his lower half did little to offer modesty, his taupe skin glistened with sweat across his abdomen, decorated in red lines left moments ago by your nails.
You ignored his words as you shifted your lace underwear up your trembling, tired legs, your eyes scanned the room in search of all of your clothing. Jude had never been too considerate or precise when discarding them across the floor; he was always so needy and desperate with you.
“Oh, come off it,” Jude scoffed jokingly, not understanding why you’d been in such a hurry after fucking. “We are well past this.”
Touché—you raised your eyebrows in agreement. You had always stayed back, cuddled up in Jude’s arms until he checked out of the hotel the next morning. And that was the issue.
“Jude, you know this was a mistake.” You grumbled out, not offering him a second glance. You know if you did, you wouldn’t want to leave. And that made you annoyed. Especially with yourself.
Jude laughed. Laughed! God, you sometimes envied how unbothered he could be. You rolled your eyes, turning away to find your skirt crumpled on the floor. With an irritated sigh, you shimmed it back up your legs while Jude pushed himself off the bed, tugging on his boxers as though nothing had happened.
“Ouch,” his lip came to a pout, acting as if your words had stung him. He didn't believe you, so they didn't affect him. Damnit!
“I told you last time this wasn't happening again.” You volleyed out an explanation, sounding more like you were convincing yourself rather than him. And you were—Jude didn't even ask for an explanation.
“Ah.. And yet, here we are.” Jude exhaled a chuckle through his nose; and your annoyance was beginning to spread due to his inability to take you seriously.
“Well it's not happening again.”—Famous last words. You looked at Jude and hoped your expression was enough to persuade him to believe your words. But he didn't; maybe because you were the one who sought him out tonight. Or maybe because he didn't want to believe you deep down. Regardless.. He’d prefer to avoid such conversations.
You groaned when you couldn't find your shirt while Jude watched in amusement. He didn't bother to help you—why would he cover up the red and purple marks that caressed your skin thanks to himself?
“Have I lost my touch or something?” Jude knew that wasn't the case. Not when you had just cummed around his fingers and cock three times.
You took a sharp inhale and spun on your heels to face him fully, “Listen, I'm no longer fine with just being a fuck of convenience.” You admitted, shoulders shrugging defeatedly. Only then did you capture the falter on Jude’s face—or rather—his deep eyes. Oh, his eyes. You could get lost in his expressive, gorgeous eyes.
His eyebrows pinched together in confusion as his lips tugged into a small frown.
“That's what you think this is?” His question almost sounded accusatory, but you knew better when it came to Jude. He was just so unintentionally animated, that anything he said came out ten times more passionate.
Jude bent over and scooped up your shirt off the floor but refrained from forfeiting it just yet.
Come to think of it, you didn't want to answer his question, even though it had the most obvious answer. You didn't need it rubbed into your face that your needs didn't align. So, instead, you went to grab your shirt from his grip, but he was quick to draw it back; eyebrows curling in question. Jude really wanted an answer.
“How else would you describe it, Jude?” You tilted your head to the side.
Jude faltered once more, his lip trembling. He hadn’t signed up for this. He avoided this question the last time when you had ‘ended’ the arrangement that had been going on for far too many months now.
“Fun,” Jude settled on. And when you let out a dry, disbelieving laugh, he shuddered. “You.. You know what I mean,” he attempted to follow up.
It startled him. Jude was usually good with words. People had always told him he was mature beyond his years, that he always knew the right thing to say. But when it came to you, he felt like the stupidest man alive.
He searched for a better word, but nothing came. Convenience wasn’t right. It made you sound temporary, interchangeable. You were anything but that.
“I know what to expect from you, Jude.” You successfully grabbed your shirt this time and yanked it over your head. “I'm not going to ask for more. But this isn't enough for me anymore.”
Your explanation was fair; he couldn't complain. Jude couldn't throw it in your face, tell you that he already warned you that he didn't want anything serious. Couldn't make it your problem, or tell you that you were wrong, or your expectations were wrong.
Because they weren't wrong. And that was Jude’s problem. You made sense, you were doing what was right by you. So why did it make him feel like shit? He should be grateful you weren't putting him in an awkward position he had been in far too many times, forced to let others down. He really couldn’t find the words to say anything.
“Thanks for the fun night,” you smiled sarcastically, being able to throw his words in his face. Jude had to refrain from scoffing in disbelief.
You knew damn well it wouldn’t be the last time you saw Jude, but you’d hoped it’d be the last time you were that close to the footballer. Given that the last time you melted beneath his touch and came undone from nothing more than a few whispered words and lingering touches.
You prayed that was the case, and it seemed more and more likely that it was as the months flew by.
Jude knew you were in Madrid; he always knew what clubs you were attending despite never telling him. The smarter side of your brain screamed out danger but the impulsive side made you miss the little game you two had.
Honestly, he barely crossed your mind, it wasn't like it was hard to avoid a footballer. Hot property, especially in Madrid. There were fans chomping at the bit to get their hands on any Real Madrid player, thus security crowded around anyone with any sort of status. It was impossible to stumble across the man.
But ignoring his presence was a bigger feat than intended, especially when he scored the winning goal against Barcelona. As if the posters of his face and name everywhere weren't enough!
Suddenly, Jude’s face was plastered everywhere all at once, and only his name dropped from everyone's lips. You'd like to think there was no bad blood; but he was so hard to resist and you resented him for it. Suddenly he was everywhere—yet not in reach. Perhaps it was a good thing.
So you were optimistic. If getting near Jude was hard before, it'd be ten times harder now. Man of the moment; you felt that you'd be in the clear.
So.. How the fuck did you manage to be only five people back in the front of the line for the exclusive after party club? Your VIP pass decorated your neck as Jude walked past the front doors. He was ushered through the crowd, no need to pay or wait like every other eager party-goer, hoping their name made the list with cash in hand to pay for entry.
Jude shouldn't had spotted you, not with the gaggle of paparazzi that snapped enough pictures to blind a person or the slew of people cheering for him for a shred of attention. But, of course, Jude did.
“Hey, hey, they’re with me.” Jude stopped in his tracks; fishing you and your friend out of line towards him. The second your eyes met his, your expression hardened. Jude only snickered, looking far too pleased with himself.
You wanted to stay where you were and tell him you would wait like everyone else and get in yourself. Your pride was too strong to spare yourself ten minutes and a couple of hundred euros. Yet, your best friend, however, was far too pleased to get in for free. She didn't know your guys’ history, and you couldn't blame her for wanting to be a part of the attention. Hell, you knew Jude was hot as much as she did.
Deep down, it almost felt shameful, as if you were just some pretty girl Jude picked out to entertain himself with. But you only viewed it that way because you feared that had been true in the past. And knowing him, it probably was.
“Would you believe me if I said this is almost the highlight of the day?” Jude spoke to you with a wide grin, head ducked down towards you to ensure you heard him over the music growing in volume as you entered the venue.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes even; it appeared opting to be cold was the easiest option. Friendliness never lasted long with you two; being friendly became flirty. Flirting leads to touching and suddenly you'd be trapped beneath the nearest surface and his fiery body.
"No." Your answer was short, 'forgetting' to mumble the obvious, a congratulations, you'd feel bad if he wasn't getting it from every angle, but he was.
Jude’s grin only widened, regardless, bemused at your words. You weren't surprised, you doubted anything would wipe the shit-eating grin off his face right now. A breath of relief escaped you when someone grabbed at his arm and tugged him along, turning his attention elsewhere as you turned to your friend. Drinks were an absolute need tonight.
In hindsight, deciding to stay in the secluded area reserved for the Real Madrid player was definitely a bad idea. But with the rest of the venue packed shoulder to shoulder, you stood by your decision.
The free drinks and friendly faces proved to be enough of a distraction; music and alcohol flowing through your veins, so much so you’d join in on the cheers every time someone toasted to the footballer, or his name popped up on a board with bottles of champagne arriving.
An arm slithering around your waist should’ve been alarming, but shamefully you recognised the muscular grip immediately, your body naturally welcoming such action instead of pulling away.
“You still haven’t congratulated me.” Jude’s voice was low and in your ear, Birmingham accent thick, making you have to take a sharp breath. It was stupid, ridiculous the way such an action could have your mind growing hazy.
“Haven't I?” You posed the question innocently, bringing your drink to your lips as if it would offer you refuge from the temptation behind you.
You’d lost your friend ages ago, and suddenly you couldn’t recognise many people around you. Or maybe you didn’t make an effort to, because the company you quietly craved was the man behind you.
“Nope,” Jude popped the ‘p,’ lips lingering next to your ear momentarily before he pulled away to also bring his drink to his lips, you taking the moment to turn around and face him. “Not very nice of you, you know?”
You’d rolled your eyes again, a small laugh escaping you. Wanting to point out the fact that everyone was dropping to their knees to sing his praise. He didn’t need it from you. Not to mention how pesky his little Britishisms can be.
Did it make your heart skip a beat that he wanted it, though? Of course it did, despite your brain screaming that it shouldn’t. It was far too easy to cling onto anything this man did.
“Well done,” you spoke, voice laced with sarcasm despite there being truth to your words. “I’m so, so, so proud of you!”
Jude chuckled and his face lit up in amusement once more; a vast contrast to every other conversation he had tonight. This very reason he’d sought you out. Jude thought it spoke for something, the fact his mind had been consumed with so many thoughts of you despite the win he’d just accomplished with the team.
“Thank you.” Jude grinned from ear to ear, and it was as if on cue, he was being tugged away once more; and suddenly, you could breathe again.
You took the time to grab some much needed air, a balcony not too far. The next hour or so ended up being a bit of a blur. You ended up back on the dance floor, familiar faces all around, drinks continuously flowing—reunited with your friend whose lipstick was now smudged and hair slightly tangled, your hands quick to fix it up with small giggles.
You were loosening up, so much so that when Jude next appeared with two drinks in hand and daring eyes… You couldn’t help but accept. You were practically dying by your own hand, you knew you should politely decline and slip back into the crowd. But Jude Bellingham was always so hard to ignore, especially in a black button-up and white slacks.
Both of you toasted and raised the glasses to your lips, somehow still moderately sober in comparison to those around you. You knew your limits and you didn't want the night to end prematurely.
“You're not mad at me, are you?” Jude had to shout for you to hear, your eyes narrowing as you shook your head. You were somewhat surprised at his efforts. His ability to seek you in a crowd that was there for him and his team. All for what? To ask you that question?
“Why would I be mad at you?” You deflected, because you knew he had a point. You weren’t mad at him, obviously. He hadn't done anything; you’d been the one to… get attached. But you were quite clearly being distant and cold and you didn’t feel like explaining why.
Jude shrugged his shoulders, face scrunching up like he was thinking momentarily, giving you time to admire how pretty he looked. How his large hand wrapped around the glass, the way his arms looked with his sleeves rolled up.
“You’re avoiding me,” his brow shot up and you were rolling your eyes once more, like a broken record. The grin on his face showed he didn’t care to sound desperate; that he was well aware why you were acting in such a way. He distinctly remembered the last conversation between the pair of you. How you swore off the two of you—much to his dismay.
“I’m not! I’m keeping a friendly distance,” you corrected playfully, eyebrows raising as he nodded unconvincingly, lips parting in fake shock.
It was pathetic, you already could feel it. Your self restraint slipping away. Suddenly, posing yourself the question, would it be that bad if you entertained yourself with the idea of him just one more time? Just once?
“Right,” Jude practically sung, a laugh following suit as he downed the rest of his drink. “There’s no fun in that.”
All you could do was shrug at his words and give no answer because you agreed. This wasn’t fun, it was hard. It would be so much easier to let yourself take the usual reckless route. And why live life the hard way?
So, there, you chose easy, and when someone appeared to place a drink in Jude’s hand and capture a few minutes of his attention, you allowed the footballer to throw his arm over your shoulders; tugging you closer to his body. He didn’t want you slipping away into the crowd again.
You let yourself stay in his grasp, mindlessly swaying to the music and awaiting for him to finish shooting the shit. You should’ve taken this precious time to realise this was what you were meant to avoid. Take this precious time to duck out from his hold and busy yourself with someone else once more.
But instead you found yourself leaning into Jude; admiring the way his calloused yet gentle fingertips danced on your collarbone—oblivious to prying eyes and jealous gazes from those who were hoping to be in your place. His cologne was intoxicating, his touch was familiar and inviting and the way he was keeping you close while still paying you attention despite everyone trying to get their two cents in with him had your stomach flipping and fluttering.
“I really, really missed you,” Jude whispered; your head tilting aside invitingly. Contrast to your initial and intended behaviour. Regardless, the moment his lips met your skin, all rational plans were out the door with a relieved sigh.
“Good.” you answered back, knowing to not grow excited by such a confession. Not needing to say the words back because Jude already knew you missed him. You were always missing him—and he loved that.
Another kiss was pressed to your skin, and another.
“I mean it,” Jude mumbled, your eyes fluttering shut briefly at the feeling of his lips still peppering your skin. Heat spreading across your cheeks, which you later blamed on the temperature inside the venue.
You were glad you’d made your mind up, having come to the conclusion that one more night with him couldn’t be that bad. Your thought process was definitely influenced by your sexual desires rather than rationality or consideration for your aching, breaking heart. But it meant you weren’t dwelling on his words and picking them apart, instead focused on the way his hand was now resting on the side of your leg.
“Is there a bathroom near?” Your question was all Jude needed to hear as the pair of you were not so subtle as you weaved through the crowd.
His lips were on yours the moment you were in the bathroom, your back being pressed against the door to shut it—his fingers fiddling around to find the lock and the moment he heard it click, his hands were all over you.
It was messy, and rushed; adrenaline pumping between the pair of you much like the muffled music seeping through the door. Your hands were pawing at each other, his at your waist, then your hips, then your legs; touching what he could of you over the silk of your dress.
Your hands were gripping the back of Jude’s head, then running down his chest; attempting to pull him closer despite his body pressed tightly against yours. His hands then moved to grab yours, before lifting them up and over your head; pinning them to the door as his lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck.
“Jude,” you breathed in need. Your eyes shut as you attempted to push forward off the door, wanting to touch him in any way. Excitingly, you were no match for his strength.
He tutted and smacked his lips quietly, kissing at your skin with such intent that made you whimper.
“What do you want?” Jude’s question was almost a taunt while his knee was pushing between your thighs. Jude knew exactly what to do to have you squirming. It made you feel helpless, needy and desperate. Nonetheless, not one bit regretful or ashamed you found yourself here again.
“You—fuck—anything,” you breathed, hips rutting against his leg slightly; the action not unnoticed as a cocky smirk grew on Jude’s lips.
Your eyes poured into his, watching as he bathed the sight of you in. You were so flustered and worked up already, and he barely touched you.
“Yeah?” he hummed, releasing your hands now so he could cup your cheek, which made it hard for you to nod but you attempted to regardless.
“Want you to fuck me,” you elaborated; taking the chance to touch him, hand going straight to the huge bulge in his trousers. Jude gritted and hissed through his teeth with a curl of his eyebrows.
You two would often take your time. Jude liked to have you spread open for him, a few orgasms deeply thanks to his fingers or tongue first before fucking you sensually. Taking his time in kissing every inch of your body, exploring your mouth, kissing you and touching you all he could. He loved to memorise your body like a map.
However, the both of you had a sense of urgency tonight. Keen to feel him inside you, aware there were plenty of people awaiting the footballer; that the night had barely begun in the grand scheme of things. The fact you’d avoided him for so long. The fact you promised, but God, it’d been too long. Jude would struggle to draw this out the way he wanted to.
“Barely touched you, baby,” Jude pointed out with a smirk as if he was not feeling the same burning desire to be with you.
You normally would’ve paid more attention to the way your stomach flipped at the casual drop of the nickname, but his actions captured your attention before you could dwell too hard.
It was a relief as he moved you to the sink counter, pressing on your back to bend you over the surface. Behind you, your hands scrambled to grip on the counter as your eyes settled on him in the mirror. A position you’d only be in for him, and Jude knew that.
Spreading your legs was easy as you watched Jude, flipping the skirt of your dress up and merely pushing your panties aside; fingers swiping through your wetness, entering you once, then twice.
“Gotta make sure this isn’t a mistake, hm?” Jude’s inquiry was a taunt, quoting you, hands leaving your figure. He then unzipped his pants and freed his cock, leaving you to whimper and watch in the mirror.
Jude didn’t make the move to touch you, prolonging your torture; hips swaying slightly as you dwelled on his words. His big doe eyes were pouring into yours through the mirror and your cheeks only grew more hotter. His reminder that you had once claimed you didn’t want this anymore had you speechless, not suddenly rational.
“What changed your mind?” His hands moved to squeeze your ass, cock pressing against your entrance which left you with nothing but anticipation and emptiness. “Cause we finally won? Am I good enough for you now?”
You would’ve rolled your eyes if you weren’t in such a compromising position, his wicked grin enough to show his words were simply throw away comments, not an insight into his actual assumptions.
“Jude… please,” you whined, all you could muster. Your hips attempted to push back onto him but his hands on your ass held you directly in place; chest rising at the sight of you so needy for him. A sight he’d never, ever get sick of.
“Your words, not mine, babe,” Jude reminded you; tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he took in the sight of you momentarily, your laboured breathing and inability to keep still due to your need for him always something he loved to be witness to.
He was usually gentle with you at first, would warm you up; start off slow and build up to the pace that would have tears streaming down your pretty face. But he was insanely eager tonight, adrenaline still pumping madly through his veins. And by the way you were looking at him in the mirror told him you reciprocated.
“Gotta fuck some sense into you, yeah?” Jude’s question was matched with his hand tangling in your hair. He grasped a few strands before tugging you up harshly which made your back meet his chest and a gasp escaped you. “Yeah?” Jude repeated when you failed to answer.
You tried to nod quickly, hips pushing back once more to little success with the position he had you in. His lips were next to your ear now and the chuckle he let out had your thighs attempting to squeeze tightly together.
“Please! Please,” you whimpered; desperation growing pathetically quickly. It was almost pathetic, how he could shorten your vocabulary to pleas and curses in such little time.
Jude would like to say he was one of those men who could do this all night, but that would be a lie. He groaned audibly at your whimper; chest now pushed forward towards the mirror beautifully, still with a perfect view of your face.
He gave you no warning as he slid inside of you, your jaw going slack as he bottomed out; letting go of your hair and pushing your back down once more. Your hands flew to the counter again, moaning at the stretch while he groaned at the way your walls hugged him so, so tightly.
He didn’t give you the usual time to adjust, moving immediately and thrusting deeply inside of you, hands using your hips to meet his movements.
“Swear you’re fucking made for me,” Jude groaned as his head fell back, pounding into your tight cunt repetitively, your moans escaping each time as your face contorted in pleasure.
It was too good—he was too good. You weren’t sure how you could ever actually give this up.
You attempted to keep your moans hushed, although with the volume of the music you weren’t at much risk of being heard; which was good, because you were struggling to keep quiet. In fact, failing miserably! Your eyes rolled back when Jude didn’t fail to hit that spot inside of you repetitively, hands still gripping your hips tightly.
His grunts and groans were addictive, so much so you wanted to open your eyes and bask in the sight of him but the pleasure was too much to do so.
Jude, however, wouldn’t settle for such, hand tangling in your hair once more. He tugged once and pulled your head up slightly, with clear intentions behind his actions.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he cooed breathlessly, and you did as he said, being met with his ones through the mirror; a lazy smile gracing his features as you whimpered and gripped the counter tightly.
You never expect to get off so quickly from pure penetration, but you were. Suppose it was made easier with the sight of him and his hands gracing your skin, plus his filthy, loud mouth.
“So good,” you whined out; not that you needed to vocalise such a thing, it was already clear. But Jude loved your praise as much as you loved his. He hummed in agreement, squeezing your ass in appreciation.
Suddenly, his groans began to grow in frequency.
Jude was close, but in no way would he ever cum before you. His hand sneaking around your waist and dipping in between your thighs, finding your clit with ease. Jude’s fingers circled your clit expertly, dancing and sliding around like he knew you like the back of his hand. Because he did.
“Come for me baby, go on,” his words of encouragement were all you needed to hear as he continued to thrust in and out of you. You released on his cock virtually immediately at his demand. Your walls squeezed him so perfectly, Jude’s name so pretty coming from your lips—his own high cascading him as he came inside of you with a loud groan.
It was oddly satisfying, a quick release; a new experience for the pair of you. The both of you panting and coming down as he slid out of you.
Jude was gentle again, a contrast to before, as he turned you round and sat you on the counter. Your breaths were heavy as you observed him and his hands reaching up your thighs and tugging your underwear down your legs before shoving them in his pocket, only then pulling your dress down for you.
“Pervert,” you mocked with a teasing smile, Jude’s own one growing as he rolled his eyes—hands shifting to rest on your thighs.
“Collecting all the wins today,” he shrugged; a boyish chuckle escaping him as your face screwed up—his humour never lost on you as you pushed against his chest.
“I should smack you for that,” you taunted, failing to pretend to be disgusted as you grinned at him. Your entire body flushed and chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath, a small chuckle escaping you.
There were a few moments of silence as Jude adjusted himself, zipping his trousers back up and straightening out his shirt; your own hands moving to flatten your own hair.
“You gonna stay?” Jude’s question fell upon you with his intent gaze, eyes showing genuine interest. Your own eyebrows quirked in interest, unexpectedly. You'd assumed this was it for the night. Jude got his fix, you got yours.
“…Maybe,” you raised your shoulders slightly, not in a teasing way, but genuinely. You weren’t going to overstay your welcome. You were sure the casual party goers would be falling off the next couple of hours, the ones who just wanted to get a glimpse of the footballer.
You were assuming you fell into that category, not his inner circle.
“You should,” Jude hummed; and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you and the man almost frowned.
“You need to celebrate out there,” you hummed, patting his chest lightly with a small laugh.
His eye roll was one of sass, like you should’ve expected. What you didn’t expect was for him to insist on you staying.
“Yeah, I did already,” Jude retorted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his thumb moving absentmindedly against the warmth of your skin.
And maybe that was the problem. Because somehow, somewhere between every warning you’d given yourself and every promise you’d made, you’d ended up right back here.
Still close enough to him to forget why you were supposed to leave.
in which désiré tries his hardest to make you wear his club colors.
a/n : this was an amazing request that i loved so idc if you’re not a marseille fan, im not either just use your imagination idk i just though this would be a fun little thing.
NOT PROOFREAD
You’d dedicated your whole life to l’olympique de Marseille. Proudly wearing their colors, attending their games, celebrating their victories. You were a true fan.
The first time Désiré gave you a PSG shirt, he was so confident that you’ll love it.
He walked into the room, proudly holding a bag from the club shop. He grinned as he got closer to you, hugging you from behind. “Close your eyes.”
You laughed. “Is this another one of your terrible surprises?”
”Just trust me.”
So you do.
He places the soft material in your hands, smiling from ear to ear as he did so.
”Okay.”
You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the light as you glanced down at your hands.
A brand new PSG home shirt. His name stretched proudly on the back
DOUÉ
You smiled immediately. “Aww”
He thought he had won, until.
”It’s really pretty..”
He sighed. “But..?”
”I’m not wearing it.”
His smile drops. “Excuse me?”
You held the shirt tightly to your chest. Smirking. “I love that you got me one.”
”So wear it.”
”I can’t”
He groaned, accepting defeat. For this time at least.
So he slowly made it his mission. Getting you to wear a psg shirt.
Every couple weeks he tried again. He was nothing if not persistent. But you rejected his offer every single time, the shirts piling in a corner of your dresser. Slowly collecting dust.
One morning, you were making breakfast in an old blue and white Marseille shirt. You wore it proudly, it was your grandpa’s first football jersey, and he’d passed it on to your dad, and later on to you.
But when Des walked into the kitchen. He immediately stopped. Sighing dramatically. “Again?”
You dont even look up, eyes fixated on the eggs you were currently trying not to burn. “Good morning to you too.”
”I bought you four PSG shirts.”
”And that’s lovely really.”
”So..”
you frowned “So what?”
”Why are you wearing… That?” emphasis on the that, he looked down at your shirt in disgust.
You glanced down, smiling to yourself. “Because this one’s lucky.”
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t even believe in lucky shirts.”
”I do when it annoys you.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”
You smiled sweetly, knowing all of this was just a silly game, and you were clearly winning. His annoyance clearly making you laugh.
”Yet here you are.”
Désiré had even convinced you to come watch one of his trainings. So you showed up to the training ground. Wearing jeans, trainers, and an Olympique de Marseille hoodie.
You’d honestly forgotten you had it on. But it only fueled your desire to mess with him even more.
As soon as you walked to the pitch, the players noticed. All heads turned to you as you walked proudly onto the pitch.
One of them pointed. “Is that…”
another squinted. “No way.”
Warren started laughing before anyone had the courage to. “Désiré”
He turned around, eyes instantly landing on you, and going wide as soon as they did.
The giant OM crest across her chest.
He froze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He quickly walked over to you. “What are you wearing.”
You look down at your hoodie, acting surprised. “Oops.”
The boys were absolutely losing it, watching the pair, one shouted. “Your own girl supports l’OM?”
He shook his head in disapproval. “Here? To PSG training?”
”i also noticed that.”
the entire team is trying not to laugh, watching the scene.
Someone finally asked. “Does she at least own a PSG shirt?”
Désiré answered quickly before you got to. “Four.”
You nod in agreement. “He’s right.”
Everyone goes silent, listening.
”They’re all folded neatly in my wardrobe.”
More hope. “Next to my Marseille shirts.”
The laughter is almost deafening.
Des actually walks away whispering, “i dont know her.”
We were one day away from le classique.
PSG vs OM.
All week the internet had gone absolutely crazy, joking about where you would sit. Tagging you in edits.
People just couldn’t stop asking. “What side are you on.”
Even journalists were asking Désiré during media day. “Will your girlfriend finally wear psg colors this weekend?”
He smiled awkwardly. “I dont think so.”
And so, the night before the game, you were lying in bed. Curled up against his warm body.
He asked quietly, “Can i ask you something?”
You looked up, smiling. “Always.”
”Does it bother you that i play for PSG?”
You immediately shook your head left to right. “No.”
“Really?”
”I fell in love with you, not your badge.”
He looked honestly a little relieved, and you carried on.
”But Marseille is home to me. My dad raised me like that. I cried when we lost finals, i celebrated titles. I can’t just pretend that never happened,”
He nods slowly, “I know.”
He closed his eyes, sighing softly, “I’d never ask you to.”
So he stopped trying to convince you.
The next morning, it was finally match day.
He told you there was no pressure about you showing up to the game. You both knew it would be awkward. You still told him you’ll think about it.
He assumed you wouldn’t.
He walked out the tunnel.
The stadium was absolutely packed.
The Parc des Princes looked incredible.
The ultras chanted loudly. Music, flags, and noise. It was all so overwhelming, in a good way.
During warm up, he scanned the crowd. Eyes landing towards the family section out of habit.
He stopped.
There you were, standing against the railing.
But not in light blue and white. Not in Marseille colors.
You were wearing his shirt.
His name, his number.
He completely forgets what he’s doing, movements going flimsy. He couldn’t stop smiling.
One of the older players noticed his cheesy smile. “What are you smiling at?”
He didn’t answer, just looked up at the stands.
You caught his eye from across the stadium.
Grinning as you pointed to the name on your back.
He gently shook his head in disbelief.
PSG won.
But he barely celebrated.
First thing he did was lightly jog towards the stands.
You were already waiting for him. The second he got close enough, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist. Head dipping in your neck, taking in the scent of the brand new jersey mixed with yours. He whispered. “You wore it.”
You laughed into his shoulder. “I did.”
He pulled back lightly, arms still holding your waist tightly.
”I thought you said you never would.”
”I said i’d never wear a psg shirt.”
He frowned, glancing at your shirt once again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “This.. is a psg shirt.”
You gently ran your fingers over his number, feeling the stickier materiel on your hands. “No.”
He tilted his head, obviously confused. So you continued, “It’s your shirt.”
He smiled.
”I didn’t wear it because of psg. I wore it because your name is on the back.”
He just stared at you for a second, confusion sprawled across his face. Obviously trying to process your words. “So…”
You smile, knowing exactly where this is going. “No, I still support Marseilles.”
He laughed, “Yeah okay figured.”
So you reached forward, placing your hand on his cheek gently. “But for ninety minutes…”
Your other hand reacher for the collar of his shirt, tugging at it lightly.
”…I’ll always support you.”
The words instantly made him melt, leaning instinctively into your lips.
The kiss was sweet and gentle, until his hands started moving all around the material of the shirt. Fingers wondering right underneath it slowly. Fingertips tickling your hips and slowly moving higher towards your waist.
You pushed back gently, looking at him, a smile still sprawled on his face. “I think this is the closest i’m ever getting to converting you.”
➤ summary: you and Ferran share an emotional moment after his win
➤ w/c: 1.3k
➤ warnings: just fluff and some crying
➤a/n: i'm so so incredibly proud and happy for him. never doubted my shark, who comes when it matters the most🦈🇪🇸
masterlist
They won.
The final whistle blew loudly across the field, and it felt like a thousand fireworks exploded inside of you. You didn’t know whether you were screaming, crying, or laughing. Everyone around you was going crazy, the red and yellow flags flying everywhere, and it all became a blur of emotions and celebrations.
World Cup Champions.
You rushed to the field, eyes focused on the way boys were celebrating and hugging each other with so much love and happiness it hurt. Everyone circled your boyfriend, emotions and gratitude over his winning goal, the one that finally happened when it mattered the most.
You pushed through people, random staff members, families, and guards, not caring about anything or anyone besides your own champion. And Ferran stood there in the middle of it all—jersey soaked from sweat and water, hair wild and sticking out in all different directions, and that grin lightening his pretty face as he was receiving hugs from everyone. You pushed closer, waiting for him to notice you, seeing the way his eyes were scanning the crowd and now half paying attention to the people around, still oblivious to your presence.
“Ferran!” You called, heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
He turned fully towards you, eyes locking on yours instantly, and at that moment everything else faded into the background chaos. You both moved at the same time, his arms opened to catch you the moment you jumped into his embrace. He scooped you up in his arms, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around with a loud roar of happiness, while you wrapped yourself around his soaked body and clanged to him like your life was depending on it.
“You did it.” You whispered against his neck, your tears slipping free. “You actually did it, baby!”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face with both hands, eyes wild and sparkling with pure and undeniable excitement, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “We did it.” He corrected, voice rough with emotion. Then he kissed you—deep and breathless. For the first time Ferran didn’t care about thousands of cameras capturing every moment, knowing that you both would end up on every page online, or about anybody else needing his attention now. It was your moment. Your shared win, where you played a big part with the way you were so supportive of him through it all.
His teammates whooped and cheered at the sight of you two, calling your names with teasing whistles, and he had to pull away from you to control himself. He wanted to stay more, wanted to say everything that was on his mind and everything he couldn’t hold inside, but the team was soon forced to move and to get prepared for the ceremony.
Ferran groaned softly against your lips, forehead resting against yours. “I have to go.”
“I know.” You said, squeezing his hands. “Go get your medal, champion. I’ll be right here watching.” He stole one last quick kiss, smiling so brightly it made your chest ache, before jogging off with the rest of the squad.
You stayed on the sidelines with other families and friends, your hands clasped together in front of your chest, as the Spanish team lined up, ready to get the prize. When they placed that medal around Ferran’s neck, he looked straight at you in the crowd and mouthed “Te quiero.” You blew him a kiss, pride swelling so fiercely you thought you might burst, while happy tears kept rolling down your face.
Later that night you were back at the hotel. The celebration went on for a few more hours. All of the guys were way too ecstatic to leave each other as they all finally achieved the dream every player could only wish for. You saw them singing, dancing, laughing, and taking pictures with trophies and each other in a way that made them all look so young and innocent. They were just a group of boys whose biggest dream just came true.
But the game was exhausting. The minutes were dragging so slowly, the rough play from the other team made the tension ten times worse, not to mention the emotional draining from nerves and feeling of responsibility in front of the country and millions of fans.
You and Ferran stumbled inside of your room, a gold medal hanging from your neck and a trophy for the man of the match in his free hand.
Ferran had showered, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing nothing but soft gray sweatpants. He sat on the edge of the bed, medal still gripped tightly in his hand, turning it over in his fingers like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.
You watched him from the doorway, heart full. But then his shoulders dropped just slightly, but enough for you to notice the moment another wave of emotions hit him. His breathing hitched.
“Ferran?” You said softly, walking over.
He looked up at you, eyes soft and glassy with tears he couldn’t control or hold back. Ferran was not the person who talked about his feelings a lot, but over time he tried to teach himself to open up and to say things that made his chest heavy out loud.
A single tear slipped down his cheek, then another.
“I…” His voice broke. He laughed through it, shaky and wet, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, like he hated it. “I don’t know why I’m crying. We won. I scored the winner. But all I can think about is… everything that came before. And now this…”
You knew what “everything” was. The missed chances, the lack of confidence, and the constant hate and pressure he received from people and the press all around the world. All those nights he couldn’t sleep beside you because his mind was trying to figure out what was wrong and why he couldn’t overcome the never-ending sequence of failures. All those times you told him how strong he was and that bad luck did not define his as a bad player.
More tears fell, but he kept smiling—that beautiful, boyish smile that had always been your favorite. “It’s too much. It feels like a dream.”
You didn’t hesitate. You climbed onto the bed and wrapped yourself around him, arms tight around his neck, legs straddling his lap so you could hold him as close as humanly possible. He buried his face in your shoulder, one hand fisting gently in the back of your shirt like you were his anchor. You pressed your face against his neck, inhaling his scent, ghosting your lips over the warm and tanned skin.
“I’m so proud of you.” You whispered, voice thick with your own tears now. You pulled back and pressed kisses to his temple, his damp hair, and the corner of his eye where a tear still clung. He let you hold his face, looking up at you like he was soaking in every single one of your words. “You fought through all of it. Every failure brought you here. You deserve this, Ferran. You deserve everything.”
He held you tighter, body shaking with quiet sobs that slowly eased into soft laughter. The happy one. When he pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed but shining, that glassy gaze locked on yours with so much love it stole your breath.
“I love you so much, mi amor." His accent slipped again as he pulled you flush against him, reaching up to hold the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, moving closer until your lips were barely ghosting over his.
⋆˚꩜｡ TATTED UP ╱ ferran torres 𝑥 𝒻!reader 𝄞 SYNOPSIS: you find out your boyfriend has tattoos all over his back. it turns you on beyond words. ⁕ WARNINGS: 18+ (mdni), oral (f!receiving), munch!ferran, petnames, he’s sooooo kind and sweet and lovey dovey
“you look beautiful in this dress, angel.” ferran says with a slight grin when he kicks open the door to his bedroom. his brown hair is tousled from your date night, and you’re all giggly from a glass of wine too many. “oh really?” you retort with the apples of your cheeks burning from smiling so hard.
the night you’ve been spending with your fairly new boyfriend is slowly coming to an end, and you feel like a princess and an angel wrapped into one. how can you not, when ferran’s strong arms are wrapped around you as he carries you into his sacred space.
don’t get it twisted, though: you’ve been dating ferran for a while, but today is the day you’re finally spending the night at his place after a lot of “please, baby!”s.
his room is tidy and neat, the corners of his duvet tucked into sharp corners, his pillows all fluffed up. a random, dark green hat lies on top of his dresser, as well as a random watch, but that doesn’t matter. you’re more focused on your boyfriend, anyway.
especially when he plops you on his soft bed, your body softly bouncing back on the mattress. and ferran leans down with two arms planted on either side of you and looks at you like you’re the light of his life: his eyes scrunched up in delight, that adorable smile he’s always wearing around you. his brown hair peeking out from the back of his neck, his blushy cheeks.
you’d be an idiot to think he’s not in love with you.
“really,” ferran affirms, voice warm and thick like treacle, descending his face down to yours to press a short, but sweet kiss to your lips. “you always look beautiful, my love. always.” he says against your lips. you can feel your heart stutter at his words, the profoundness of his confession. why’d he have to be so cute? you’ve never been so caught up in a guy.
your boyfriend stands back up straight, grabbing you by your hands to pull you up too. “you wanna wear something of mine to bed?”
you hum back affirmatively, already all sleepy and sated as you stare at how ferran opens the door of his closet, rummaging through his array of shirts before grabbing the softest, most comfortable piece he can find.
you swiftly change into the piece of clothing he chose, the fabric reaching mid-thigh and the fabric soft and comfortable around your frame. perfect to sleep in. and ferran thinks so too. that you’re perfect.
you know that, because he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.
“you’re such an angel,” he tells you, his hands finding yours, voice cracked open in vulnerability and wonder. he spins you around slowly in the middle of his room, because here, in the dim yellow light of his bedroom and the stale quaintness of barcelona around you two, all he can focus on is sharing this moment with you.
he pulls one of your hands to his mouth before placing another light kiss to your knuckles, his brown, gooey eyes never leaving yours. “prettiest girl on the planet.” your insides get all mushy at his gravel voice, because all you can think of ferran is how he’s cute. respectful. beautiful. never pushy. accommodating. lovely. excited. he has the humility of a child, the gentleness that reminds you of the bfg, somehow.
ferran takes a step back, away from you, before turning his back to you to get himself ready for bed too. he sits down on his bed, just doing his thing, plugging his phone into the charger.
but when he hooks his hand around the sturdy fabric of the tee he’s wearing and pulls the shirt over his head, all the innocent, sweet thoughts about him vanish like snow before the sun, because—
well, his entire back is covered in fucking ink.
and you’ve never felt your knees buckle this fast. you genuinely have to hold yourself up, one hand planted on the soft duvet of his bed to prevent yourself from folding. ferran draws up his arm to scratch the back of his neck, and the tendons and the muscles shift underneath his tanned skin.
because now, you think of your boyfriend as sexy. hot. undeniably attractive, as opposed to cute and adorable.
“wow,” is all you can muster, tentatively walking on your knees across his bed until you’re within touching-distance. “i didn’t know you had, y’know—” you vaguely gesture around your boyfriend’s back, “all of this.”
it’s as if ferran can feel the nervous air around you, because he huffs out a self-satisfied, attractive chuckle. “it’s nothing,” he lets his arms rest on his spread legs, his crumpled up shirt still clutched between his fingers, giving you all the time in the world to look at his tattooed back. “it’s just ink on skin.”
the air is pulled taut between you when you reach out your hand, the warmth wavering over ferran’s skin. “can i touch them?” you let the question linger in the air. “can i— can i touch you?”
“you want to?” he shoots back, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
the tension crackles in the air all of a sudden. it’s sizzling, ferran’s warm, balmy skin under your fingertips. you hear the brunet suck in a small breath when your fingers brush over the chess pawn on the upper left side of his back. “did they hurt?” you decide to ask, your voice so light and broken with curiosity.
ferran can feel himself going absolutely insane. your touch is soothing yet torturing, it’s feathery and delicate, just like you. “not really,” he answers, drawing up his shoulders, his breath weighing heavy in his lungs when he speaks. “can handle the pain.”
the scrape of your nails over his skin has his head falling between his shoulders in delight. the scene looks so intimate from afar: you gently tracing the swirly, intricate designs on your boyfriend’s back, and him revelling in your touch.
“i like this one.” you whisper, both of your hands travelling to the laurel wreath on his lower back, just where the hem of his jeans begins. under the light scratch of your nails, goosebumps erupt across ferran’s skin.
“you do?” he questions, a little playful, a little heartfelt. his voice is strained. his back is like one giant treasure map, every tattoo a new area for you to explore, the empty pathways of skin in between leading you to a new piece.
“and this one—” your fingers meander all the way to his upper back, where the angel wings are. “really fits that name you always call me.”
“yeah, because you are,” he tells you huskily, trying to turn his head so he can look at you. the look in his eyes makes slick dribble on the gusset of your panties. “you’re my angel, baby. you know that.”
ferran’s reassurance is everything you want in life. knowing you’re his. knowing you’re the only one who is able touch him like this, knowing you’re the one who sees the vulnerable, the good, the bad.
you noiselessly move your head down, brushing your lips over the anatomical heart on the upper right side of his back. remnants of your glittery lip gloss stick to his skin like a reminder of you, forever on him.
ferran hums something indecipherable back, something between a jumbled grunt and a helpless whine. “baby…” he breathes exasperatedly, but you just continue to place small, cloying kisses all over him: the set of brains on the other side, the tattooed word below it.
your hands slide over his shoulders, easing the tension away. he smells so clean, like citrus and musk. “what?” you murmur, bringing your face up to his neck, placing kisses there. his faint stubble tickles the sensitive skin of your plump lips. you move your lips to the underside of his chin, the line of his jaw. “can’t show my boyfriend how much i like him?”
“let me kiss you please,” the brunet pulls your face away from him, now finally able to turn around fully. he drops one lingering kiss to your lips, the squelching sound of your lips joining echoing through the tension-ridden bedroom. “gonna show you how much i like you, baby.”
it doesn’t take long until ferran turns around fully and hovers over you, looking at you with stars in his eyes. “i adore you.” he simply confesses, a little out of breath, chest rising and falling with every intake of oxygen. as if you didn’t know.
“show me then.” you reply, hooking two fingers through his belt loop, pulling him in. and all of a sudden, ferran’s weight wavers over you, dipping you back into the mattress of his bed. and you just acquiesce, flexing open your thighs to fit his frame between them.
his lips find yours like a compass needle always pointing north. this time, his hands are hot and heavy on your skin. “i love you,” ferran declares, eyes flitting between yours and your lips before stuffing his face into the sensitive column of your neck, “you’re my girl.”
“i know— i know,” you agree, your voice all trembly, knowing what’s about to happen when you feel his thick fingers hooking under the elastic of your panties before pulling them down. from your point of view, the mop of brown hair moves all the way down your body, kneading the soft of your hips.
“i love these,” ferran hums into the flesh of your thighs, blatantly ignoring the seeping arousal leaking out of you. the subtle scratch of his stubble stimulates you in a way you’ve never felt before. “love taking my time with you.”
the push and pull of his lips on your skin is electrifying. the small tingles of his teeth nipping at your flesh are quickly soothed by the slide of ferran’s wet tongue. and your hands? your hands crawl into his brown hair, pulling the strands taut as a signal for him to do something. anything.
you’re thinking about forever with him, truly. somewhere between a minute and a lifetime.
at last, ferran looks at your weeping pussy. his hooded eyes flick to your face and you watch him with a pleading look. just anything, now. “and i love eating y’r pretty pussy up.” is all he says, voice full of gravel and sin, before his tongue meets your clit.
your hair splays out all around your head like an invisible halo, your head digging further into his spongy, fluffy mattress. his tongue laves up all the slick that’s gushing out of you, his lips brushing gently over your walls, making you a jumbled mess of moans and mewls.
“love the sounds you make,” ferran mumbles into your pussy before prodding his tongue at your entrance. “and that pretty face of yours—” he squeezes into you, his gentle hands adjusting its grip around your legs, keeping you open and accessible to him. “especially when you come f’me.” his stare deepens into something mischievous, a teasing glint in his gaze.
ferran’s tongue works into you like a metronome, keeping his tormenting pace stable and consistent. “talk t’me, angel,” he tells you, tongue-deep into you. your slick dribbles on the duvet, leaving embarrassingly wet patches behind. “tell me what you’re feelin’.”
his accent gets all slurry and deep, literally pussy-drunk. now it’s your turn to babble out an incoherent mess of sounds.
“speak up, baby.” ferran taunts between flicks and thick stripes of his tongue.
“i’m— close, don’t stop,” you try to do your best to meet him halfway. the way your eyes are clenched shut, the little quirk of your eyebrow, ferran knows you’re close. very. your hands are shaky between his strands, tension convoluting all through you. “fer, seriously—”
“give it t’me, baby—” is all he says before squeezing his tongue right into you again, alternating between little presses of his fingers to your pulsating clit. it’s almost as if he’s more eager for you to come than you yourself. “know you can.”
you shatter with a broken moan, feeling as if the dam finally broke. the apples of your cheeks burn up, a shiver running up your spine, and ferran keeps on feeding you subtle pokes of his tongue, fleeting touches of his warm hands around your legs. he really guides you through your orgasm.
when you finally catch your breath with a gratified smile on your face, ferran reaches up to you. his lips and chin are shiny with your slick, but that doesn’t stop him from pushing a quick kiss to your lips. “you’re perfect, honey.”
honey. it’s weird how the simplest words can sound so… intimate when it comes from him. you almost want to squeal at how adorable your boyfriend is.
“all because i traced your tattoos?”
“well, i’m easy when it comes to you, baby.”
a/n: i felt like a fucking whore when i constantly had to look at those pics of his back to inspect his tattoos 😭😭 also reqs are so open for him. so so so so so open, but read my rules firstttt!
so I’m thinking a Jude x reader, where it’s a night out with Jude after England beats Norway. You and Jude meet with his friends(who r his teammates) and they’re with their girlfriends also. Jude gets a tiny bit carried away causing him to get quite tipsy, which later leads to him being rlly clingy towards you. His friends tease him and u try to tell him to go home bc he’ll regret it but he “doesn’t care”. The next morning we see how that is not the case after he sees videos his mates took of him being so clingy and lovey towards you. Sry that’s so long but Yeha💕💕
Tipsy
masterlist
summary: when your boyfriend get one, or twelve drinks while partying with you and his friends.
warnings: fluff, mention of alcohol, kissing, clingy jude.
a/n: I had so much fun writing that omg thanks for the req🥹🥹!! I feel like Ive only been writing about jude but wtv.. if you want me to write about any other footballers, send reqs!!
—
England’s win over Norway called for a celebration.
Well, accroding to your boyfriend, to Jude.
You should’ve known the night was going to end in disaster the second he announced, “One drink.”
One somehow turned into… you lost count after six.
Now the entire team had taken over a private corner of the bar, music thumping through the speakers while laughter bounced from table to table. Trent, Cole, Declan, Morgan, and the rest of the lads were all there, most of them with their girlfriends.
And Jude…
Jude was very, very drunk.
Not messy.
Not loud.
Just…
Attached.
To you.
“Y/N.”
You looked down to find him resting his chin on your shoulder for what had to be the tenth time that night.
“Hm?”
“I missed you.”
You blinked.
“…I’ve literally been sitting next to you for three hours.”
“I know.”
He smiled lazily.
“I still missed you.” he reached to kiss your neck, but trent’s laughter stopped him.
“Oh, he’s gone.”
Declan pulled out his phone almost immediately.
“No, no, don’t encourage him,” you sighed.
Too late.
“Y/N,” Jude mumbled again, wrapping an arm around your waist as if someone might steal you away. “You’re so pretty.”
Your cheeks warmed instantly.
“Jude…”
“What?”
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’ve had the perfect amount.”
“You definitely haven’t.”
“I don’t care.”
Cole snorted into his drink.
“I’ve never seen him like this.”
“You lot are unbelievable,” you muttered, trying to peel Jude’s arm away.
It lasted approximately two seconds.
He wrapped himself around you again.
“No.”
“Jude.”
“No.”
“You’ll regret this tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“I promise I won’t.”
"I would’ve warned you." you pressed a kiss to his cheek
He looked up at you with the biggest grin.
“‘Cause you’re my favourite person.”
The table erupted.
“Oh, my days!”
“Someone record this!”
“I AM!” Declan laughed, phone already pointed in your direction.
“Tell Y/N you love her,” Trent called across the table.
"Trent." you scolded "dont encourage hi—"
Without missing a beat, Jude looked straight at you.
“I love you.”
Silence.
Your heart skipped.
Then the entire table exploded into whistles and laughter.
“Oh, he’s FINISHED.”
“You are never living this down.”
You covered your face with your hands.
“Can we please go home?”
Jude nodded enthusiastically.
“Only if you come with me.”
“I was already planning to.”
“Oh.”
He smiled dreamily.
“Perfect.”
⸻
The next morning…
Jude regretted everything.
Not because he’d told you he loved you. That part was true.
Painfully true.
What he regretted…
Was giving his teammates enough material to torment him for the next decade.
His phone buzzed before he’d even gotten out of bed.
Declan Rice
Thought you’d want these 😂😂
Five videos.
Jude frowned.
“…What?”
He tapped the first one.
There he was…
Curled into your side.
“Y/N, don’t move.”
“I’m literally getting you water.”
“No.”
Next video.
“She’s so pretty.”
“Mate, she’s sitting right there.”
“I know. Even better.”
Third video.
“Tell us your favourite thing about Y/N.”
“Everything.”
Fourth.
“Blink twice if she’s forcing you to cuddle her.”
“She’s not forcing me. I like cuddling my girlfriend.”
we could see you rolling your eyes but grinning anyway.
Fifth.
It was the worst, he was pratically crying in your arms.
“I love you.”
"me too."
"but youre too pretty.. I want your for myself."
Jude slowly lowered his phone. He couldnt watch it till the end.
“…Oh.”
A text appeared almost instantly.
Trent
Morning, Romeo.
Another.
Cole
Never seen someone fold that hard.
Another.
Declan
Thinking of making a compilation if you’re interested.
Jude groaned loudly, dropping face-first back into the pillow.
From the bathroom, you peeked your head out.
“…Everything alright?”
He didn’t answer.
“You were right.”
“I usually am.”
“I regret everything.”
You walked over, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“You said you wouldn’t.”
“I lied.”
You sat beside him, brushing a hand through his messy curls.
“You know…”
He looked up miserably, grabbing your wrist, thumb tracing circles.
“…I didn’t mind anything you said.”
“…Really?”
“Mhm.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“So…”
“So?”
“…Can you confiscate Declan’s phone before breakfast?”
You laughed.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re the love of my life.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Sober this time?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Sober this time.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead and he pulled you in directly.
"I love you.. my pretty girlfriend." he said against your hair, sniffing you.
"jude!" You giggled "youre not so different from when drunk!"
you both laughed, he pulled you in for a tight hug, drowning you with kisses.
ㅤ˚༘࿐ㅤ. ✿ㅤ ‿︵ DON’T BLAME IT ON ME! ╱ ferran torres 𝑥 𝒻!reader 𝄞 warnings: suggestive yet romantic + making out in a pool, tease!ferran, scratches on the back? just a big mess of feelings and vibes 😭
the air smells like chlorine, summer and the faint sweetness of sunscreen. the sky transitions into a dark blue, almost purple hue, but ferran’s face in front of you is as clear as day. the dry air burns your throat, the tension around your shoulders is tight.
the brunet sits on the other side of the pool, the water swishing around his shoulders, water droplets sticking to his skin. his hooded eyes inspect your face, and with the remnants of the spanish sun hitting the side of his face, he looks more like a god than just your boyfriend.
“why you sittin’ so far?” ferran’s voice is low, deep, sleep-ridden, and it sends a thousand tingles down your spine, up your neck. the effect that just his voice has on you, a little slurry, has your breath hitching in your throat. “i don’t bite, baby.”
“sure you don’t.” you huff indifferently, not moving an inch even though you have the urge to fucking pounce on your boyfriend. you can feel that familiar sense of warmth spread across your cheeks as you pull your lips into a small, shy smile.
and ferran just beams at you, feeling all accomplished in making you blush with his mere words and a flirtatious tone. suddenly, your swimsuit feels too snug around your shoulders. you can literally feel the material cling, your hair sitting in your neck.
“come to me, baby.” he tells you, and this time you obey. it is you, breaking through the carapace of your safe bubble. ferran looks rather ecstatic than lustful when you clumsily float over to him on the other side of the pool. his arms that were resting on the edge immediately find your waist to pull you to him as soon as you’re within touching-distance.
his arms settle carefully around your bare skin, through the swarm of frothy bubbles surrounding you. “you’re precious,” he says, a heartfelt smile on his face. so heartfelt, his eyes smile too. his fingers fondle with the strap of your swimsuit, a little teasing. it has your heart stuttering. “just perfect for me.”
“don’t push your luck, boy.” you giggle curtly, sliding his hand away before he can undo the knot. and instead of letting your hand hit his, ferran is quick to intertwine your fingers together. your sharp defiance is refreshing, and somehow it makes him surer that you’re the one for him; the one to share life with.
before you can even process what’s happening, ferran has you turned around. now you’re the one pushed against the poolside, the coping lightly scraping against your neck. your legs float awkwardly about, until your boyfriend hooks them around his waist to hoist you up.
and suddenly, he’s way too close to you. not that you’re complaining though.
“i’m always pushing my luck, baby,” ferran laughs, his face descending to yours. his breath smells like those strawberry ice lollies, the little red spots on his cheeks from the sun turn darker as the night looms above you. his voice drops lower, more quiet, more intimate. “you should know that by now.”
he gives your chin one last teasing pinch, tilting your head up before slotting his lips against yours. even under the water, ferran’s skin feels warm, soft. tender. you two join like two lost puzzle pieces, when his tongue swipes across your lower lip. his fingers dig deeper in his hold around your leg, and your hands travel to his back, letting your polished nails gently scrape along his tanned skin.
all you can focus on is the silence around you. it settles around you like a thick layer of dust, quelling the lively world around you, letting the world within your little bubble with ferran bloom.
“you’re a good kisser.” your boyfriend tells you once the melding parting of your lips has finished. your burning gaze lights up a match in the overflowing chamber of ferran’s heart.
“i know.” you tell him coyly, and ferran huffs indignantly.
“oh my god. you have a complex—” he smiles, giving your side a quick, fleeting pinch. gone before you can even realise.
your lips meet again in a nippy kiss. “i have given my girl a fucking complex.”
your nails stay digged in the skin of his upper back, but one hand snakes up to the curled up strands of wet, brown hair in the nape of ferran’s neck, giving the wet locks a firm tug. “just shut up and keep kissing me.”
he lowers his head to yours, lips a breath away from yours. “or else?” he asks, a little mischievous grin plastered on his mouth.
your stare goes from incisive and astute to pleading in no time. “please, fer, don’t make me beg.”
“never, baby.” and with that, the two of you dive back into the kiss, a little hungrier, a little bit more feral. it’s the way ferran’s body shields yours, the way his hands cradling your cheeks swallows you whole.
it’s the way he always needs to have his hands on you, it’s the melancholy he feels in the sockets of his eyeballs when he’s not near you at all times.
it’s in his kiss. the way this all translates into the delve of his tongue against yours, the scrape of his jaw against the soft of your cheek. it’s in your physical responses: the bright red scratches your nails leave behind on your skin, his shoulders and back, leaving your undisputed mark on your boyfriend, for everyone to see.
it’s the very first breath ferran takes after coming up for air. seeing your face, smiling up at him, all sleepy and sated, water clumping your lashes together. “i love you, precious.”
the consequences of your night together face ferran the next day in the changing room.
“i see you, my man,” pedri claps the brunet on his tattooed back. ferran looks back with a questioning look in his eyes, totally unaware of the dull red lines on his back, between the ridges of muscle and swirly ink.
“what—?”
“you’ve been giving your girl a very good time.”
ferran thinks back to your previous night, a faint smile blooming across his face upon remembering how you smiled so prettily up at him, your plush lips against his. he grabs his training shirt, thrown somewhere on the bench before swiftly tossing the article of clothing over his head.
my friend — World Cup players summary: in which you attempt to prank them by calling them “my friend”. pairing: wc players x reader (jude bellingham, erling haaland, john stones, lamine yamal, & kylian mbappe) warnings: fluff + one minor hint of consensual activities but nothing in detail a/n: saw this trend on tik tok xx luv u all
ERLING HAALAND
his face slackens. did you just call him friend? he couldn’t believe it. moving his eyes off the camera, he looks at you. you continued on like nothing happened, smiling happily into the camera while you showed off the new clothing items you bought.
“friend?” he says with evident disgust that makes your stomach drop. “I’m not your fucking friend.” he glares at you, heat spreading up and down your body under his glare.
“it’s just a prank, baby.”
“better fucking be.” he snaps, his thumb pressing the button to stop recording, “I’m about to show you how unfriendly I am. get on your knees.”
KYLIAN MBAPPE
“who?” he turns in both directions searching for this “friend” who was going to help you unbox your pr. coming up empty, he looks back at the phone camera, and points at his chest, “I’m the friend?” he asks, alarmed.
“well yeah we’re friends.” you say, turning your back to the camera and looking up at him. he’s seated on the couch behind you. his eyes are piercing into yours with anger and confusion.
“I’m your boyfriend, I’m not some casual friend.”
“babe, it’s just a prank.”
“redo the video, I’m not letting anyone see you call me friend.”
JUDE BELLINGHAM
“huh?!” he nearly jumps out of his own skin at the word. he could’ve sworn years ago he asked you to be his girlfriend, but now standing beside you in a video, he can’t help but wonder if it was all in his head.
“you know I’m your boyfriend.” jude whispered, just loud enough for the camera to pick up the words, but soft enough for you to stop what you were doing.
“but we are friends?”
scoffing at your innocence, he shakes his head, “I don’t think friends do what we do in bed—“
“jude!” you smack him with your hand, face turning bright red.
“yeah,” he points his index finger at the camera, slightly shoving you out of view, “that’s my girlfriend, we are not friends.”
JOHN STONES
looking down at the expensive silver medal wrapped around his finger, he looks up into the camera with confusion. sure, you vowed to be friends and more intimately, life partners, but there was no way in hell you were just friends.
“rewind for a sec,” he puts his hand out as a gesture of pausing, “aren’t we married?” he looks down at the gigantic diamond resting on your finger that nearly blinds him every morning in the sunrise. he sure as shit didn’t cry to you in a white dress just to be friends.
“yeah?” you ask, playing confused.
“so why the fuck am I your friend?”
laughing, you shake your head, “it’s just a prank, John.”
relief washes over him as he presses his hand to his pounding heart, “thank fuck.”
LAMINE YAMAL
he instantly picks his head up from his phone. friend? he was the only person in the room, there was no one else here beside your boyfriend.
“what did you just call me?” he asks. you were out of view from the camera, changing into one of your outfits that was an option you’d show the camera to wear to his upcoming match.
“my friend. you’re going to help me decide what to wear.”
shaking his head, he threw down his phone in frustration, “is this because I wouldn’t massage your feet?” he asks, thinking this was such a weird way to get back at him but he wouldn’t be surprised if so.
“what? no, it’s just a prank.” you laugh. walking over to him, you sit down on his lap, “though now come to think of it, you should massage my feet or else I’m posting the video.” you point to the phone that’s been recording the entire conversation.
“Are you really gonna keep ignoring me?” Nudging his head against your arm like a cat, Jude whines needily, and you avert your gaze to where you’d been trying to read, going over the same line almost a dozen times as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure what the argument was about, but it’s almost thirty degrees outside despite it being eleven o’clock in the evening, and your fan has broken, and you’re feeling irrationally grumpy in that stubborn kind of way that always breaks his heart, and you can’t seem to stop it.
“Can’t cuddle, it’s too hot.” Turning the page and hoping the next paragraph might finally catch your attention, you try to ignore the kisses he’s now pressing to the inside of your elbow. Though it’s probably more sensible and a lot cooler to not wear pyjamas, you’ve still tugged on your matching pink set almost every night of the heatwave; still too shy to sleep naked, despite the fact Jude had seen all of you in nearly every position imaginable and wouldn’t bat an eyelid at it.
“Quit being grumpy.” He laughs, grinning in that handsome way which always turns your knees to jelly. If you weren’t being so stubborn, you’d turn to stare at him; watch the way his skin glistens with a layer of sweat, and how his shoulders look so broad and strong that it makes your stomach do that funny lurch, like when there’s a big drop on a rollercoaster. Though instead, you don’t move a muscle, feigning interest in your book with your eyebrows furrowed in faux concentration.
“I’m not grumpy.” Your words couldn’t sound less convincing, and he squeezes your knee to try and get you to look at him again. His fingers run up and down your calf, right where you’d applied your vanilla-scented body lotion after your cold shower, and you grit your teeth at the feeling. It’s both lovely and annoying, having someone who knows you like the back of their own hand; where you’re ticklish and what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. It’s both a blessing and a curse, more so the latter in this situation.
“Being a Debbie Downer, yeah?” He shuffles against your bedsheets, moving to sit up by your headboard, and pressing a kiss to the top of your shoulder. “Gimme a kiss before bed, c’mon.” The plea sounds so sweet that your heart squeezes in your chest; you can see him in your peripheral vision, and his eyes look so big and brown, like a baby deer in those pictures you text him comparing him to one, and it makes you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from pouncing on him.
“Just one.” Though they were unstable to begin with, you can feel him chipping away at the wall you’d built up. He presses a peck to the top of your arm, then to your collarbone, and though his mouth is all sticky and hot, you still want him to keep going; the other night, while he was doing just this, he’d darted his tongue out to taste your sweat, and you’d scolded him with your face all scrunched up when he said he liked it.
“There she is.” Nudging his head forward, he lets his nose brush against yours, his breath all minty from brushing his teeth earlier. “Just one.” He confirms before he captures his lips onto yours, making a little needy noise into your mouth and tugging at the hem of your pyjama top to pull you closer. Though it’s only brief, when you break apart, he still huffs out his nose like you’d been kissing for hours, running his tongue over his lips to catch your shared mixture of saliva.
“Okay, no more.” Head all fuzzy, you try to read the next page of your book, though all the characters and dialogue seem to be blending into one now that you’ve gone all dizzy with desire. He grabs onto your wrist, kisses your fingers as you pretend to concentrate, and nibbles at your knuckles until you let out an involuntary laugh. “Okay, just one more.”
Third face prize➶[celebrating w jude after winning]
➷pairing: jude x reader, jude x you, 18+
➷summary: after celebrating winning 3rd place in the WC jude comes to collect the prize you promised him …
➷tags: smut, fem reader, oral (f receiving), face sitting, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, missionary, big dick! jude, fluff, celebrating, hotel sex
➷wc:~2.6k
Jude runs into your arms, picking you up and spinning you around making you squeal.
"Oh my god!" you giggle above him, "Put me down!" but you're secretly so delighted.
They'd won after such an exciting match with a strong team, securing their third place spot, and you were so proud of the boys- but especially one boy in particular.
Jude has stopped spinning you around now and has set you down on your feet, his arms are still wrapped tightly around you, creating a small bubble amongst the crowd of the rest of the team meeting their family's and significant other's as well.
"That match was insane! I mean the first half alone-" you ramble on about the game in his arms and he watches you enamored.
"And then Saka's hat trick was crazy and then-"
"Oh yeah? What about my goal?" he pouts at you jokingly.
You roll you eyes at him, "I was getting to that!"
"Hmmm," he says, swaying you guys' slightly, "Why don't you just skip ahead to that part."
You squint your eyes at him, about to tease him again but deciding against in. He did well and he deserves to know that.
"You're right," you murmur, "You did so well baby, that goal was beautiful, the way you handled that play was amazing."
His eye's widened slightly like he was also expecting you to tease him again. His face turns serious, his eyes zone down to you lips and he surges down to kiss you, deeply, not caring who else was around you guys.
You mmph a little, surprised at the sudden assault but pick it back, quickly, let your lips run together, let his tongue suck into your mouth.
"Babe..." you pull away, whisper to his lips, "We're still in front of everyone else."
"Don't care," he says simply, taking your lips again, and you giggle, indulging in making out with him a little. He has earned it, after all.
He pulls away from kissing you and looks around, checking no one is too close to you guys before leaning down to whisper in your ear.
"I can't wait to collect my prize after this," he whispers hotly in your ear, making you shiver a little.
You're still a little kiss drunk, catching up with what he's saying, "The ceremony?"
He shakes his head slowly against your cheek, "Noooo.... do you remember the promise you made me? Right at the beginning?"
You rack your brain for the memory he's referencing, it's hard to think straight as his hand has since come down and squeezed your ass, you buckle at his touch.
What you promised him at the beginning...?
Oh, wait.
Jude's grin widens like he can tell you finally remember. It was back in the group stages, you'd promised him different prizes based on how well the team would do in the cup. First place was letting him fuck you raw, Second was letting him fuck your tits and Third....
You swallow at the memory.
Third was sitting on his face.
"You remember now?" he pants hotly in your ear, "Well I've been patient this whole tournament.. and I can't wait to claim what's mine."
You almost whimper at his words, so hot in your ear it travels straight down to your core. He grabs your ass one last time before heading to the showers with the rest of the team, leaving you to watch him leave dumbfounded, heart pounding at what awaits you tonight...
-
The entire night is tourture, straight up torture.
You're dressed to the nines, him as well, celebrating tonight. Having a few drinks, eating good food, talking to good people. It should by all means be an entirely pleasant evening.
But ever since Jude reminded you of your promise, every time you think about what's going to come tonight, your heart races, pussy clenches as if in waiting and you start zoning out of conversations thinking about letting Jude you take you in the nearest bathroom or storage room or whatever surface you guys can find.
And Jude's just making it worse. Sure, on the outside, to the rest of the team and parents, he's picture perfect. All smiles and small talk, the golden boy.
But the entire evening he's been finding ways to tease you. Placing a hand on your thigh under the table, travelling it further while everyone talks obliviously. Grabbing your ass at random moments causing you to squeak in the middle of conversations. Whispering how he can't wait to have his way with you later, that the meal they're having does nothing to satiate his hunger and he can't wait to have his sweet, sweet dessert.
Fuck.
-
Later you enter the hotel room and you half expect Jude to rip off your clothes straight away, but he kisses you slow, smiling against your mouth.
"Get ready, love," he whispers, "I'll be waiting for you."
So you'd gone to the bathroom, taken off your dress and given yourself three deep breaths in the mirror. All the build up has you all hot already, your pussy practically aching the entire night to be touched.
You give yourself a nod in the mirror, looking over the lingerie you'd chosen for the night. Only the best for him.
You walk out of the room and instantly your nerves melt when you see him on the bed, already down to his boxers.
"Someone's eager." you giggle, like your pussy isn't currently dripping right now.
Jude takes you in, entirely. Eyes sweeping all over you and you preen under his darkening gaze.
"Yeah, well. I've been starving this whole night."
You make your way over to the bed, settle on your knees in front of him.
"Really? But we had a three course meal..." you grin.
"Hmmmm," he bites his lip, eyes focused on your breasts in your lacy bra, "Not the kind of starving I was talking about."
He leans in to kiss you and already it feels too good, you moan in his mouth and the kisses start getting heavier.
His hands move all over you, squeezing at your sides, stroking your breasts and you gasp away from the kiss as he teases your nipple over the bra.
He kisses at your neck now, his hands ghosting over your stomach and you moan at the anticipation. The insides of your thighs throb as his hand moves down further, fingers circle your already soaking cunt.
"Someones eager." he says, throwing your words back into your face.
You don't even have it in you to deny it, you are- so keyed up you want everything he can give you, and you want it now.
"Jude.. Jude...." you gasp and his finger press and tug over your panties.
"Fuck you're so wet, so wet for me right?" you nod at his words, "Yeah you are, can't wait to ride my face, hmmm?-"
You throw your head back, moaning, you already feel the building up of pressure.
"-Can't wait to be filled with my cock, can you-?"
"Hmm-" you gasp, his fingers driving tortourous circles, "Yes, I can't wait, I need it all."
Jude grins down at you, pulling away his finger and you mewl at the loss, "So what are we waiting for then, love?"
He shuffles way back onto the bed lying down near the headboard and patting beside him. You look at him intently, biting your lip at the insinuation.
You crawl over to him, straddling your hips over his aching cock, still clothed. He ruts up in responce.
"Can't wait, can't wait to have this perfect pussy in my mouth," he groans as you continue to grind over him, "I've been waiting so long, this entire tournament every game I've been waiting for this- to have you like this, fuck."
You gasp at his words, feeling red. He can't take it anymore and grabs the globes of your ass, urging you forward. You slide up his body until you're inches from his face.
"I-" you hesitate, "Jude, are you sure? I don't want to crush you...."
He looks up at you, bewildered.
"Are you insane? I waited weeks for this- this is what I've been craving since the first match." He brings you upward, fingers teasing your cunt over your panties, "This is mine tonight, yeah? You said so, you promised- and I'm going to do whatever the hell I want with it, got it?"
You whimper and nod above him.
"Good girl," he smirks up you, then slaps your ass from behind causing you to buckle forward, ghosting over his mouth. You grab on to the headboard and he pushes your panties to the side, coming up to lick across your folds.
Oh god, you think, his tongue feels so wet, so right. He starts lapping at your cunt, sucking at your folds.
"Fucking perfect pussy, so sweet for me" he whispers, hot against your clit, "My perfect pussy."
And then he grabs the side of your hips, pulling you down onto his face and starts to feast.
"Jude- oh- fuck," you whimper above him.
But he doesn't stop, keeps going, tongue entering you and sucking at your clit and it all feels so good you can't believe you were hesitant to do this.
He eats you out like it's his job, tongue fucking into you, his mouth forming around where you're most sensitive and giving a hard suck. You're a mess above him, grabbing onto the headboard for dear life, garbling out his name. His hands encompass your ass, pulling you in and in and you follow the rhythm, riding onto his face.
He groans around you and you feel it vibrate and you moan at the feeling. The feeling is insane, unmatched, you reach up to cup your breast, tease at your nipple and the waves of pleasure start compounding.
You're so close, you can feel it building, and then he sends a big smack to your ass and it hurts so good that you're brought over the edge.
"Jude.. Jude, I'm-" you tilt your head back, moan out unabashed, not caring who can hear, "I'm coming-!"
Jude moans around you cunt, lapping it all up, a hand rubbing against your leg to soothe you through the aftershock.
You feel like you're coming down from Cloud 9, your legs are shacking and you wobble as you move down to straddle his chest. You look at him and almost come again because God the sight of him- chest heaving, lips swollen, your wetness all over his chin.
He's looking back at you, grinning wildly, wiping the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand, looking so pleased with himself.
"Best prize ever," he grins at you.
You look at him and feel so much love and affection, you lean over and kiss his mouth, tongue and all. It's a dirty kiss and you feel yourself squirming between your thighs again.
He rolls you over and you settle underneath him, his grin gone and he looks over you darkly. You swallow and he follows the movement, then trails his eyes down...
"God, I can't wait to fuck you," he murmurs but he's not looking at you, he's looking at your wet cunt, "Let me go grab a condom-"
But you stop him, "Wait-!" and he back at you.
"Ummm," you fidget under him, "I was thinking, what if we don't use one?"
He shoots you a confused look, but then he remembers...
"The first place prize?" he says, you nod and his mouth splits into a grin, "You're giving me the first place prize?"
"You deserve it," you say sincere, "You played so well, and you broke the record..."
Jude runs his tongue over his top teeth, looking at you in disbelief, "Are you sure?"
You bite your lip, looking down at his dick, huge and tented in his boxers, and think about it inside you... without any barriers...
"Yes," you nod, "…And I really want to, too…"
"Oh?" he grins, "You want to too?"
He leans down, whispering into your ear.
"You want to be fucked raw? You want me you come inside you? Is that right, baby?" he croons.
"Y-yes," you gasp out, "But I'm only going to let you this time so you better hurry up and fuck me already-"
You don't even get to finish your sentence before his fingers at your pussy again, pushing your panties aside and plunging in. You moan out at the feeling, your lips still so sensitive.
His hand pulls away from you and you whine at the loss but it's short lived as you feel something else circling your entrance, you look up to see him over you, his huge, throbbing dick rubbing at your clit.
Your cunt clenches at the site anticipating the feeling, he pushes inside you slowly and your mouth opens at the stretch.
So big, you think dumbly, trying to relax your insides and make the burn easier. It hurts so good, stretching you past your limits
"Fuck- Jude-" his cock is rendering you speechless.
"That's right baby," he says above you, "Take me in, you take me so good, fuck this feels so good to be inside you like this..."
He buries himself all the way in, letting you adjust around his length. He always stretches you so much you need a second to get used to his throbbing length inside you.
"So fucking tight for me, fuck."
He places a wet kiss on your cheek. You finally nod your head to let him know he can move.
He drives himself out, leaving in only the tip before slamming his dick all the way back into you.
"Jude-" you moan out.
He keeps going, keeps rocking into you, finding such a delicious rhythm. You head has tossed itself back into the pillow and you moan out his name again and again and again after every plough, hips snapping faster and faster.
"Yes.. yes," he groans, "Fucking wanted this so bad, you're so wet and tight for me, shit."
It's so different to be doing this raw, you can feel everything. His girth rubbing against your insides, you feel every bump, every vein, every deep thrust and you're going over the edge again.
"Babe... babe..." you gasp.
"Shhhh yes baby," he soothes, "Let it happen."
And you clench around him, your wetness fully coating his dick. Your pussy convulses, clenching around his dick as you give way to the feeling of pleasure.
"Shit- squeezing me so good, so fucking tight for me." He buckles up into you, lost in the feeling.
"Please..." you beg, "Come in me, Jude, want to feel it, want your come inside."
"Fuck- 'm gonna finish-"
"Yes," you beg, you want it, want it so bad. You must be a pervert but you can't wait for him to paint your womb white.
"Shit.. shit" he groans and then stills his hips all the way in, pumping his hot ropes of cum in you. You whimper at the feeling of being full, feel his seed fill your insides and it makes you feel so hot again.
He pulls out of you and you watch as his cum leaks out of your pussy, looking so wet and abused.
He whistles slowly, looking at it too. "You took me so well baby, took every drop of me."
His words are getting to you again, and you squeeze your thighs together at the feeling, missing how his cock would fill you up.
"Oh?" he watches, amused, "You want more already?"
You look up at him, and whisper to him low and sultry...
"Well, I haven't given you the second place prize yet, have I? We shouldn't leave anything out ...."
FIN
➷thanks for reading guys! the game was so exciting and I enjoyed seeing england play, feel free to send requests my way :D- celeste
⤷ tags: fluff, established relationship, internet trend
You step lightly into your bedroom, careful not to rouse the sleeping form inside.
Keigo looks cute like this. He's finally at peace, snuggled deep in your blankets. His bushy brows, knotted tighter together with each day, finally relax above his closed eyelids. It's the first time in weeks you've seen his face without a deep wrinkle in the middle of his forehead.
His wild, windswept hair pools over your pillowcase, and a small, content smile graces his lips.
This has probably been the longest your poor lover has been able to sleep. His job is keeping his schedule packed.
You almost feel guilty for the prank you're about to pull.
Ensuring your phone is recording, you tiptoe up close. Then, with a frantic hand on his shoulder, you jostle Keigo awake. "Babe, babe wake up."
He stirs, only to swat you off. He mumbles something that you think is supposed to be "five more minutes".
You shake him a little harder. "Come on, Kei. My boyfriend's coming."
He props himself up, just barely. The covers slide down. "Huh?" He rubs at his eyes, trying to pull himself from the undoubtedly deep sleep you'd just interrupted.
"You gotta hide. My boyfriend's coming."
You change tactics, tugging on his arm with urgency. He stares at you for a moment, eyes narrowing.
"...Right."
He plops back down on the mattress, tugging the covers back over himself. He falls so heavily that it jerks you forward, and you're forced to let go.
You pause. This is the exact opposite of his typically alert, quick reflexes.
"Where's your hustle? Do you want to get caught--"
You yelp as he suddenly reaches out, yanking you into the bed. He wraps you in his arms before rolling over, pinning you to the mattress. In the tussle, your phone slips from your grip, lost to the sheets. His big, crimson wings fan out behind him, framing his back as he hovers above you. When your eyes meet his, they're heavy-lidded, but you catch his mix of exasperation and amusement.
"Caught by who, exactly?" He leans down, stealing a kiss from your lips. "I'm your fiancé." His fingers pointedly trace over the elegant ring he'd slipped on just a few weeks ago. His touch lingers, long enough for heat to rise to your cheeks.
Then he plops right on top of you, burying you under his weight.
"Oof. What if you're just my side piece, huh?" Your fingers slide into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.
He snorts at the absurdity of your statement, arms wrapping around your middle. He kisses at your neck before his head settles on your chest. His eyes flutter close. "I can take 'em."
You laugh. You suppose your silly prank never had a chance.
a/n: ngl guys my lest semester of uni is kicking my ass but i'm finally near the end yay! thought this trend would be fun and silly to share. the first thing i've written that's not academic related in months </3
Having been sold off to the Hero Public Safety Commission from a young age, you've been told what to do your entire life. Luckily for you, you had your best friend—Keigo Takami—by your side. But all of that changes after making the reckless decision to kiss him in your too-small bed.
Content Warnings: angst, smut and fluff, bestfriends to lovers to rivals to rivals with benefits to lovers, don't take the rivals part too serious, semi-public sex (on top of a high-rise, in front of a window and in a changing room), unprotected & protected p in v sex, creampies, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), implied loss of virginity on both sides, multiple orgasms, squirting, a fuckton of hurt, yearning, misunderstandings, fuck the HPSC and their parents, petty games, reader has a quirk, hurt/comfort, inaccurate timeline (Iknow iknow), pierced Keigo!!!
word count: 22.7k
A/n: I'm so happy I found my drafts of this fic that I made somewhere late last year. The first 1.5k were made last year and I finally decided to expand on it for the Hawks lovers. Art on the left by @/melwakame on x & art on the right by @/kadeart on x. Divider by @/cafekitsune
laying side by side on the way too small bed, especially accounting for the crimson wings that are bigger than the bed itself, you find yourself staring into those golden eyes, close enough that you can see the specks of amber in them.
One of the wings is draped over you, crimson feathers twitching every so often, as if whispering against your skin.
Keigo is retelling a story he overheard from one of the handlers. Giggles fill the room, quiet but genuine.
If either one of your handlers found you two, side by side, in the same room, socializing, you two would be dead. Figuratively (…you hope).
They would call it an distraction, the two perfect weapons as they call you two, talking about life beyond the walls of the life they carved out for you. The prison that your parents sold you off to when you two were younger with sweet smiles and promises that only benefited those who failed you.
The walls here—in this cramped room, bare, save for a bed and a dresser—seem brighter. Not literally, everywhere you look it’s the same industrial gray walls and even floors. No colors, not even floorboards, just concrete.
No personal touch, because that would mean you have something of your own, and they can’t have that. No, your lives belong to them, those who pretend to guide heroes. No it seems brighter because of him.
You scoot a little closer to Keigo, not that there is any space left on the bed. In here its just Keigo and you not the names the Commission gave you, names that you didn’t even choose yourself but were assigned to you two the moment you got sold off. All sense of self being stripped away.
Well they certainly tried to, but that didn’t stop you and Keigo from becoming friends when younger, best friends even. Sneaking off together to have some time for yourselves.
At age 8 he gave you one of his small feathers, alive, twitching, and more importantly, able to pick up your heartbeat if you were to press it to your chest. So I know you're still with me he said with a toothy grin on his face.
It has been there, under your Hero Commission issued gear, for the past 9 years. Not the exact same feather obviously. They ‘rotate’ every few days, because his feathers die out if he detaches them for too long.
The room falls quiet, the weight of silence settling around you. It takes a heartbeat too long to realize that Keigo has stopped speaking. Looking up again you see him looking at you with concern written over his face, thumb brushing over your hip—when did it get there?
“You okay there, dove? You spaced out for some time,” his voice softens when he says ‘dove’, like the nickname holds more than just teasing now. And your heart, the traitorous thing it is, beats a little faster at it.
He grins, small, boyish and a little shy. Of course he could feel that, the feather still pressed over the spot where your heart is, but he could probably also feel it with the way your chest is pressed up against his.
You hope he can’t see your cheeks flush (he can, damn him and his good eyes even though it’s dark inside), and just nod once. “Mm. ‘Was just thinking about the time you lost your tooth because you flew into a wall.” Liar, you were thinking if it would still be like this if the commission gave you two more time for yourselves.
Sometimes you wonder if what you feel is love, being in love with your best friend, what a classic trope. But then you push that thought aside, quickly, like it's dangerous. You can’t afford to let yourself want that.
You two are seventeen years old, getting groomed to be the perfect weapons the commission wants you to be. You know if you were to fantasize about it, they would strip it away in the blink of an eye. No, you can’t be in love with Keigo, for it would only end in heartbreak.
Within a second your world tilts. You're now laying on Keigo’s chest, him laying flat on his back, one of his wings dangling off the bed, the other draped over you. The wing twitches slightly, brushing against you as if it’s trying to reassure you, but it only makes your heart race a little faster. Both his arms wrapped around your waist.
“Liar,” he says with a grin on his, stupidly handsome, face. “C’mon dove, tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that right?” The sincerity on his face makes you move your mouth before even realising it.
You gulp once “I was just thinking about what life would be like outside these walls. What our lives would look like. If you—” you trail off, looking to the side, to the same industrial gray wall you’ve seen all your life, not daring to meet his eyes when telling him the next part.
“If you would still be here, with me,” you finish your thought in a whisper, and the room feels heavier somehow, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket.
You hear him sigh before his hand comes up to cup your face, gentle, as if you’re made of glass. You feel yourself melt into his hand slightly, before you catch yourself. His thumb brushes against your cheekbone, an action so soft compared to the actions they’d made him do just earlier today.
His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, when he finally speaks, “Yeah, dove. I’d still be here. With you.”
His words make your face heat up under his hand. Words are stuck in your throat, because it shouldn’t be like this, the two of you can’t be like this. Still, you look at him, first at his eyes, filled with pure adoration, and then that traitorous part of your brain—your heart really—looks at his lips for a heartbeat too long before ripping your gaze upwards again. Shit.
You can only hope he didn’t notice, but of course you're not that lucky. His soft smile, turns into a teasing, smug one that still has hints of softness underneath. You feel his thumb move down to your jaw. His gaze half-lidded now.
A whisper in the back of your mind warns you of the danger, of how you two shouldn’t do this. There are only seven more months until you two get sent off into ‘the real world.’ Just seven, and then your lives would change, no longer living inside these gray, sterile, walls.
“You’re right, we shouldn’t, dove,” Keigo speaks out, startling you, quickly looking up at him again—when did you look away? Did you say that out loud? You don’t know, all you know is that you’re warm, Keigo’s wing still draped over you, feathers whispering against your skin like soft little love notes, his chest steady and warm underneath you, hearts syncing to the same beat.
Still, you slowly start closing the distance between the two of you, murmuring a “We really shouldn’t.” His head lifts from the pillow, one last whisper, before meeting you halfway “We’re not doing anything.”
The first brush of his lips steals your breath, a clumsy meeting of warmth and want. He tastes like something sweet and sharp, adrenaline and something softer hidden underneath. His wing tightens around you, pulling you closer until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.
It’s desperate in the quietest way—the kind of kiss you give when you’ve both spent your whole lives being told you can’t have this. His hand finds the back of your neck, thumb tracing small, grounding circles there, and you think you could drown in the feel of it.
When you finally pull back, the world feels different. Brighter, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. But you’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Your eyes flutter open, looking straight into Keigo’s. Lips a bit red and swollen, drawing your attention to them once again. There’s a slight flush on his face, creeping down his neck and disappearing into his Commission issued shirt.
Hands tighten in the fabric, his wing still tight around you, the little feathers puffed up a bit on your back. He pulls you up a bit more, nosing along your jawline. “We shouldn’t do anything more often,” he murmurs against your skin.
You laugh, small and breathy. It skims across his face like a gentle breeze, making him think of the clouds he sometimes flies through when the Commission lets him out—only for him to do his mission, which most of the time involves something teenagers shouldn’t be even thinking of doing.
“We really shouldn’t.” with that you capture his lips again, stealing his breath—and heart—once more. Eyelashes fluttering against cheekbones, tongues entangling a bit more expertly now, but still awkward. Noses keep bumping into each other, and you exhale a laugh into his mouth. You feel him smile in return before he tightens his hold on you once more.
The rest of the time together is spent like that, adrenaline filling the both of you. This shouldn’t be happening, you shouldn’t even entertain the thought of kissing someone, much less Keigo—or Hawks, as they call him here.
He shouldn’t even be in your room right now, having snuck out of his own earlier that evening. How the two of you haven’t been caught over the years is beyond you, but then again, the two of you aren’t perfect weapons for nothing.
By the time you pull away from him—still close enough to feel and hear his heartbeat beneath you, feel the way his chest rises and falls with every breath—it’s way past the time he normally sneaks back into his own room.
“You should probably go,” you whisper, and his eyes are still on you—on the way your hair is a bit messy now with the way he was running his hands through it. On the way your lips are red and kiss-bitten. On the way your cheeks are almost as red as his wings. “You’re already later than normal.”
And oh, how he wishes he can just stay here, in the same bed as you, wrap his around around you and fall asleep with your head on his chest. But that isn’t reality, is it? The two of you are still in this mindless dungeon your parents sold you off to. Industrial gray fills his vision when he looks around your room once more. The only thing that makes it seem brighter is you—even if what you’re wearing doesn’t have any color in it.
He’s been thinking about this moment for years. Just being alone with you, having you all to himself, away from the watchful eyes of the Commission. He’d buy an apartment for the two of you, living together to save expenses.
Of course he’d have to feed the Commission some bullshit lie about the two of you working better together. Team building isn’t something they’re fond of, but with the right twist of words he can definitely work something out to keep you close to him.
But for now he knows he should go back to his room. Be mindful of the handful of handlers that sometimes walk through the hallways—always watching, except for when they’re not. He’s memorised their routines. How many steps each handler takes. When they do their rounds. Knows the way the camera’s are angled, and how to avoid them.
He knows, but still he can’t seem to let go of you. His hands on your hips, tracing small, invisible shapes into your skin. He surges forward once more, giving you a small peck this time. “Goodnight, dove.”
“Goodnight, Kei,” you whisper back, before pushing yourself off him so he can get out of the room. He glances back toward you one more time, feathers angled towards you like they’re reaching out, before he dips out of your room and towards his own.
Rolling over you bury your face into the pillow and let out a small squeal—one of the only feelings you let yourself feel while inside of this building. It’s so unlike you, so unlike the person the Commission wants you to be. But you can’t help it.
And then you feel it, under your shirt, pressed over your heart—Keigo’s feather. The one he keeps on you to make sure you’re safe. It wiggles a few times before sliding up and slipping out of your neckline. Right, he can hear you. Huffing through your nose you look at it hovering right in front of you. “What?”
The feather shudders slightly, as if laughing. Dickhead. Then it moves towards your face and taps you on your nose once—a small gesture Keigo loves to do when you’re frowning, and now apparently when you’re squealing, too—before it brushes feather-soft over your lips and disappears into your shirt once more.
Rolling your eyes you finally situate yourself in the bed. But your smile never leaves your face, and even in your sleep you can still feel fingers and feathers all over you.
The next few weeks are spent tense. No secret glances, no lingering touches, no acknowledgement that you and Hawks know each other as more than just two perfect weapons in the making. There are handlers constantly watching the two of you, so if your gaze would fall onto him a second too long, they’d know something is off.
Inside of these concrete walls you cannot show your true emotions, face blank at all times of the day, despite you wanting to reach out and hold Keigo.
You’re not sure what the two of you are right now—except for children that are being groomed by those who are supposed to protect heroes—as you haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet. There have been no more talks in your bedroom.
But every time you walk past him, that one small feather at your ribcage wiggles just slightly. A small acknowledgement that he’s seen you, that he can still feel and hear you, despite not being there with you.
It’s harder than you expected it to be. Never in your life would you’ve thought that you’d share a kiss with the boy you’ve spent most of your life with. And never in your life would you have thought you’d come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, in love with said boy.
That doesn’t mean you haven’t talked to him, though. Well… talked is a big word, it’s mostly you who did the talking while he would hover his small feather in front of you, sometimes tapping on your skin if he agreed or disagreed with something. It was a small language the two of you had configured when younger.
A smile threatens to take over your face, before you smooth it over and look ahead again. Your handler is walking behind you—an older woman in her fifties—hands clasped behind her back, clipboard in hand, her heels click click clicking on the linoleum floor below, suit crisp, not a single wrinkle in sight. Her expression schooled—the same way yours is, and everyone else’s in this entire building.
Another set of footsteps can be heard from the other side of the hallway, one a bit more lax, and the other right on their heel. You know that gait anywhere. Hawks.
The two of you walk past each other and bow your heads towards one another. Custom, something they drilled into you. There’s nothing to be seen in his golden eyes, not a glimpse of emotion, nor can it be found in yours.
His birthmarks seem darker in these lights, almost as if they had filled them in with an even darker shade of black before he had to train. You’re sure people will think that it’s simply eyeliner, when it’s not.
One of the little kids here—around six—had asked him if it was, and he’d laughed at them. Small but genuine. It was one of the only times he’s ever shown emotion outside of your room, and it made your heart flutter inside of your ribcage. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the blond, whose feathers puffed up behind him a little.
The footsteps disappear behind you, indicating that Hawks and his handler are away from earshot, which makes your own handler finally speak up. She talks about quirk swapping the kids, aged ten to fourteen. There are only four in total—seven children in the program, including you and Keigo—but they need to know what it’s like to not fight with their own quirk.
It’s your quirk, being able to swap quirks of others. The first time you told Keigo that, he absolutely lit up and asked you if you could swap quirks with him, which you did without a second thought. You’d warned him it meant he didn’t have a quirk, at all, but he just beamed and told you he wanted to see his wings on you.
Seven year old you had done so after confirming he really was okay with it. When he nodded, you focused and swapped them around. Crimson wings sprouting from your back, while Keigo’s disappeared. It went fine for all but 2 seconds, then it went wrong.
Keigo was so used to his wings, he instinctively leaned forward to keep balance. Without his wings, he toppled forward, center of gravity having shifted, no longer being dragged back by his wings. You in the meantime fell backwards, the heavy wings dragging you down, not having braced for the extra weight you’d be carrying on your back.
Keigo landed on top of you, while you landed on one of your—technically Keigo’s—wings. Pain shot through your spine, and up your skull. Tears pricking at your waterline, and one even slid down your temple and disappeared into your hair.
And then came the noise. It was as if everything was tuned up to the max—you could hear the buzz of electricity in the ceiling lights, keypads, electric doors. Could hear your own heartbeat, blood rushing through you, the sound of the feathers twitching behind your back. And you could even hear his heartbeat and blood rushing through him.
Putting your hands to your ears you tried blocking everything out, but it didn’t help. You could hear everything around you, even when you curled up in a ball.
The boy above you was touching your shoulder, speaking, but even that felt like it was too loud—not registering the words he was desperately trying to tell you. You laid on that floor for what seemed like hours, crying about everything being too loud.
It was only when Keigo started whispering, so soft no one else would’ve heard, that you finally heard what he was saying. ‘Swap it back. Give me my wings back and it’ll be fine.’ And you did just that. The red plumes disappearing behind you and reappearing behind their rightful owner.
“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Keigo’s voice was trembling a bit, fingers wiping under your eyes to rid them of their tears. “I forgot. I’m used to it now.”
That made your heart stutter a bit. That’s what he hears at all times? It wasn’t something you accounted for. You’ve seen his quirk in action—flying, though it was more hovering in place, and him controlling th individual feathers to slice through objects with precision it scared you—but you never actually asked what it did.
“That’s what you hear all the time?” you breathed out, fingers trembling slightly beside you. Keigo nodded his head, his golden curls bouncing with the motion. The two of you are silent for a bit before you finally spoke up again, “I’m sorry you have to hear all of that.”
He merely shrugged, as if this was normal. As if it’s normal to be able to hear footsteps the floors down. To hear the electricity travel through appliances. To hear your own blood pump through you. And it made little you so incredibly sad. While it’s quiet in the building, it is still loud for him. You always thought it was eerie with how abandoned the building seemed—not because it was falling apart or because there was ivy growing everywhere, but because of how empty it was inside. But for him every single thing is noise.
You’d pulled him into a hug right then and there, and whispered in his ear that you’d talk to him if he ever felt lonely. He merely smiled at you and returned the hug. Just two weapons in training that found solace in each other.
The kids inside the facility, despite being older than you and Keigo were at the time, still remind you of the two of you. The first time you swap their quirks around, they all look confused, still used to how they fight with their own quirk, only to quickly realise they have to adapt.
On one hand it’s a good lesson, you’d never know when you’d lose your quirk during a battle, on the other hand it’s absolutely disgusting that they’re practicing this on barely teens.
You keep swapping quirks around once they get used to how the new quirk feels, just to throw them off. It’s not something you do with great pleasure, but you can’t exactly go against whatever your handler assigns you to do.
It’s something you’ve tried before, only to be put in solitary confinement for a week. In there they still had you practice all sorts of things, but you just didn’t get to be around people anymore. You still shudder every time you think of the place.
Once the handler deems the exercise to be enough for the kids—almost two whole hours later—you get steered out of the room, onto your next assignment.
“Since you and Hawks are about to debut in a few months, we need to make sure the two of you are desensitized, him moreso than you,” she flips through the papers on her clipboard, occasionally nodding her head at something that’s written down. “You’ll have to act like fans without boundaries. There will be other people pulling him into every direction. Just make sure he doesn’t sharpen his feathers.”
With that she pushes the door open, and in the middle of the room stands Keigo—or Hawks, right now—his red wings spread out into a brilliant arc, showing off all the way from the primaries down to the dowry feathers he has.
His handler is checking his wings, ensuring the strength and health of them, twisting and turning some pieces, and tugging on others. You know he hates that. Hates anyone that touches his wings, except for you. It’s something he’s told you since the two of you were young, said it hurt with how they disregarded the fact that he could feel whenever people touched his feathers, as sensitive as nerve endings.
It took him a while to trust you enough to let the pad of your finger skim over one of the primaries while they were in their half-sharp state. He wasn’t sensitized enough to let you touch his feathers when they were in their resting state just yet, but he did trust you enough that he at least let you touch them. Ever since that moment he started trusting you more and more, to a point where you can now preen him without any problems.
He’s fallen asleep once, when you were preening him after a brutal day. They had him run simulations all day long—fly through rubble and falling buildings, soot and smoke clinging to his feathers turning the brilliant velvet into ash. He had to save hundreds, if not thousands of dummies that were stuck in the wrecks—to a point where the skin at the base of his wings were inflamed.
You’d wanted to trace the skin, soothe it somehow, but you thought better of it. He’d snuck out of his room later that day to get into yours, and the moment you saw him you patted the limited space beside you on the bed.
He’d all but flopped onto the bed with a groan, telling you about how much his wings were hurting him. It’s not something the two of you did often—complain to each other—but after particularly hard days you just had to vent to someone, and who better than your best friend.
So you’d combed your fingers through his wind-swept hair, untangling the obvious knots in them. Sometimes you accidentally tugged on a strand a bit too hard, but he didn’t complain about it even once; merely sighed out into your duvet and kept talking about whatever his mind could conjure up.
At some point your fingers slid down to his wings, and you’d started to carefully preen him. While his wings were cleaner now, there were still some stubborn pieces of soot clinging to them—something you yourself couldn’t get off with just your hands—but that wasn’t something you were after. No, you just carefully started to put every feather into their rightful place, sometimes that meant twisting the feather at the base a bit, and other times that meant getting rid of the keratin casings on the newer feathers.
You weren’t sure when, but somewhere when you switched to preen his other wing, he’d stopped talking and his breath had evened out, eyes fluttering shut. Smiling you continued to preen him.
The sight of the handler tugging on some of the feathers makes you more mad than you should be. Not that you can show it, though. If someone were to suspect anything going on between you and Hawks, you were in some deep shit, whether it be just surface-level friendship, or something deeper. So you swallow and steel your expression.
Your own handler gives a squeeze at your elbow before she leaves the room to go to the monitor room. Once Keigo’s handler steps back, he nods once and walks past you, thrusting a piece of paper and a pen into your hand.
With that, the two of you are left alone. Well… you know there are tens of pairs of eyes upon the two of you, watching, waiting.
And then the simulation starts. A pro hero walks beside Hawks, chatting. The entire room transforms into that of a city, cars buzzing past, people leaving little shops—just a normal day in a city. Not that you and Keigo really know what that looks like.
If you were gonna do this, you could at least have some fun with it. Inhaling, you put a smile on your face, before absolutely squealing. “OH. MY. GOD. IS THAT HAWKS?!”
The simulation responds. People stop on the sidewalk, looking back at ‘the two heroes’, cars slow down slightly. And then you move. Fast. You cross the sidewalk in no time, getting all up in Hawks’ space.
“You’re my favorite hero! I can’t believe I get to meet you— can I get an autograph?” you gush, not giving him a moment to respond before thrusting the pen into his face and holding out the paper the handler gave you.
Hawks, for his part, just smiles, and it makes your heart beat a little faster—something he can definitely hear. “Of course, what’s your name?”
You mumble out a random name before your hand shoots out toward his wing. “These are so cool. And so soft! Do you think I can get one?” You tug on his feathers a bit forcefully, not going as hard as you probably should for the assignment, but you also don’t wanna hurt him.
There’s a slight bristle from his feathers before he smooths them over again. Keigo just chuckles at you, signing your piece of paper before giving back the pen. “Ah, sorry, no can do. Wish I could, though.” He winks over at you before he gets absolutely hoarded by other people—fake or not, they still feel real.
The rest of the day is spent like that, you throwing your arms around him, tugging on his feathers, squealing and screaming. Anything and everything to show the handlers that he’s sensitized enough to be able to walk outside without any problem.
Once the two of you are done, your handler pulls you aside. “We’re gonna run another simulation. Tomorrow. Your turn.”
Right, because they have to know if you’re good enough to swap quirks with him if needed. Luckily the two of you have practiced that many times after the first time.. The Commission telling you that no one else should ever get their hands on his wings, except for you. If he ever loses too many feathers during a fight, you have to jump in and swap quirks. You’ll get his feathers while you give him one of the quirks from the fight—leaving one of the villains Quirkless.
So they have to know you don’t completely shut down in an environment like that. Which you get, but it’s still annoying as fuck.
By the time your handler lets you go, Keigo is already gone. Probably towards his own room for the night. It’s only when you walk past a supply closet that an hand encloses around your wrist and tugs you into it.
The first thing you do is try to twist whoever’s arm it is behind them, but you’re quickly spun around. Your back hits the door with a thud, one hand is covering your mouth while the other is on your hip. “Shhhh, dove, it’s just me.”
Your hands fall to your sides. Blinking a few times your vision sharpens enough to see Keigo’s silhouette. “Fucking hell, Hawks, what are you doing?” you hiss at him once he removes his hand from your mouth. Keigo just smiles at you, small, but dangerous. “What, you think you can just touch me all day without driving me absolutely crazy?”
Right, you did do that, but that was for the assignment. Trying to get an reaction out of him. So what if your fingers skimmed over his most vulnerable parts—the base joints near his shoulder blades—that was all for the assignment, of course.
“You can’t just pull me into a storage closet, what if someone saw us?” you ask him, still not moving from where you’re pressed against the door. “No one saw us, and the camera’s have a dead spot here.”
Damn him and his smart brain. His thumb is tracing small circles on your hipbone, while his other hand creeps up to cup your jaw. Your own arms enclose around his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape.
He surges forward, lips crashing against yours in a frenzy. You kiss him back just as eager. It’s been weeks since the last kiss, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him.
“Missed you,” he mumbles against your lips, nose bumping into yours when he angles his head a bit. “Missed you, too.”
His wing wraps itself around you, feathers whispering against your skin over the fabric. They tremble slightly while your tongues entangle, puffing up slightly in affection he can’t hide.
A string of saliva connects the two of you when you pull away from him. It snaps a second later, leaving your lips shiny and slightly swollen. His aren’t any better, small teeth indentations on his bottom lip from where you pulled it between your teeth.
His forehead drops to yours, eyes halflidded and hazed over a little. Your breaths mingling, but mouths not touching any longer. Your chest rises and falls against his, heartbeats syncing, before it stutters once he looks at you like that—pure adoration filling his eyes.
“Hated not being able to see you for so long,” his voice is breathy, a slight groan pulling from his chest when your finger wraps around one of his locks of hair. “Heard you, though.”
And he did. You talked to him almost every night, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he wasn’t there in person with you.
“Only five more months,” you reply. Five more months before the two of you are finally free from this prison they keep you in. Those industrial gray walls you’ve seen almost your entire life. The slightly cold rooms that keep you on edge constantly. “Just five before we can get out of here.”
Keigo just smiles at you, not replying with words, but rather by pressing his lips to yours once more. It’s quiet and full of love. “Then let’s endure them and we can finally stop sneaking around like this, love.”
The nickname has you blinking a few times. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, ‘dove’ and ‘love’ are so similair, after all. But your cheeks heat up all the same. Nodding your head you peck his lips once more before finally letting go of him.
He steps back slightly, fingers lingering on your hip before retracting completely. You twist the doorknob before looking over your shoulder and smiling slightly. With that you leave him in the supply closet, alone.
Keigo presses his forehead against the door for a few moments to let his heart calm down. He didn’t think he would miss you so damn much, but after that once kiss the two of you shared weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to think of anything but you.
Cursing he runs his hands through his hair once, before opening the door and slipping out. Wings dragging behind him like a cape that holds every little sign of affection he’s had for you since the first day he saw you.
It’s only a few days later when Keigo comes to your room again. You honestly hadn’t expected him today. They’d sent him out on a mission that from the looks of it, was going to take all day, if not all night. But here he is, standing in your door opening.
Sitting up you pat the space beside you, inviting him in like you always do. He crosses the room quickly to go sit beside you. His fingers are playing with each other—a small habit you haven’t seen him do often—while he looks at everything but you.
“You okay?” you ask, your hand reaching for his shoulder, only for him to jerk away before you can touch him. Blinking a few times you let your hand fall back beside you. “Hey, what’s going on?”
He takes a deep breath in, stops fiddling with his fingers, and looks you straight into the eyes. You get slightly lost in everything that they are—golden with those amber specs in them, all predator when he narrows them—before you shake your head slightly.
“I think we should stop seeing each other,” he states, still holding eye contact with you. And you can feel your heart drop to your stomach. Freezing slightly, everything around you seems to slow down—the way you’re breathing, the slight electral buzz that’s always there in the walls somehow feels muffled and distant, hell even Keigo looks far away.
“What?”
“It’s just not going to work. Not with the way the Commission is always on our asses. And- and I don’t think I really have feelings for you,” he vomits the words out like they’re acidic, burning his tongue if they don’t leave fast enough.
It doesn’t compute for a second. The words sound foreign. As if some random stranger came up to you and told you the sky was purple. “I- what? But what about the five months? You said we only had to wait for five more months before we could stop sneaking around.”
Keigo just shakes his head, standing up from your bed. The distance between the two of you feels greater than it actually is, as if there’s a canyon between the two of you, whereas you two were normally all up in each others’ space.
“Just… don’t. This is better. For the both of us.” With that he starts walking toward the door. You feel under your shirt for the red plume that’s pressed to your ribs.
“Then take this back,” you spit towards him, throwing the feather in his direction without a care. He picks it up before slipping out the door, just as quietly as he came in.
When you hear the door click shut behind him, you let yourself fall back onto the thin matrass, staring up at the cold ceiling. There’s this quake in your chest you refuse to acknowledge.
Almost twelve years. Almost twelve years of knowing the boy with his crimson wings. Almost eleven years of being friends. Ten of being ‘best friends’. And yet, two months of being more than best friends, and everything crumbled.
You knew. You knew the friendship you and Keigo built was based on a house of cards, one wrong move and everything would collapse, but never did you think the collapse would look like this—like him being the one pushing the house to collapse.
All those smiles and giggles. All those memories made in corners the Commission could never reach. And now it’s all gone.
All because you let yourself fall in love with your best friend.
The next few months are a hell on earth—not that you weren’t used to it by now, but it’s definitely different not having Keigo by your side. You pushed yourself into assignments more and more; any free time you did have was spent asking for more assignments, or just training in general.
You couldn’t dare to sit in your own room, forced to sit in the silence that feels more suffocating than ever. The walls still carry the laughter. Still carry the gentle warmth Keigo somehow left behind, almost as if his feathers spanned the walls, feather-soft to the touch.
Whenever you’re in your room you just stare blankly at the ceiling, listening to the buzz of the electrics around you. There was one time you had your pillow clutched to your chest, unable to sleep, because you kept seeing golden eyes staring back at you. Crimson wings touching your skin, and those unruly tufts of wind-swept hair.
The pillow still faintly smelled like him at that point, and you tried so hard not to bury your nose into it and inhale like your life depended on it. You were so lost in thought, trying—and failing—not to think about him, that you startled when you felt something prick into your chest.
Moving the pillow you felt something soft brush over your skin, something that felts suspiciously much like a feather. Heart pounding in your chest you ripped the pillow from your chest, hoping to see that familiar crimson plume you threw back at him in a fit of anger, only to see a singular, sad white feather.
Right, pillows are filled with feathers.
Your hands were shaking when you picked it up, swallowing around the lump in your throat, you laid it under your pillow, which you put under your head again. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it just felt right to keep it there, with you.
It’s still under your pillow, even now—almost five months later. Sometimes you pick it up and twirl it around in your finger, watching the way it droops down like it’s sad. And with the right imagination you can imagine it being red, but even when you do that you know it isn’t his.
His feathers were a little harder, not fanned out as much. They were sturdy and so brilliantly red, you couldn’t imagine it being his.
Despite that you still held onto it like it was worth anything more than it actually was. Sometimes you put it under your shirt while you slept, waking up with an itch, almost as if reminding you it shouldn’t be there. Other times you just… talked.
But this feather doesn’t respond to what you’re saying. Doesn’t hover in front of you, shuddering with laughter when you say something stupid. Doesn’t tap your nose or skin in agreement. It’s just there, clutched between your thumb and index finger.
You sometimes wonder if he misses you as much, but then quickly push the thought away. He broke it up for a reason, so you can’t let yourself go down that route.
Whenever you saw him in the hallways, you didn’t look at him. Didn’t nod like you used to, just stared blankly ahead. Teeth clenched, hands balled, leaving small indents on your palms.
He didn’t look at you, either. Always staring ahead. Hand in his pockets while avoiding eye contact. While the two of you never lingered on each other, there were some glances. Now it’s like the two of you are merely strangers.
So no, you wouldn’t admit you miss him, because he’s clearly doing fine without you. The Commission’s golden boy. Now getting even more praise. You hear it from the ‘kids’ all the time—missions he went on, the absolute control he has over his quirk, anything and everything.
You tune everything they say about him out. Never listening too much about what they’re saying. Not the handlers, not the kids.
The two of you had a mission together two weeks ago, which went… okay. Hawks did most of the work, to be completely honest. Something about not needing you there. It honestly stung when he said that, but you pushed the feeling away, merely telling him he could do whatever he wanted. Which he did.
You’d gotten reprimanded about not participating, while Hawks got all the praise. He’d looked over at you with a smirk on his face—not the one he used to give you, no this one was radiating smugness from him—and you wanted to punch it clean off his stupidly handsome face.
Now it’s time for you to step out into the real world. The Commission had gotten you your own agency with a few sidekicks in the Sendai district, while they had sent Hawks to Kyushu—the other side of the country.
You weren’t sure how to feel about that, feelings conflicting in a tight knot inside your chest. On one hand you were glad he wasn’t with you, on the other hand you felt sad because the two of you had dreamed of running an agency together, or at least close enough to each other that you two would be able to frequently see each other.
And with the way the Commission had sent you out on missions together from when you were younger, to training together, you’d absolutely believed they would let the two perfect weapons stay together, strengthening each other. But alas, the two of you had drifted away from each other.
Now you’re looking at the building that supposedly ‘yours’. You know damn well it’s the Commission’s, but you let yourself believe for just a moment that it’s something of your own. They own you, though, so you’re not sure you’ll ever get something of your own.
Stepping inside the lobby you step into a new part of your life—alone.
The first year goes well. You quickly climb the rankings, no doubt the Commission having something to do with it, but it’s still something. You recently just breached the top 10. Your name being everywhere.
The rookie hero who debuts in the top ten!
But wherever your name is, his follows. Hawks being more popular amongst the masses, purely for being so charismatic. You roll your eyes at that, as if you didn’t know damn well how charismatic he can be. And from everything you’ve seen, the smirks, the winks, the little murmured sentences to his fans—all fake.
You’re muttering to yourself about how his real smirk is more awkward, it has that little adorable tilt to it that makes it more cute than sexy. His wink normally isn’t as smooth. The little dimple doesn’t appear on his face when he smiles.
But not that you notice that. Of course not. He’s made it very clear with what the two of you are, which is absolutely nothing. So you don’t look at it too long, always clicking away whenever his face pops up on the screens.
Seems like despite not working together you still can’t get away from him.
The Commission drowns you in assignments. You do your normal patrols, go out when you get paged, and after that you have to do the dirty work no one ever would even think of heroes doing. Granted most heroes don’t do the things you—and Hawks—do.
It makes for a good distraction, though. You’re simply too exhausted to even care about a certain blond-haired crimson-winged hero at the other side of Japan.
That is until the annual hero billboards come around. Your days have been so swamped that you didn’t even realise it was that time of the year already.
So here you are, walking backstage, waiting for the event to start. Number ten.
You know the Commission definitely messed with the numbers, but you aren’t complaining. There’s a lot of things you do that go unnoticed, so maybe this is a way of them telling you you did a good job. Or maybe they’re trying to keep you under their thumbs by putting you in the spotlights so you can’t slack off for even a day.
The perfect weapons.
That’s all you’ll ever be to them. Not a person. Not a hero. A weapon they created to use at their disposal. Same for the guy you spent almost your entire life beside.
Speaking of— your shoulder collides with another, making you stumble slightly. It’s not something that has happened often, your handler always being on your ass to be alert. Vigilant. Stay aware of your surroundings at all times. But with how tired you are you can’t really focus. Seems like even the strongest sometimes need a break.
You’re bowing a full ninety degrees, mumbling out a ‘sorry’ before straightening up again. And all the air seems to leave your lungs.
A pair of golden eyes is staring straight at you, lips pursed, bushy brows furrowed slightly. An annoyed look you weren’t familiar with. Never in the thirteen years of knowing him has he ever looked at you like that—or anyone for that matter, because handlers would have his head if he so much as disobeyed them.
“See you made the top ten,” he mutters out with a scoff, disdain lacing his voice. But you can’t hear him, not really anyway. Your mind already far, far away from the billboards and rather back in those industrial gray rooms that you were so familiar with.
Eyes that are golden with amber specks in them are looking at you. There’s dark marks around the eyes that has your head tilt a bit. Your hand is fisted in the fabric of this tall stranger’s pants—you’ll later learn that it’s your handler, one of the many you’ll get over the years that you’ll stay in that rotten place you’ve never escaped—while you step away from their legs just slightly when you see the boy stand there.
His golden curls bounce on top of his head, a single curl falls into his eyes, which he swipes away with one hand while the other is clutching a plushy of sorts. You’re not familiar with what, or who it is, but it’s clearly a man with a flaming beard.
Your voice doesn’t come to you, throat hoarse from all the screaming you’ve done when your parents told you to stay here with the nice lady while they went out for errands. You just couldn’t understand why they didn’t want to take you with them and rather let you stay with a stranger.
Eyes welled up with fat tears that rolled down the round apples of your cheeks that were blotched red with the way you were crying for your parents.
Why didn’t they want to take you with them?
Nose snotty and eyes completely red-rimmed you were staring at this boy that seemed to be your age. He wasn’t that much taller than you were, but he was calm, looking at you like you were something interesting. And in that moment you calmed down slightly.
The hiccups stopped after a while, when the handler nice lady told you you could play with the boy. That seemed more fun, for a second forgetting your parents just left you here. Maybe being here for a few hours wouldn’t hurt all that much.
Said boy told you his name was Hawks, and you’d giggled then and told him your real name—something you got reprimanded for by the lady, and your little mind just couldn’t understand why she was scolding you for simply telling him your name—in turn.
The rest of the day was spent with giggles and hushed voices. There might not have been much to play with—only giving the two of you a few blocks to play with—but it was enough to keep your mind off the fact that your parents pretty much had abandoned you here.
It was only when the lady came back and told you two to go to bed that you were brought back to reality. Your little fist rubbing your eyes while you asked if mama and papa were there for you. The lady gave you a look, something between disappointment and reprimand, and told you that you were having a sleepover today.
Your lips pursed while your eyebrows furrowed together. As much as you liked this new boy, you weren’t a fan of sleeping over here. Your parents said they would only go out to run some errands, never saying anything about you staying here for the night.
When you’d pleaded with the lady to just go home, she got angry and told you to behave, almost scolding you like a mom does.
That seemed to do something to the young boy, though, because he immediately clamped his mouth shut while his eyes turned blank—the signs of him being happy were simply erased from his face like a light switch was turned off—and he stood up to go to, what you presumed was, his room.
From then on out there were no more playdates, only people testing your quirk out on different people, trying to gauge your power from when you were a mere five years old. Your parents never came back for you, and you later found out that you’d simply been sold off.
But through it all, from that first day up until almost the last, was one person you could always rely on—Keigo. Or as the masses call him: Hawks. That name makes you shudder, for multiple reasons, but mostly because you know what it meant for him to get a name like that. A prisoner in a corrupt system that should’ve never existed to begin with.
And now he’s here, looking at you like you’re a pest in his life. Like you’re one of them. Not trying to hide his disdain for you, and you can’t help but feel a nerve in your jaw tick at the sight.
Sure, you were the person who fell in love with your best friend—which you knew was stupid to begin with, not just because he might not love you back, but also because the Commission would never allow the two of you to be distracted to begin with—but he’s the one who broke whatever it was the two of you had off.
So why is he glaring at you like you’re mere gum on the bottom of his shoe, or that one little barb he never can reach in his wings that you always had to preen for him otherwise he’d get agitated.
“Mhmm. See you did, too. Must’ve been easy, charming every women to get a little more popularity over there,” you smile at him through gritted teeth, trying so incredibly hard not to let anyone who’d walk past see that there’s any animosity between the two of you.
He smiles at you all condescendingly. It makes your eye twitch just slightly, but his eye see the movement—of course they do, the two of you have been trained to look at little tells like that since you were young, always so in tune with other’s emotions—and his grin widens, almost as if he’s won something.
He’s about to retort something when his wings twitch on his back, a movement so minuscule, no one else would catch it, but you know him better than anyone else, even if you don’t want to acknowledge that part right now.
The two of you straighten up and smile at each other—one of the practiced, fake ones that no one would be able to tell was fake to begin with—pretending to chat about the rankings. One of the heroes walks past and nods his head at the two of you, while the two of you bow back to him.
When he’s out of sight you drop the entire persona, not bothering with the fake smiles and niceties. You note the way Hawks relaxes slightly, feathers betraying his every being no matter how much he tries to hide from you, too.
Your hand shoots to your ribs, fingers skimming over your hero suit. The fabric dark with gold details—just like his, because the two of you might not do things together, but the HPSC still has their claws in the two of you—but it’s empty underneath. Just flesh and bone. No red feather that flutters against your skin whenever the blond saw you, or missed you. No longer replies to your sighs.
It’s easy to get lost in all that’s him. The blond and red. The cocky smirk he has on his face, and the slight stubble he’s beginning to grow. It’s easy to get lost, and then get pulled back into the present when he scoffs and walks past you, shoulder deliberately knocking into yours.
You want to spill your heart out when you once again see him walk away from you, just like that night. Wings held high, feathers trembling slightly and the back of his head turned towards yours. Want to tell him that it meant nothing, that the two of you could still be friends, like old times sake. But you know that won’t happen, no matter how much you want it to.
The two of you have simply… grown apart. No longer best friends, or that more-than-bestfriends thing the two of you had before he broke it off. Right now the two of you are colleagues. Strangers with history. Enemies competing for the better spot on a leader board the two of you don’t care about.
Your hand falls from your ribs to your side, and it’s so easy to make him stay, but it’s also easy to let him walk away. Because what good would it do? He’s made his stance very clear on the matter. No longer wanting you in his life, no matter what he had promised you.
Walls no longer industrial gray, but rather a muted white, but they feel more lifeless that the prison that you called your home for years, because a certain someone isn’t there to brighten them up. Only the sun setting into hues of violet and peach paints the room in colors.
He said he’d still be here with you, yet you watch him walk away from you the moment the two of you see each other again.
Fine. So be it.
And that’s how the competition really begins.
After the first hero billboard comes the petty revenge. Flirting more with your fans—showing him that you can use his tactics to become more popular, too. The hero rankings are constantly fluctuating, you and Hawks surpassing each other every time, trading ranks like you’re trading stock.
People online have started putting bets on who will be higher ranked this year. The two rookie heroes going head to head, making for an exciting race, or whatever it is they’re saying.
He garners attention by flirting with his fans, you garner attention by doing a shoot, face plastered on every billboard across Japan. It’s petty. It’s stupid. It’s the only way you can keep him close to you despite being hundreds of kilometers apart.
There’s a nagging voice at the back of your head now every time you see his face or name anywhere on the internet. No longer associated with Keigo but rather with Hawks the hero who you’re competing against.
The second annual billboard ranks you at five while he’s at six. The saccharine smile you plaster on your face when the two of you are on stage ticks him off. You can see it in the little tells, one of his feathers near his scapula is razor-sharp one second, while soft the other.
People start asking the two of you questions—rookie heroes, dating scandals, anything and everything they can get their hands on. You deflect with a smile and a wink, and he does the same.
Later that same night there’s hundreds of clips posted about how the two of you would make such a good team or would be so good together. Your eye twitches at that, fingers cracking with the way you’re balling your hands so hard your nails breach the skin on your palms and blood steadily trickles down your forearm.
What would they know about you being ‘such a good item with him.’ They do not know Hawks the same way you do, and over your dead body would you go back to him. The feud you have with him is at this point more important than anything else.
So you start doing other things on your off time—which you already barely have, but for the sake of winning this god-forsaken competition you’d give up all of your free time—such as going into schools and telling children about safety and what to do in villain attacks.
Your popularity numbers are climbing by the day, more of you can be seen in tabloids. Face plastered all over social media for helping a cat get out of a tree. Bringing in groceries for the nice old lady on the sidewalk. Things you would never do out of your own volition, purely because that hasn’t been trained into you to do.
Seems like you underestimated how low Hawks would step, though. It’s during one of your regular patrols, the sun is blistering down and sweat is beading off your temple and down your jaw. There’s a marker in your hand while a kid is jumping up and down in excitement to get your autograph.
You’re smiling, already thinking of where you could get something to hydrate, the cold surely feeling nice against your parched throat, when a big shadow falls across you.
People starts squealing and pointing into the sky, and sure enough there he is. Hawks. All red wings and cocky smirks, hovering in the air. He circles a few times before touching down, immediately getting mobbed by tens of fans.
Hell, even the kid you were giving an autograph just… runs away from you. Your pen hovering uselessly in the air. The stench that comes from the marker fills your nostrils, and it finally snaps you out of your reverie.
Pinching yourself once, you confirm that Hawks is, in fact, really here. Standing on your turf, talking and taking pictures with your fans. And you can already hear that stupid counter climb up by the second, getting more popularity by just touching down here.
And as if he can feel your gaze on him, he lifts his head lightly, golden eyes finding your form. For a second he just stares blankly, then he smirks and throws a wink into your direction. Fucking dickhead.
Sighing you continue your patrol while already thinking of how you’ll get your revenge.
Kyushu is… different than you expected. You never read up much about it, but you knew it was an island—duh—so you didn’t expect to see high rise towers litter everywhere you looked. The buildings so high you would almost be able to touch a cloud if you opened the window; an over-exaggeration, but still.
You thought the place Hawks chose, or well, the HPSC chose for him would have more sea. You thought the air would smell salty, like the ocean, and hear the waves crash ashore, but nothing is less true.
Fukuoka is a heavily populated city. There’s buildings, cars, and street life everywhere. When you got sent here you thought it might be different than back in Sendai, but nothing is less true.
The mission had been simple. Go undercover for a drug ring, get the info, let the President know what’s happening, and turn the whole thing upside down before they even know someone infiltrated their home.
What you’d failed to consider, though, is the fact that this is the home of a certain crimson-winged hero who could spot you from hundreds of meters away.
Looks like he didn’t spot you, but rather you him. Tiny feathers slicing through the air at lightning speed, multiple civilians getting pulled out of the way by their clothes while the number two hero fights the villains.
It’s a sight for sore eyes, wings almost down to little nubs, no longer able to fly, and it seems like these villains aren’t gonna stop any time soon.
He’s exhausted. There’s too many innocent bystanders nearby that he has to keep track of while also fighting off two other villains. His wings are almost non-existent, most of the feathers having been used up at this point. One feather-blade is in his hand, luckily still able to use it.
There’s sweat beading down his brow, nearly falling into his eye before it drips to the ground, which is littered with debris from the wreckage the villains have done to the city. It’s honestly more than he’s encountered in the years before—here anyway.
Villains of this size were normally more common in Tokyo, but seems like they decided to bother his district this day.
He deflects one attack while scooping up a child that had fallen trying to run away with one of his feathers, returning the child to his mother who was in tears, officers holding her back from running onto an active villain site.
Then he hears it, a sharp whistle he hasn’t heard in years. It’s music to his ears. It grates him. Almost like he can’t decide if he loves you for being here right now, or if he hates the fact that you’re even here to begin with.
He knows you wouldn’t come here out of your own volition, just like he doesn’t go to Sendai unless ordered, so you’re here on a mission. And here you are, seeing him in this pathetic state, nearly losing to two villains.
You’d probably laugh at him when you have the time, tell him he’s gonna drop a rank and you’ll sprint ahead of him again. The swapping of places hasn’t once stopped. The number two and three, constantly swapping places but never getting that number one spot.
But he knows. He knows he should give you the go-ahead. Get this over with. The civilians are the most important thing right now, so he should do what’s best for them—even if that means you get a tally added to the score.
So he gives his signal that it’s okay to swap. His wings slowly disappearing from his back. The feathers that he has in his hand goes limp—just an ordinary red feather right now—just like all the others that he’s used to get the bystanders out of the way.
Some people gasp, while others are already filming. He can feel the way his quirk has been swapped for someone elses—one of the villains, though he doesn’t know which of the two.
The villains in front of him look confused for a split second before they grin again, certainly thinking they have the upperhand now. Hawks can only grin in turn, tucking his feather in his jacker sleeve—a souvenir he can give to fans if they want it.
And then a flurry of red feathers come down—sharp as can be. The villains get pinned down almost immediately while Hawks goes in to put quirk-cancelling handcuffs on them. He sees you walk up to him a few seconds after, whistling with your hands in your pockets—a sight so him it pisses him off. Of course you’d try and mock him while he’s already down.
More people are gasping and screaming each of your names now, but neither of you give them any attention. You stop in front of him, a lazy nod given while the police officers rush onto scene, dragging away the suspects.
There are some words exchanged while you still have his quirk, crimson stark against the dark fabric of your hero suit. And he can see the way the feathers are trembling, just like your fingers. There’s a slight tick in your jaw you never could hide, not even from the Commission.
You’re overstimulated. His quirk simply picking up too many noises at once, while he can’t hear anything at all. It’s something the two of you haven’t done in a long time—swapping quirks. While you did this on a regular years ago, it’s now something foreign. Still, he has to applaud you for keeping your face as neutral as you are right now, because he knows how rowdy people can be.
After the officer is done talking with the two of you he walks away, leaving the two of you to fend for yourselves. Masses crowd around the number two and three, as if you two are merely circus acts and everyone can just do whatever they want.
People want pictures where you have the wings, others are touching the feathers to see if they really are as soft as Hawks’. And he notes how uncomfortable you are right now, shivers running up your spine when someone tugs on one of the feathers, and he sees the way your—technically his—wings are twitching like they want to lash out.
So he whispers, as low as he can go, that the two of you can get out of here if you just fly away with him. Which is exactly what you do, picking him up with ease—ease that was never there to begin with since he was heavier with the wings dragging behind him—and flying away from the crowd to one of the high-rises.
It’s an bumpy, unsteady flight all the way up to the tallest building there is, and he has to cling onto you to not plummet to his death. Once you land, clumsy and everything, you set him down.
Your wings shudder behind you before they disappear from your back and form back onto Hawks’—only for there to be stubs instead of actual, massive wings he normally has.
There’s sweat clinging to your spine and beading down your temple. You’d forgotten just how loud his world actually is, not having had to bother with it for years on end. That of course doesn’t mean you forgot what his quirk can do—things no one else in the world except for the President and a few handlers know.
You straighten up, swallowing past the bile that was threatening to come up if you stayed down there any longer, you nod to yourself. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.
The blond is just watching you, for once having no quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but rather just… looking. There’s a hint of concern he can’t quite seem to hide from you, but you don’t focus too much on that.
Walking up to him you pat him on the back, just between his scapulae where he’s the most sensitive. A little payback you’d say, not just for the fact that you had to get the two of you out of there since he didn’t have enough feathers to even fly, but also for all the bullshit he had pulled this year to get ahead of you.
“Well, see you later, number three,” your voice mock-cheerful. You were the number three hero currently, but with today’s save, or whatever you want to call it, you’re sure your rank will rise once again, surpassing Hawks’. “Gotta do stuff.”
Before you can even walk away a gloved hand wraps itself around your wrist, tugging you back. Another hand finds itself on your hip, warm and familiar in a way you don’t want to acknowledge right now. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Clenching your jaw you look over at the blond, brows furrowing and lips pursing into a straight line. You don’t bother to conceal your expression right now, there’s no one around to see, so you can just show your disdain on your face whenever you want—one of the special occasions.
“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot. I… gotta… go,” you slowly annunciate every word, almost as if you’re talking to a deaf person with dementia who has to lip read. You know he can hear you just fine—while he might not be able to hear everything, his ears still work perfectly fine.
The next instant you’re backed onto a brick wall of the bulkhead. Rough stone scraping against your back through the fabric of your hero suit. It has you gasping out slightly, not thinking he would do something like this.
“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he breathes out, pupils almost like slits, and oh, he’s pissed. Not his normal relaxed self, but rather actually annoyed at something you did—and if you had to guess it was to hit him where it hurt the most. “You should be happy I even gave you the go-ahead to use my quirk.”
That ticks you off. It’s not like you want to use his quirk, but he was in a bind and he knows it. If it were up to you, you would never even think of using his quirk. So you do what you know best—hands coming around to his back to where the little wings are still uncovered, one of your fingers tracing over his feather. Slow and teasing.
He groans out at the sensation, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before he opens them again, pupils dilated slightly. Then he turns you around, your chest pressing up to the stone while your cheek lays flat against the rough texture. A gasp rips itself from your throat.
His breath ghosts the shell of your ear while he presses his chest against your back, and you feel the bulge in his pants on your ass, making you gulp out. He cannot be serious right now.
“You sure you wanna do this, birdie?” the nickname has you close your eyes for a split-second. For a moment you can hear it echo in your head, distort it until you hear that all too familiar nickname: ‘dove’, but he doesn’t, he just uses the same nicknames he gives his fangirls.
You scoff out at it, and try to wiggle your way from him, only for your ass to brush his bulge. He moans out at the sensation before pushing his hips further into you—pressing it right against your ass so you can feel just how hard he is. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Pressing your thighs together, you can feel yourself getting hot and bothered. Even after all these years he still gets you going like no other—not that you’ve ever even looked at someone else. The competition between you two has had your focus so much that you haven’t even had the time to go on a date, and honestly you didn’t care to go on one, either.
When you don’t say anything he chuckles. It comes deep from his chest, rumbling it with the sound that’s completely foreign to you.
“Who would’ve thought,” he whispers, fingers slowly tracing up and down your side, not groping, not grabbing, just tracing featherlight touches along your sides while he humps against your ass. It’s almost as if he isn’t aware of his own ministrations, simply rutting against you like a dog in heat—better yet, like a bird in heat. “Bet you flew us here just to rile me up.”
One of his hands slowly goes to the front, fingers skimming your ribs, just where his feather always used to lay. He makes a little shape there before his fingers trace upwards, squeezing your tit once over the fabric. Shivers run down your spine, straight into your core, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Panties sticking uncomfortably to your folds.
“Hah, you wish—shit,” your head lolls back onto his shoulder when he finds your nipple over the fabric, pinching and rolling the bud between his forefinger and thumb before he tugs on it slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“You’re gonna be full of me in a second,” he murmurs against your cheek, hips never ceasing their motion, while his other hand finally trails down, stopping just at your pants. It’s only when you nod at him that he slips his fingers inside them, digits finding your heat immediately. “Oh? So wet for someone who’s ‘so full of himself’.”
His fingers move over your panties, lightly caressing it, almost like he’s preening himself—careful not to press too hard, nor move too fast, and it has you absolutely whining out for him.
“R-really, that’s all you can come up with. Thought you’d have some—fuck just keep them there—more practice with your l-little fangirls,” you moan out when his fingers skim over your clit, not pressing or rubbing, just featherlight touches that drive you absolutely crazy for him.
Chuckling his finger finally presses down onto your clit, moving it in small circles while pleasure shoots up your core. Your hand clamps itself onto his forearm, not trying to move it, just holding onto it while you gasp out into the open air.
“That’s itttt, love it when your rival plays with your pussy hmmm?” his finger doesn’t stop, just keeps circling your nub until you’re whining out. “Just put them in already, Hawks.”
He makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a groan—before he finally moves your panties aside and glides one finger through your slick folds. The feeling of the pads of his fingers directly on your skin has you arching into his touch, trying to chase his fingers even though he keeps sliding them through your folds.
One of his fingers finally slide inside your snug walls, warm and wet around him. It has you struggling to catch your breath. When was the last time you even got time to get yourself off? The feeling of his singular finger so much thicker than your own, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.
He slowly starts to pump in and out of your pussy, walls clinging onto him every time he tries to slide his finger out. Soon another one joins the first, stretching you out even further. Blunt nails dig themselves into his forearm, making him hiss out.
“F-feels so good,” you whimper out, careful not to be too noisy. There might not be anyone around, but if someone living in the apartments below, there’s a possibility they’d be able to hear you, and you’d rather not get caught getting fingered by your so-called rival.
His hips pick up pace behind you, still rutting against your ass like a damn animal in heat. Groans fall from his lips like an open faucet, never once stopping. He curls his fingers up while his thumb grazes your clit before it presses down onto it—adding all the more stimulation.
Trusting his fingers in and out a few times, he finally finds a spot that has you actively keen out, your other hand slapping itself over your mouth when he continues to attack your g-spot with his fingers. “F-fuck, please keep them there.”
Hawks just groans while his hips stutter behind you, fingers keeping their pace. Your thighs are starting to shake, knees buckling slightly. Suddenly there’s a tug on your nipple, completely forgetting his hand was still on your breast, and your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Cumming, cumming— oh shit.”
Your orgasm shoots through you, and it’s so much more powerful than ever before. At the same time his hips cease behind you, warmth seeping through his pants while he muffles a moan into your shoulder.
It’s only when you catch your breath that you look at him from the corner of your eyes. “Did you just cum in your pants just by rutting yourself against my ass?”
His fingers slip from your heat, cunt clenching around nothing after his fingers retreat, when they come down with a quick slap to your clit. You jump slightly at the feeling, yelping while your head turns to the side to look at him.
“Shut up,” his cheeks are blotched pink, not once daring to look you in the eye, confirming what you thought had happened. He eyes his hand, spreading his fingers slightly, looking at the way your arousal webs between his fingers before they snap!
Almost in a trance he pops his fingers in his mouth, lips wrapping around the digits while his tongue licks the wetness right off. He moans out at the taste, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull while he can feel his dick twitch to life in his pants again.
Your mouth falls open at the sight, so sinful it makes you all the more hornier. Without realising your hips are moving back, ass brushing against his hardening cock, which he gives a quick slap. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lips shiny with a mixture of spit and cum, having your eyes snap to them. “Still haven’t had enough, thought you hated me?”
You roll your eyes at that, not bothering to confirm nor deny his accusations. Turning around your hand cups his member, palm pressing against it while you smile sweetly up at him. “Could say the same thing for you, Hawks.”
He growls—actually growls—at that, eyes narrowing down at you before his fingers make quick work of your pants. You unbuckle his belt, fingers fumbling slightly with how they’re trembling, and you can only hope he doesn’t see it.
He frees his cock from his underwear, mushroom tip angry red and shiny with cum. Giving it a few tugs he gets himself fully hard again. His other hand creeps down your thigh before he grabs just below your knee and hoists your leg up to put it around his waist. Your other feet shuffles around on the ground slightly, trying to find your balance again, while your hand shoots out to grab his shoulder—this time careful not to touch anywhere near his wings.
“Sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, fingers toying with your panties that are soaked through at this point, flimsy material doing nothing to hide your swollen folds.
“Just put it in already,” you roll your eyes at him, watching the way he once again pulls your panties to the side while he lines himself up. There’s anticipation and slight dread running through you now. Are you ready? Did he prep you enough? How are you even sure you can take him?
He glides his shaft through your folds a few times, skin getting shiny with your slick, when his tip rubs over your clit, shooting more pleasure through you. It’s only when he glides over it once again that you feel it—something metal.
Dickhead has a dick piercing.
“Bet your f-fangirls love that,” you whimper out, still eyeing the way he’s gliding through your folds, tip catching on your entrance only to move it up again, and again, and again. “How many compliments did you ge—fuuuckk.”
He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead finally deciding to push inside. The stretch feel insane, walls clamping down immediately, tip pushing past that first ring of resistance. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and your hand tightens on his shoulder.
“S-shit, ease up, d— birdie,” he grunts out, not trying to push in any further. His hand comes down to your hip, thumb rubbing circles on your hip while he lets you adjust to the stretch. “You always this t-tight, or is it just me who has that effect on you?”
“Shut up,” you whine, not caring how you sound right now. You let your body slump to the wall behind you, sweat starting to collect at your nape again. Never in your life did you think it would feel like this. “Y-you can move.”
Looking at you for a few more seconds he slowly inches in, the stretch torturous, and he isn’t even half-way in yet. You claw at his shoulders, trying to find anything to hold onto while he was splitting you open.
“Just a few more inches,” he murmurs down at you with—is that concern? in his voice, thumb sliding from your hip to your clit, rubbing small figure eights on it to help you relax slightly. A few more inches? Looking down you see the way his skin is wrinkling at the base, and yup, he still had two more inches give or take left.
Once he finally bottoms out he lets his head fall forward, straight against your collarbone, breath hot even through the fabric. His tip is smooched against your cervix, and you can feel the two barbells of his piercing sit snug against your walls, even when he isn’t moving.
It’s a weird sensation—the metal cool against your warm cunt, smooth surface rubbing you just right. After a few moment he finally pulls his hips back—just slightly—and thrusts back in. It’s a shallow thrust, but it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.
“Y-you always this weak when fucking your girls?” You shouldn’t ask it, you don’t even want to know his answer to it, but your mouth is moving before your brain can even catch up. Luckily for you he doesn’t reply, only pulls out further before thrusting back in, making you moan out.
He sets a steady pace after that, hips pulling out halfway only to thrust back in, tip hitting your cervix each and every time, pre clinging to your walls. Moans and groans fill the air while the two of you are too lost in the pleasure to even taunt each other.
“F-fuck, pussy gripping onto me—shit look at that—like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he groans out, eyeing the way your lips are wrapping around him every time he pulls out.
“Maybe she just wants you to cum so she can get away from you,” you mutter out, which he hears loud and clear. The stubs on his backs flutter slightly, not bothering to hide any reaction you pull out of him any longer.
His eyes narrow at you before his hand that’s still rubbing circles stops. The pleasure dwindles slightly, only for him to set a more brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass while he pummels into your poor pussy.
“Yeah? Well then maybe— oh fuck… maybe I shouldn’t get you off,” he changes his angle slightly, hiking your leg further up his waist before he starts pistoning his hips in and out of you, an audible squelch can be heard every time he bottoms out.
“Don’t need you—there, please there,” your eyes roll back while you babble out ‘please’ and ‘there’ over and over again. Your mouth falls open, high off ecstasy while Hawks keeps bullying your g-spot with lethal precision.
“There, yeah? Fuck feel her clamping down on me. What was that… hahhh, about not needing me?” he grunts out while he can feel his abs start to tighten.
Your own hand comes down to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles on it while you’re incoherently babbling now, cock-drunk on the way he’s pummeling into your weeping hole. “Gonna—” you gasp out, before it cuts off with a choked cry. Your walls spasm around him while you get thrown into your second climax of the day, thighs trembling slightly.
“F-fuck,” he chokes out before he thrusts once more, hips stilling while he paints your entire walls white. His wings twitch and flex against his back, and you’re pretty sure you can see the left over feathers sharpen and soften against his back through your hazed-out mind.
The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s presence, not daring to move. It’s only when he pulls out with a hiss that you realise the situation. Looking down you see his seed bubble out of you, a bit of red mixed in the mess.
Hawks also sees it, looking down with concern at you. “Shit— fuck, are you okay?”
Rolling your eyes you let your leg fall from his hips, and your thigh almost immediately seizes up. Luckily you can deal with cramps—having been through enough training that this doesn’t feel like anything anymore—but the foreign feeling of your pussy having been stretched out has you grit your teeth.
“That’s your blood,” you mumble out, swiping your thumb on a cut just on his eyebrow. It leaves behind a trail of red, staining your finger in the crimson substance. Holding it up for him to see you just swallows and nods once.
Wiping it off on your uniform, you put your panties back in place, grimacing slightly when you feel the sticky substance ooze out of you. Pulling up your pants you pat everything down to see if you still have everything before straightening up.
There’s an awkward beat where the two of you just look at each other. And it finally sinks in what just happened. You fucked Hawks. Your ex-bestfriend, ex-lover, current rival. The one person you swore you would be done with.
Swallowing you quickly push yourself from the brick wall, finally noticing just how much your back hurts at the moment. Running your fingers through your hair you nod once towards the hero before you open the door and walk away from whatever all of this is.
And while you awkwardly walk down the stairs—gait off and your hole pulsing around nothing—you know that you’re absolutely and utterly fucked.
The time after that moves weird. You hadn’t seen anything of the crimson-winged hero while you stayed in Kyushu, only hearing people whisper about him in passing, but never once seeing that blur of red move through the sky.
You know somewhere deep down that he’s avoiding you, and you’re honestly doing the same. The night in the safehouse after what happened made you unable to sleep, eyes blinking up at that same industrial gray you’ve seen your entire life, and for just a moment—just one—you could feel him beside you on that bed. Only this bed was bigger than the one you had for twelve years.
When you closed your eyes you could feel the way his breath would ghost your skin while laying beside you, his wing flopped over you like a soft, unique blanket that sometimes twitched whenever either of the two of you moved.
Could still feel the way he would trace soft patterns over your arms when he thought you’d fallen asleep before he was out of the room. Could still feel the gentleness in his gazze whenever he looked at you.
But when you opened your eyes you were met by silence. No soft whisper of feathers ruffling or the soft breathing pattern he always had around you—something that had been trained into the two of you. There was still that small electral buzz you were familiar with, but it made your heart only do more complicated flips.
It was like you were suddenly thrown back to when you were seventeen years old and got told that the two of you shouldn’t see each other anymore.
And just like then, you have a feather in your hand. Soft, white, and itchy. Not the crimson, alive feather you used to wear like a shield. Like a promise etched onto your skin. But rather just a dead feather from god-knows-where.
It droops to the side sadly, like it’s reminding you that this isn’t what you were familiar with for half your life. But still you put it on your chest and begin talking to it like it can respond. The stories are quite silly, and you would never actually say all of these things out loud—when you’d done grocery shopping online, the latest villain arrest, a short story about how your sidekick had put soap in the food instead of olive oil.
You’re gesturing around the room wildly, a small smile on your face while your eyes are closed. It’s easier that way, telling stories to a feather that can’t respond. But for a moment you just let yourself believe it can. Let yourself believe that you’re seventeen years old again and that you’re ranting to your friend.
The golden-eyed boy across the hall that always looked like you were more than the weapon they were trying to make you out to be. The one who you shared secret glances and giggles with. The one who put a warm hand over your stomach whenever your cramps got too much, but the handlers just kept pushing you to do more more more.
And when you open your eyes, there’s a slight part in your heart that yearns to see that red feather hovering in front of your eyes. But you’re met with air. The white feather still laying on your chest, not moving an inch from where you last put it.
A tear slides down your face before you can stop it. Quickly wiping it away you chuckle into the empty room. No one can hear you, after all, so why would you care?
There’s a slight throbbing between your legs, soreness running through your muscles—an type of sore you’ve never been before, and it scares you slightly—while there’s no one to tell you it’s okay.
Rolling over you look at the empty spot beside you in the bed. It’s cold and pristine, not a wrinkle in sight. How many times have you imagined there to be someone beside you? It’s honestly too many to count, and you can’t help but let another tear slide down your face.
There’s a slight discontent in your heart that tells you that after today he’ll never even look at you anymore. That this will be just like what happened seven years ago, where he told you the two of you couldn’t be together and walked out of your life.
You had this silly competition, chasing after numbers the two of you knew didn’t matter. While other heroes yearn to be in the top 10, the two of you treated it as an game to one-up one another. Taunting the other with whoever has the higher rank that year.
That was the only time you talked to him, honestly. The annual Japanese Hero Billboard Chart. One of the only times you’d see him in real life instead of on a screen with an update on his latest endeavor.
And somewhere deep down you know that even that will cease to exist after today. The silly competition will be over, no more trying to get more popular, but rather just actually focusing on what the two of you are—heroes.
You grab your pillow, squeezing it to your chest. Of course you had to fuck it up once more.
The pillow feels to hard. Too many feathers stuffed into the thing, and without thinking about it you rip it open, hundreds of little feathers spilling from the casing. Sitting up you look around the room knowing that each safehouse had a small kit with a thread and needle stored somewhere.
Searching around for it, you find it under the sink. Sitting on the bed once more—a few feathers poking you in the butt and your legs—you get to work.
Hours pass, the dark night sky changing to the soft break of dawn that paints the entire sky hues of orange, to daylight where the sun is shining onto the sealed windows.
Your hands are cramping and bleeding slightly, small spots of red against the stark white feathers that make you just wanna cut your hand open to stain them red entirely—something you decide against when you repeat it in your head.
When you finally lay down the thread and needle you look up at your nightstand. It’s just past twelve in the afternoon, which gives you plenty of time to still get ready for the mission. Scrubbing a hand over your face you look down onto the bed.
An entire sheet of feathers lay there, neatly sown together in something that resembles the form of a wing. The entire thing is soft and way too itchy, but you still run your hands through it, hoping that one of them would twitch.
They never do.
Leaning your body back you look over at the wall, just… staring at it for a good few minutes. Since when were you so lonely that you had to sow together a whole feather blanket just to be reminded of when you were younger?
A small chuckle escapes your lips. Hollow and heartbroken. Of course, of course you would go ahead and fuck him after what happened when you kissed him last time.
Hands shaking you put the feather blanket over your legs, trying to feel the warmth in them—but they are too different. Even your brain knows this isn’t what you want, but it’s the closest what you can get. Sighing you get up to get ready for the day.
The mission comes before anything and everything else.
After that night you haven’t been able to focus, quickly losing sleep and some of your popularity considering you haven’t been doing that good of a job interacting with your fans. You were short and snappy with them sometimes, almost like a bird that’s being cornered into a cage.
Your number two rank—because you did get to two after that save—quickly dropped to four over the span of mere weeks. Tabloids printing out more and more articles about you. Speculations, your latest mishap, you name it and it’s there.
And of course wherever your name went, his was not far behind. Hawks, the number two hero, charming his way with the ladies once more. His ruby studs catching the light just right in the latest picture, and you know his magpie brain loves to see it.
Clicking the screen off you let yourself fall backward. This isn’t what you wanted, not even close. And just like you expected, there’s no more real competition. But maybe that’s also because you’re not letting there be competition.
The Commission has been on your ass about your latest endeavors, scolding you and even putting cameras inside of your own agency, just so they can keep track of what you’re doing in there.
Your sidekicks have been eyeing you carefully, but you just smile at them and tell them everything is fine. Because it is, isn’t it?
No matter how much time passes, every time you get home—if you even get the time to go back to your own apartment, nothing Commission owned—you look in the almost-empty closet and fish out the little feather blanket you made weeks ago.
Every time you can’t sleep, you lay it over you, just to try and trick your brain that everything will be okay, even when it will never be again.
The Hero Billboard Chart that year felt brutal. You fell down the rankings—now the number five hero—while Hawks was at his number two spot. It’s been the first time in years since the two of you didn’t stand next to each other. And oh boy, didn’t people have their opinions about it.
There’s speculation, children and adults alike screaming at the two of you asking if something happened. Others are more bold and ask if the two of you had a falling out of sorts. And of course there are the shippers who are making sad edits about you and Hawks, compiling every picture the two of you are in together to throw a sad song over it while unrelated pictures get used.
It’s honestly… something. Never in a million years would you have thought that people cared like to this extent. The two of you weren’t that close. Not in the public’s eye anyway, and no one knows about the history you have with the birdbrain.
So why is everyone always trying to get you two together anyway? Is it because you two debuted at the same time and rose the rankings together? Or do they see something deeper you yourself are refusing to admit?
Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, because the HPSC is once again calling a meeting. Walking in you see that one face you were dreading to see, but you can’t just walk back out. Steeling your face you go to sit down at the long table that’s filled with people in business suits.
The meeting drones on and on. Beginning with reprimanding you for losing rank so fast. Rolling your eyes you let them talk about how they are going to rectify things, as if being the number five isn’t good enough.
A pawn. That’s still all you are to these people. Just a little piece on a much bigger board they can use any time they want. Same goes for the crimson-winged hero across from you. He’s leaning back, arms behind his head while he leans back.
There’s a beat of silence before your handler finally speaks up. “The two of you will do an ad together. Just to show everyone there’s no bad blood.”
That makes you freeze up slightly, hairs standing on end like someone threw a cold bucket of water over you. The blond across from you also halts for half a second—one you’re sure everyone around the table saw—before he smiles, big and bright.
“And what would this ad be?” he almost purrs across the table, canines on full display while he sits up a little straighter. The lax position from minutes ago disappearing completely.
The handler looks you over for a second, then him, then looks down at the tablet, just to create a little suspense. You know she knows what the ad is about, everyone here, except for you and Hawks do. They never call in a meeting without being prepared to the max.
“It’s an underwear ad. They want to advertise their new matching sets—for partners. The two of you can do that, right?”
Of course. Of course they would throw you in the deep end like this. It isn’t even just the fact that you have to do an ad with him, but the forced close proximity and underwear. Fucking great. Across from you Hawks’ eyebrows shoot up.
“An underwear ad,” he echoes, dragging every syllable like he’s chewing on taffy and trying to figure out how to get it out of his mouth. “For couples.”
Everyone at the table looks at him before his own handler smiles, cold and devoid of any emotion. “The two of you can do that, right? Show the world there’s no bad blood like they think there is. Just two heroes who are competing to be the better hero.”
You nod slowly, mechanically. There’s no saying no to this, and he knows it as well. His golden eyes flit over to yours, and for the first time in forever you can see a glint of emotion in there. It’s gone as quick as it came, but you swear there was some relief in there.
Which is why you’re here now, two weeks later in a warehouse that doubles as the set. There are people everywhere around you. Two are working on your body, lotioning it up so it looks good in the lighting—or whatever they said, you weren’t really listening to begin with to be completely honest—while there are another two people working on your hair and makeup.
The underwear is plain. A little heart cut out on your ass—nothing scandalous, just something cute—while there is a little bow on the front. Your bra also has a cute little bow at the front, tits sitting snug in it, and it’s honestly cute.
You can hear the assistants whisper to each other about everything and anything, but most of the time yours and Hawks’ name fall from their lips. Straining your ears you can just about hear what they’re saying—He’s adorable’ ‘adorable? he’s so hot.’ ‘I think I like her more’ ‘Fine then, more for me’.
They’re giggling as if you can’t hear what they’re saying, and if you can hear it, you’re certain he can, too.Speaking of, looking in the mirror you can see him walk up and lean against the doorframe, arms over his chest, biceps bulging.
He’s in nothing but boxers, and you have to keep your eyes up to not ogle him. Lean frame gotten a bit more defined over the years, but nothing extreme. He has to be able to fly, after all, and it would be more difficult if he was on the bigger side.
The stylist puts on some lipgloss before she steps away with an watchful eye. Once she determines everything is fine she nods at you to go stand up. Walking over to the guy who fills every room without even trying—though his wings certainly had something to do with that—you stop just short in front of him.
He lets his eyes rake over you, stopping just slightly when he sees the cute bow before he whistles. Low and sharp. A catcall if you ever heard one. Your hand shoots up and hits him on the back of his head, a small little flick of your wrist.
There’s a small, sharp sting on the back of his head. Not hurting him enough to complain, but enough to get him back into the present. The two of you are not alone, and when he looks around, he can see almost every eye on the two of you.
Right. Just an ad campaign and not just the two of you.
“Ready?” he murmurs, pushing himself upright before stepping aside slightly. You roll your eyes at him before pushing past him to make your way to the set. He flicks two fingers into the air to everyone in the dressing room before he turns to follow you. And, oh—oh now that’s unfair. The little heart cutout has his eyes drawn to it.
It’s cute, small enough to be inconspicuous, but enough for him to notice. And notice he does. His feathers bristle slightly before he has to calm them down. Memories of months ago filling his head. You pushed to the brick wall, your warm, wet walls clamping down on his fingers, on his dick—shit.
He flexes his arms in hopes to get the blood rushing to there instead of down there. And he already knows this is going to be a long day.
The director is absolutely delighted when he sees the two of you walk in, immediately shaking your hands and thanking the two of you for coming, since he knows how busy hero work is. He’s absolutely beaming when you start talking a bit more, but then remembers he has to actually put the two of you in positions for the shoot.
It starts out with Keigo sitting down, muscled thighs spread oud, and you have to perch on his lap. Of fucking course. This is a couples ad, after all. But that didn’t mean you weren’t hoping it wouldn’t be like this.
Still the shoot goes on, running through multiple poses. Sitting on his lap, standing in front of each other, standing in front of him while you were with your back turned toward the camera, one of his hands on you waist, which slid lower lower lower, until he was grabbing your ass—which the director absolutely loved to see.
‘Make it more sensual.’ ‘Good, good, look each other in the eyes like you mean in.’ ‘Oh, yes yes that! that’s it!’ ‘Put your hand on his chest—there we goo.’ ‘This is looking good guys.’ ‘Okay now I just need something that shows off the front. Ohhh that’s good!’
He was… energetic to say the least.
By the time the two of you are done with the shoot—having had solo shots done as well—it’s already late at night. Most of the people have packed up already with a promise to go to dinner together, while there are still a few people walking around.
You’re in your dressing room removing your makeup when the door opens. Looking up through the mirror you can see Hawks leaned against the door, crimson wings spread open slightly while his arms are over his chest. Still in just his underwear—same as you.
You’re not sure what happened next. One minute he was talking to you—taunting you, really—and the next the two of you are stumbling to the couch, fingers groping and touching everywhere your eyes can see.
You’re laying on your back, hair splayed out underneath you while Hawks stands over you, teeth in the wrapper of the rubber that he— “Where did you even get that from?” He walked in here in just his boxers, so unless he was hiding it in there you have no idea where he got it from.
“Sent a feather to retreat one from my wallet,” he chuckles before he drops the last piece of clothing, dick springing free and hitting his bellybutton. He’s already hard and leaking for you—a sight you cannot get used to—and the soft amber lighting of the mirror shows you the two barbells just under his tip.
Fuck, if that isn’t hot. Your thighs squeeze together while you feel yourself start to soak through your underwear, white fabric almost turning translucent, sticking to your folds that leaves nothing up to the imagination.
Rolling the condom on he positions himself between your legs, hand at his base tapping his tip on your clit over the fabric a few times. Each tap has your thighs jolt, almost clamping them shut before you feel multiple feathers on them, keeping you nice and spread for him.
“You always like to tease this much or— or are you trying to keep me here longer?” you ask him through your teeth, annoyance dripping from your voice. It just makes him chuckle, golden eyes trained on where you were dripping for him. “Hmm, just wanna get you nice ‘n wet for me, but seems like I don’t have to do much, do I?
You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s not like he’s wrong, though. There’s no hiding it, either, not with the way your spread out for him.
He finally takes your panties off, hooking his slender fingers into the waistband before he lets it snap against your skin once, having you jolt out, before he finally takes them off. He looks down at the way you’re spread open for him—wet slit spread open for him with the way his feathers are keeping you open, and he can’t help but pry your lips open ever further with his thumbs.
Your hole clenches around nothing, more arousal dripping out of you and down the couch. He’s just staring for a few seconds, pupils blown out at the sight, and it would’ve made you chuckle—taunt him about hypnotizing him with your pussy—if it wasn’t for him putting his thumb in your weeping hole.
“Fuck, Hawks. Wanted your cock,” you mewl out when he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, totally transfixed on the way you’re swallowing him whole. “Seriously, just g-get this over with.”
You grab the base of his cock, manicured fingers wrapping around the appendage, before you move it over your slit, head bumping your already-sensitive clit. That finally snaps him out of it, retreating his thumb from your snug walls with a pop!
Positioning him at your entrance, he finally moves his hips, pushing in slowly. The stretch is still overwhelming. Leaning down his teeth sink into the fabric of your bra before he pulls it down just enough to bunch under your tits. Your nipples pebble immediately after they get exposed to the cold air, which just makes him groan before wrapping his lips around one of them.
The dual sensation has you mewling out, hands finding purchase on his back, fingers skimming the base of his wings making them arch out, the red plumes the only thing you can see right now. He whimpers at the sensation, feathers bristling slightly before he folds them back in.
His cock throbs inside of you once he bottoms out, flushed head steadily dripping more pre. The feeling of the rubber is different, the layer between your walls and his flushed cock has you whining out. The little barbell also feels weird, not like last time.
“Stop clenching— fucking hell… like that,” his hand smacks your thigh, aa sharp sting running up your thigh and straight to your core, having the exact opposite reaction he wanted—walls clenching down on him further.
“Just move already,” you moan out when his tongue flicks over your nipple, still waiting for him to move. His hips start to move, pulling them back he thrusts forward again. A deep and brutal thrust that has you clawing at his back, leaving behind angry, red marks. The red that matches his wings.
Your hips move in tandem with his, skin slapping against skin, heavy balls hitting your ass while his mouth finally finds your other tit, peppering it with kisses and bites. “So good for me, love it when I fuck you, don’tcha?” he murmurs against your skin.
Your legs wrap around his waist before you flip the two of you around, his body hitting the couch with an ‘oomf’. Straddling him you grab him at the base before sinking down on his girth, weeping hole swallowing him greedily. “Hate you. Hate you so much.”
His hands come down to your hips, helping you move up and down his cock. His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you are connected, lips stretching around him. “Yeah, hate me? That why you’re bouncing on my cock right now?”
His thumb presses onto your clit while two of his feathers come down to play with your nipples—feather-soft brushes against your skin making you keen out into the air, not caring who could possibly walk by and hear the two of you.
“T-this doesn’t mean anything,” you moan out, ass slapping against his thick thighs with each fall of your hips. Your pace slowly dwindles down, hips not lifting as far up as they did before, which is a wrong move because Hawks tightens his hold onto your plush hips and starts moving you.
“C’mon now, birdie. Wanted to ride me so. ride. me.” he slams you down with each word, tip hitting your cervix every time he bottoms out. You throw your head back at the feeling, back arching to the point where your tits are basically smothering him. Not that he cares though, he just happily groans while licking off the sweat that’s beading down the valley of your breasts.
“You’re—shit—dirty,” is all you can get out while he’s bruising your walls, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that you know will leave behind marks the next day. Luckily your hero suit covers it, because otherwise people would definitely know what happened.
Your thighs are starting to strain, knot in your stomach coiling deeper and deeper until it finally snaps. Body trembling above his, walls constricting around him. “Shit— tryna milk me even when you know you can’t get filled?”
He holds your body against him while he plants his feet on the ground. Pummeling his hips into yours, he chases after his own orgasm. You’re whining out at the overstimulation, hips writhing above him trying to get away from the feeling, only for him to lock his arms around your waist, keeping you still for him.
With a groan he finally cums, rubber preventing you from feeling him fill you up. The only sounds filling the room is the two of you greedily gulping in some air, and his feathers twitching against his back—puffing up slightly with affection before they go down again.
That’s the way the two of you begin this… arrangement of sorts.
Instead of taunting about rankings, the two of you began doing… favors for each other. He ate you out after you shot up the rankings again, and you sucked him off when he was still the number two—above your ranking—the next year.
You can still remember the way he was teasing you about sounding hoarse during patrol. Your throat was constricting around him a mere ten minutes before you had to go out, so there was no time to even look for something to soothe your throat.
And then you had the times where he came over just to take his frustrations out on you, hips pummeling into your ass from behind, grunting about how overworked the two of you were. The Commission still on both your asses, giving you assignment after assignment.
Your ass was red and swollen by the time he was done, puffy cunt absolutely abused while he watched his cum drip out of you only for him to lick it out of there mere seconds later.
Sometimes he came inside of you, other times he pulled out just in time, painting your skin with ropes of white, rubber having been ditched after your third time together. You were whining about not being able to feel him, telling him that you were on the pill so he couldn’t get you pregnant anyway—thank you Commission for doing something good for once.
Which is leads you to today, you’re laid out on a bed. Not the small beds the two of you had in the safehouses, nor the couches backstage somewhere or the rough bricks scratching against your back whenever the two of you find yourselves outside again. No this is Hawks’ bed, massive, just to comfortably fit his wings onto.
He’s pounding into your poor, overstimulated pussy. His hips coming down to grind against you before he pulls back and slams back in. The headboard is hit hit hitting the wall behind you, luckily for the two of you he lives in the penthouse, so there will be no noise complaints.
“Fucking hate them,” he grunts while sweat is beading down his temple, wings spread out behind him in a brilliant, crimson arc. Your fingers are clawing at his biceps while he continues his rant. “No, Hawks, it isn’t enough. Nothing you ever do is enough. We’ll just keep on sending you on missions, because that’s why you’re here. To be a hero means to sacrifice,” he mocks one of the handlers.
It’s not often that he reaches out to you, much less when he actually calls you over. Hell, this has been the first time you were even in his apartment, and you had no time to actually admire the place before he had you pinned to the wall already.
Sinking to his knees he muttered out a, need this. need this pussy to suffocate me. before he all but yanked your shorts and panties down in one, swift movement. His lips immediately latched onto your sensitive nub, making your hand fly to his hair while your head thunked! onto the wall behind you.
“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” you asked him through a moan. While he’s eaten you out before, he was never this desperate to get his hands—or in this case lips—on you. It was always filled with teasing and taunting remarks. But this time he just groaned into your mound like it was the answer to all of his questions. “Seriously, Hawks… what happened?”
You’re pulling on his hair trying to get him to at least acknowledge you, but all it did was make him whimper out into your slit while his wings shuddered behind him. Well guess you found out something new about him.
“Commission was on my ass,” he mumbles through licks, his tongue flitting over your clit while one of his hand is groping your ass like it was his personal stress-ball. “Fuck you taste so sweet.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips starting to grind down onto his face while he plunged his tongue inside of you, wiggling the muscle around into your tight walls. “Want me t-to talk about it?” you breathed out, swinging one leg over his shoulder—careful not to pin his wing to his back—to give him more access to your slit, which he happily takes, pressing his mouth further into your pussy.
“Jus’ need you right now,” he grunted out, continuing to eat you out. It was messy, spit dribbling past the corners of his mouth while the lower part of his face was shiny with your arousal. “Pussy loves me, doesn’t she?”
You couldn’t answer that, too busy trying to focus on your upcoming orgasm to even think of responding to him talking to your pussy like it was alive instead of just an organ. Gripping his hair even tighter you began gyrating your hips down onto his face which he happily let you, groaning out while he angled his face so his nose would nudge your clit with each roll of your hips.
Once you came on his face—thighs trembling, tummy clenching, moans flowing free out of you—he dragged you to the bed where he took no time to slide into you. You’re still not used to the way he stretches you out, despite it having been years since you first began fucking him.
He’d filled you up once already while you’ve cum three times, weeping pussy sensitive to each roll of his hips, and you can feel your stomach starting to tighten once more.
“Haven’t I sacrificed enough already?” He’s still talking, still asking rhetorical questions that you could answer—that you would answer if he wasn’t pounding you into oblivion—but all you can do is moan out at him. “D-did everything for them.”
Nodding your head you run your hand through his hair, trying to soothe him slightly, but you just tighten your grip once he finds that spongy spot inside of you again, bullying it when he realises he’s found your g-spot once again.
“F-fuck, Hawks. Wait. Feels weird,” you’re trying to get him to slow down, to get that weird feeling building up in your lower stomach to go away, only for him to continue babbling about the Commission and how they ruined his life. If you weren’t so busy you’d give your two cents on it, but you can’t. Legs starting to tremble around his waist while your toes curl.
He presses his thumb to your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm crashes into you like a lighting strike. Clear liquid gushing out of you and onto Hawks’ abs, thighs, balls and bedsheets. Your hands tighten in the sheets beside you while you sob out his name. “Fuck, Keigo— Kei. Pleasepleaseplease. Love you— shit.”
That makes him still. Just completely still against you. You don’t notice, though, too busy riding out your orgasm to even see the way his eyes are wide open, mouth agape. The pleasure shooting through you has you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the pillows below you.
“What did you just say?” His voice is so small, unlike his normal, cocky self that you finally open your eyes. Blinking a few times you note the way he’s hunched over you right now, a few feathers suspended in the air while his golden eyes look at you like you’re made of glass. He says your name—not birdie, not dove, not your hero name, just your actual name. The one you haven’t heard in years.
“Say it again,” he breathes out, almost begging you. “Please.”
Gulping you look at those golden eyes you’ve seen your entire life, the ones that always meant that you were safe. The ones you’ve hoped to see beside you every day, but got taken away from you when you were a mere seventeen years old.
“I love you,” you murmur, trying to gauge his reaction. The next second his mouth crashed onto yours, plump lips groaning out after he finally tasted you. It’s been ten years. Ten years since the two of you last kissed. You two hadn’t kissed even once after debuting, despite the two of you having been fuck-buddies for years.
It’s filled with warmth and lust, his tongue clashing against yours while you drink up all of his sounds. The wings on his back unfurl and furl back in, almost as if he has no control over what’s happening to them.
“Love you, love you, love you,” he mumbles out against your lips while slowly starting to trust back inside again. The overstimulation has you keening out, but you just wrap your legs further around his waist while pulling him back in. “Mine, all mine.”
His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours once more. One of his hands gropes your breast while the other squeezes your waist, pulling you down to meet every thrust.
Your body is completely pliant against his, bones feeling like jelly with the way he’s made you cum multiple times already. The last sunrays catch your eyes, and it has him gasping out. You look like an angel beneath him—his angel.
He spills inside you not soon after, a second load filling you up. And you coax him through it, hands running through his hair while his lips latch onto your throat.
You thought he’d be done now, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “Are you still hard?” you whisper, incredulous.
Keigo merely smiles down at you before he pulls out of you, his thick seed immediately bubbling out of you. He gives you no time to even realise what’s going on, picking you up into his arms and setting you down in front of the big window that overlooks the city.
Your body tilts forward, tits pressing against the cool glass while you turn your head to the side to look at the man behind you. “What are you doing?”
“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” he growls before nudging your knees apart and slips back inside. Your mouth falls open when he starts moving again, the cool glass a stark contrast to your overheating body.
The streets below are still busy, and if someone were to look up they would be able to see the number two absolutely railing the number three hero. Your nipples brush against the smooth surface, adding all the more pleasure to your core.
Inner thighs are slick with a mixture of your and his cum, and you can see him in the reflection of the glass. The crimson almost getting swallowed by the burnt-sienna of the sky outside, but his eyes are transfixed on you. He chuckles when he feels you clench down onto him, walls fluttering uselessly around him. “You like the thought of people seeing you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against the shell.
Your hips move back against him, knees weak with the way he knocks you forward with each thrust. Wrapping his arm around you, he lifts you up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground. You gasp out at that—at him using your body like you were merely a doll he could just pick up whenever he wanted.
“Shit— Keigo,” you whine out his name, forehead thumping against the glass, eyes fluttering close when that piercing passes over your sweet-spot with each pass of his hips. Nails leaving angry indents into his forearm.
“I know, dove. I know,” he murmurs against your cheek, he pounds into you from behind like a man possessed. “Let go for me. Show me how much you want me.”
Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth opening in a broken moan that sounds so unlike you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your core, whitening out your vision for what feels like an eternity.
Keigo is not far behind, hips snapping against your ass like a punctuation. “S-shit, trying to milk me for all I’m worth.”
He spills into you for the last time that night. Hips ceasing their ministrations completely, his sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. Letting your head loll back against his shoulder you look at him, tired eyes blinking over his form.
He’s flushed from his face down all the way to his chest. Sweat beads down his body and he’s panting against your neck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes blown out wide.
Moving the two of you back to the bed, he carefully lays you down before walking away, only to return with a washcloth seconds later. He carefully opens your thighs for him and begins to clean you up. You trash slightly at the sensation. “I know, dovey. Will be over soon.”
He throws the washcloth somewhere to the ground, and it lands with a wet schlap! somewhere in the corner of his bedroom—something you’ll probably reprimand him for when you have more energy, but right now you couldn’t care less.
Shuffling into the bed, he pulls you to his chest. One of his wings wraps itself around you—just like old times. It takes you right back to that too-small bed where the two of you would talk into the late hours of the night.
Feathers are twitching against your skin as if trying to kiss your entire body. It makes you relax, body sinking more into his chest while he traces small shapes in your skin.
“That was… a lot,” you mumble out, not quite sure if you should even address it, but you can’t stay silent any longer. The way he said your name, told you he loved you, gave you your old nickname back. It was, quite frankly, a lot. And even if that all didn’t happen, he also made you squirt for the first time. The memory has you flushing bright red.
“Mhmm, nothing I said was untrue, though,” he mumbles out into your hair, pressing his lips feather-soft against the crown of your head. It has you closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.
“Why did you even leave in the first place, Kei?” It’s been bothering you ever since he walked out of that room. The way he was so fidgety, no longer wanting anything to do with you when the two of you only had a few more months before the debut. A few more months and the two of you could’ve just stopped sneaking around.
You can feel him lean back a little, head angled down before his fingers find you chin and nudges your head up so he can look at you. “What are you talking about, dove? You’re the one who told me that we couldn’t be together.”
Furrowing your brows you look at the golden eyes you’ve known your whole life. Shifting slightly—and hissing when you accidentally rub yourself against his thigh—you sit up a little, just enough to look at him.
“No, no. You came into my room telling me it couldn’t work any longer,” you start, eyes darting around his face, confusion settling over you. You can still remember that night vividly, and it was him who broke it off with you. “Said you didn’t have feelings for me and then just… walked out.”
“Now why would I do that when I’ve been in love with you for all of my life?” He asks you, bushy brows furrowed together. There’s a slight crease between them, and you want to rub it away, but you’re still racking your brain.
He continues, voice lower now, more sad, “I came back from that horribly long assignment and you were waiting for me on my bed. At first you were just… quiet. Then you told me that it was a mistake and that it was just the proximity that had made you kiss me.”
You chuckle at that, hollow and sad all at once. “Just the proximity? Keigo I’ve liked you ever since I realised what it meant to have a crush on someone.”
He just purses his lips at that, not moving an inch. The feathers that are still on your back twitch a few times, a shudder going through them that he doesn’t bother to stop.
“Then why would you—” he trails off, golden eyes almost bulging out of his skull with realisation. “The Commission.”
“Wait, what?” You’re confused now. What does the Commission have to do with any of this? It was just you two that knew about everything, the Commission has never even known that you and Keigo even knew each other outside of any assignments.
“Think about it, dove. You’re saying it was me who broke it of, I’m saying it was you—”
“I never broke up with you. God I was so heartbroken.”
“—and neither of us is saying we did that. Hell, we’re both saying we wanted to be together. So what else could it have been? You know how the Commission is, they could get their hands on any quirk user, and I would bet there’s someone who could shapeshift, or something like that.”
You’re still looking at him, mind racing now. You honestly can’t believe neither of you thought about this earlier, but then again the two of you didn’t really talk. Just played stupid games to be close to each other.
“The feather,” you finally breathe out, fingers ghosting over your ribs where he always put the small feather. The one you’ve been missing on your skin for years. “It didn’t float when I threw it back at you. It just… fell to the floor. And ‘you’ picked it up. Picked it up.”
How could you have missed it—that small detail that would tell you something was wrong. Sure he was acting strange, not letting you touch him and just being twitchy in general, but his feathers were the dead giveaway. They never could quite hide everything he wanted to, despite having been trained for years.
How did it never occur to you that he had telepathic feathers and he picked it off the floor rather than just bringing it toward himself.
“You gave that feather back,” he murmurs, his own thumb coming to your ribs. Then a small, sad chuckle falls from his lips. “Even after all the training we’ve had, we still got outsmarted by the suits. Purely because we couldn’t see past our emotions.”
Tears spring to your eyes, because it’s true, isn’t it? You let the emotions get the better of you, throwing out the small feather that could have solved everything. What would’ve happened if you never threw it back at ‘him’ in that fit of anger? Would the two of you still have been best friends? More than best friends? Or would he not have believed you?
“How did they even find out about it?” you whisper. His thumb comes up and wipes away some of the tears that are gathering on your waterline, the action so soft compared to how he used your body mere minutes ago. “We’ve never gotten caught in twelve years.”
“Must’ve been the supply closet,” he answers, pulling you back to lay on his chest. “Maybe they realised that us walking back took longer than needed.”
And how stupid could the two of you have been? Of course they would know how long it takes for the two of you to walk back—especially considering Keigo had left before you and went out of the supply closet after you.
That’s the exact thing the two of you were trained on noticing, patterns and behaviours. Yet it didn’t occur in your minds that they would be using it as well. Didn’t think about much but him at that moment, to be completely honest.
“Can’t believe secret kisses in a supply closet is what has gotten us caught,” you groan out into his chest, the words slightly muffled. And he laughs at that, a small breath through his nose that rattles his chest. “At least you were my first everything.”
“Wait what?” He looks down at you, looks at the way you’re burrowing yourself further into his chest, trying to find his warmth. His wing instinctively tightens around you, feathers whispering against your skin from where they’re puffing up slightly. “You mean to tell me that time on the rooftop was your first time, too?”
You hum slightly, a small, drowsy thing that comes deep from your throat. His words still have to catch up with your brain, but when they finally register your head snaps up. “What do you mean, too?”
“I never fucked anyone beside you,” he says, not even a tremble can be found in his voice. Looking at him for a little while longer, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. He never fucked anyone else?
“Then why do you have a piercing there?” Your leg shifts slightly over him, making him groan out, wing tightening a fraction. He grabs your leg with one hand, halting your movement, because he can already feel blood rush south again—way too sensitive from the multiple rounds the two of you had earlier.
“Got it so I could jerk off faster—why are you laughing, you out of all people should know that we don’t get any time to get any release. Especially with the way the Commission keeps throwing more and more missions at us.”
“It’s just… I thought you had fucked half the population here in Fukuoka City, and here you are telling me you were a virgin and just got a dick piercing to make yourself more sensitive?”
It’s ridiculous, honestly. And everything makes sense—the way he would never respond to your taunts about other girls, just like you wouldn’t respond to any of his taunts since you wouldn’t just tell him he was the one to take your virginity.
“Guess we have a lot of catching up to do, love.” There it is again, that nickname. Not a slip of the tongue as you thought it was ten years ago. He really did call you ‘love’ back then.
Your eyes close against your will, body finally going boneless against him. “Mhmm, but first we should go to sleep.”
“I don’t care what we do as long as I have you beside me,” he murmurs out against your skin, lips brushing your temple—feather-light, almost like it was never there to begin with.
You don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. All you know is that you got the boy you loved back and that this time nothing will come between the two of you.
𝜗𝜚 you’re keigo’s physician, coming over to check on him while he’s in rut
• keigo takami x f!reader
cw ~ rutting!hawks, avian specialist!physician!bird nerd!reader, reader wears glasses (stereotypical nerd? i wear glasses so it’s okay), smut;; handjob, painful erection, ballplay?, feral talk from kei, excessive precum + keigo cums a lot, facial ?, reader gets almost intoxicated off pheromones, so i guess mild dubcon, most likely inaccurate things ab wing anatomy though that parts not focused on.. (am i getting better at this)
wc 4.4k (i genuinely don’t know how that happened)
You breathed deeply before grabbing the keys and unlocking the door—rushing yourself in and swiftly closing it behind you.
“Takami?” you called out. You automatically made the mistake of breathing in too quickly, getting hit hard by the strong musky air that filled this entire house.
The warmth was what bothered you, but you were familiar with this scent. Not with how especially potent it was today—but it wasn’t new. Though you’d been warned about this years ago, and told to get a mask to protect yourself from the damn near drugs this man produced. You’ve been fine, though. How bad could things get? You’d get a little dizzy after too long, but you could deal.
You walked toward the coffee table, putting down your bag and looked over to the hallway to see your giant, shirtless patient.
“Ah. Trying to scare me?” You grinned at him as he stared at you blankly, before taking heavy steps to sit on the couch.
“Not even gonna smile for me?” You fake pouted. “Is it that bad?”
He looked at you, eyes piercing through yours, before sighing. “Y’don’t even know.” he rasped.
“Actually, I do, very much. And why are all the windows shut? You know I told you the fresh air is good.”
“The city smells like shit.”
“If any normal civilian walked in here, they’d tell you this house smells like shit.”
“Smells like me.” he huffed the correction.
“It smells like sex.” You giggled, slipping off your white jacket and walking over to hang it. “Come on. Let me open one window. You know this isn’t very good for me either.”
“…You’re bothered?” he muttered, lifting his head.
“Oh, no. It just makes me sort of drowsy. Y’know, your pheromones are meant to be attracting another… half-human… half-bird… partner. I’m just me. You’re suffocating, almost.”
He looked at you for a long while, before sending a large feather to open a window behind him. You scowled at his wings as they spread, the state of them a horrible sight. “You’re a mess,” you groaned, quickly walking up to him and taking a closer look. “Ugh. My babies...”
You saw his head flick in your direction, most likely glaring.
“Don’t look at me like that.” you murmured. “Yeah. I’ll be here for a while. You’re wrecked.” You turned back to the table, searching through your bag and grabbing the thermometer and flashlight.
You put the thermometer in his mouth and grabbed his face as you shined the light in his dark eyes. “Pupils heavily dilated…” you looked down at the thermometer. 41°C. Which would take a human to the emergency room, but it’s around average for him during a rut. Still, very hot. You could see the glow on his skin from how he’d been sweating.
You took the tools back, taking out your notebook to write the information down, leaving it open on the table. “Can you stand up? Stretch them out for me?” you asked sweetly, your hands folded at your front.
He gave you another silent stare before he got up. He seemed to have grown about three inches taller again. He groaned, before obeying. His wings, as usual—despite being a mess, were still beautiful. Large enough to fill this whole living room, if he stretched properly. But he’s tense—he’s sensitive.
“Does it hurt?” you asked, getting closer and looking at the feathers closest to his back from the front.
“Aches.” he said.
“Yeah, cause you love cramping them to your back all the damn time,” you murmured, receiving a mean glare from him as a response. You looked at his bare chest, getting closer as you saw how defined his muscles had become. His entire body shifted during this time of year, trying to give him all the strength he’d need to bury himself in someone and breed them, of course, without a single chance for them not to be full of his seed.
That’s… vulgar, but unavoidably true. You’ve dealt with him like this for so long that nothing is embarrassing, or shocking. You really take everything scientifically now, knowing you’re here to care for him, and track his behaviors. Nothing more.
So, of course, as you told him to breathe deeply while you listened to his heartbeat, you couldn’t help looking down at the huge print in his sweatpants. You could see the entire outline of his cock, especially his swollen tip—that you were actually shocked to see wasn’t leaking as it usually would be. You noticed his growth down there, too. Just a bit longer, a lot thicker.
Again, some things you can’t ignore, you’ve grown to see as normal. That’s just something else to write down.
“Your heartbeat is… uneven. Irregular,” you mumbled, looking up at him expecting an answer. His heartbeat usually keeps a quickened, but constant pace when he’s like this.
He shook his head, putting it down toward you but keeping his eyes closed. “You…” he breathed.
“Me?”
“…Just… smell good..” he finished, followed by another heavy breath and a twitch from his wings.
You raised your brows, chuckling as you put the stethoscope away. “Impressive, that you can smell anything through your aroma in here.”
He lazily hummed in response, eyes opening quickly as he suddenly felt your hand on his chest.
“Sit down, and turn a little so I can see your back.” you said, turning and grabbing a small bottle of oil. He did so in silence.
You sat next to him, or… behind him, sort of—looking over his wings. Like his chest, his back muscles had gotten more defined as it had to adjust to the new weight of his wings.
“Have you been eating well?” you asked as you popped the bottle open.
He simply grunts in response as he shrugs his shoulders.
“Come on, what does that mean?” you groaned. Rut must be especially bad this time. “Have you eaten today?”
“No.”
“Takami.” you paused, as if he could see the expression on your face. “You have to eat after this. You’re so frustrating—your body has gained… like, fifteen pounds of pure muscle and you’re not bothering to eat? Then you get all groggy.” He stayed silent as you ranted to him about his own health.
You huffed before pouring a generous amount of oil into your hand, and balancing the bottle on your thigh, as you reached for the base of his wings. Old feathers were tangled between the growth of his new ones, his pin feathers especially matted back here.
As soon as the moisture touched him, he flinched—posture fixing from the cool sensation. He’d relax though, as you slowly worked through his feathers.
Shlick. The familiar sound filled the room as you massaged the oil into his rough coverts. You hummed, this process being so familiar it was comforting at this point.
As you’d reach his primaries on his right wing, he’d occasionally grunt or hum. Which was nice to hear, him getting more comfortable. Keigo deals with a lot when he’s like this, and of course this isn’t something that heals him—but it is a relief. Quite literally a weight lifted off his shoulders, which feels good to do for him.
You collected the old feathers you plucked out, placing them on the coffee table to later put away for inspection. You took the oil again, coating your hands and reaching the end of his left wing. Shlick as you firmly dragged the serum down a long feather. Inspecting it closer, you caught a crumbled old feather that was stuck just underneath. You let him go, reaching for the tweezers again.
Though, you realized that as you stopped touching his wings… that sound didn’t stop.
Shlick… Shlick… Shlick.
Each interval taking a few seconds before it came back again, just as loud—even wetter as it continued.
You almost thought you were going insane, that your hands were still moving on him or something—you literally looked at your arms to make sure—then looked down to see the muscle in Keigo’s shoulder blade moving. It was slight at first, and then got more apparent, along with his elbow slightly trembling as well.
You then remembered the way he was grunting and breathing earlier—you thought it was from the massage. You looked over his wings, and saw him enjoying a…different massage.
The waistband of his pants stretched down a bit, and his hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock—as he stroked himself with a hard grip. Every stroke up had a bead of pre-cum forming at his tip, and dripping down with his hand. His dick almost had a red tint to it with how swollen he was. It looked like it hurt.
“T…Takami…” you spoke softly after sitting back.
He didn’t stop, or slow down—you didn’t even catch a twitch in his feathers.
You weren’t… uncomfortable. Not really, honestly the main thing going through your mind now was the fact that you underestimated how he was doing today.
You have seen his cock before. A few times, the ache would get bad for him and you’d have to check and make sure it was just his hyper-arousal rather than something concerning. You’ve also caught him pleasuring himself before. The first time, it was enough to shake your professional persona, but it was easy to get over.
Keigo doesn’t get anything to really… deal with himself. He feels it’s a little odd to have women coming to deal with him when he’s like this—not only is it an weird feeling for the feral side of his mind, fucking someone who wasn’t his mate—but it just… wouldn’t… work.
Keigo’s uncontrollable during this time. He needs a partner. A mate. Someone he can call his woman, outside of his rut and as it happens. Someone he can have those long conversations with about how he’s going to need the help. How he’s going to need to fuck, and breed, and keep doing it until he the burning under his skin fades away—which will take longer than anyone expects.
That conversation about how it’ll be exhausting, how he could scare them—how he could hurt them—all of that.
You got that conversation too before you started working as his physician, and sure it… concerned you a little, but then after meeting him any worry about how he’d be during that time faded. You weren’t even nervous when you walked in during his first rut with you—also the first day where he really didn’t seem like himself—his body completely changed, bigger and tougher and really looking like a predator.
It’s because that bird-brained half of him had gotten comfortable with you. That side of him assigned you as someone who cares for him, makes him feel better, makes him fly better. You’re sweet and you’re understanding and you take your time with him. So, he could hardly get scary with you. He knew better, both sides of him.
You wouldn’t know it, maybe not even he did, but some part of him put that ‘mate’ title onto you.
With how you treated him so well, and the fact that you were the only person he saw during rut—he almost had no other choice. His mind needed something to cling to, and that became you.
Again, unbeknownst to you, you’d also make his ruts worse. He was seeing his mate almost every day and he couldn’t take her? Claim her? It was torture, just as it is now.
So, you’re here, sitting behind him as he’s desperately touching himself. What makes it different this time is that he’s doing it now, while you’re here. He’s doing this, and he knows you’re here, and he knows you know and he’s not stopping.
As mentioned before, you’ve seen him get boners while you worked. You’ve heard him say some feral lewd things to you and kept it pushing. You’ve walked in his home, hearing him loudly deal with himself in another room—but all those times there felt like there was a sort of barrier that didn’t make things weird.
There’s literally no barrier here. You hardly even knew what to say—what to do. Walk out? Well, that would make him instinctively try to chase you.
“Takami…” you spoke a little louder as you got up slowly. He still didn’t react. As you moved the bottle of oil onto the coffee table though, his wings twitched as he moved and sat back on the couch, now completely exposed to you and seemingly not caring as he kept stroking himself.
Now, you couldn’t look away from his cock as it faced you. Swollen wouldn’t cut it. He was completely engorged, a vein that went down from his tip pulsing with each strong pump. Strong wouldn’t cut it either, and your eyes widened as you saw the muscles in his arm deepen every time he went back down—just choking the thick base of his dick. You breathed deeply before you spoke again.
“K… Keigo…” you murmured, his name almost unfamiliar on your tongue. “I… I’m gonna be honest, I don’t… I—I feel like…” the words wouldn’t come to you. Every option of a sentence felt wrong.
He actually moaned then, and you watched his muscles tensed as he gripped himself impossibly harder, almost squeezing the precum out of him as it trickled down his inches.
“Hurts,” he grumbled, opening his eyes to look at you for a second before throwing his head back onto the couch. “Fucking hurts.”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “I know…”
The room went silent and felt hot, you started to wonder if his pheromones were getting to you now. All you could hear was both of your heavy breaths along with him stroking the sloppy mess of his shaft. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed, every now and then gritting his teeth.
You swallowed, trying to do what you came to do. You’re meant to care for him.
“I… uhm, I have some suppressants here, Keigo, if it’s this bad for you. It could help with the… swelling—”
“No,” he rasped. “No drugs.”
“It’ll help you,” you argued, taking a small step toward him. “You’re… holding yourself too hard, you can hurt yourself like that, I’ll get—”
“Won’t work.” he cut you off, gripping his dick again as if just to concern you more. As he dragged his hand down to the base, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at you. “Need to breed.”
“…I know you do. You’re in pain. I can help it, I can make you feel better,” you insisted, feeling bad for sort of… lying to him. You knew those suppressants stopped working for him years ago. When he was a teen, they used to completely block out ruts. Eventually, they just turned into numbing pills for him, which kept the burning and the animalistic thoughts, and just made it impossible for him to get any relief. They also put him to sleep, which… sure, that’s something, until he wakes up.
He still didn’t respond to you. His hips twitched into his hands, and he started to groan more—and louder.
But then, he slowed down a bit, lazily lifting his head and staring at you. His gaze was intimidating, intentionally like he wanted to scare you. Well, he didn’t—as you were used to this—but he was trying.
“Make… make me feel better?” he asked roughly, repeating your words to him.
“Yes,” you said softly, thinking you were getting to him. “I’m here to do that, Takami. You can trust me.”
He seemed to try to keep his eyes on you, but they rolled back as he stroked himself again. Another moment of silence as he tended to his ache, before his gaze snapped back to yours.
“Then… do it,” he breathed. “Come. Touch me. Help me.” his voice cracked near the end, and you heard a small whine as his face contorted while his tip kept self lubricating.
You completely froze, breath hitching. Not knowing what to do at all. You did literally just say you would help him. And the way he’s doing it to himself is damn near scary.
But… What? A handjob?
You watched him as you couldn’t speak. Your patient, completely at the mercy of his biology. Your patient who got like this so many times around you, completely feral and desperate, and never crossing a line—and now he’s whining for it.
What line would this truly cross, though? You take care of him. You assist him with his issues that come with being half bird, and… this technically counts as one of them. You’re the only person in the world who sees him when he’s like this—who helps him.
You weren’t going to just let him suffer with this, not when he directly asked you.
You took a slow breath, adjusting your glasses with a steady hand. “…Okay..” you spoke softly.
You took a few steps, standing between his legs before kneeling down in front of him. Your hands were still greasy from the oil, but it wasn’t like it would do him any bad. He’s also already soaked in his own slick.
One of your hands finally wrapped around his cock, stretching your fingers wider than you expected. It was almost like he didn’t even feel your hands—he only reacted when he saw you touching him—his wings flinching closer to his back before he had to force them to relax again. His eyes were locked on yours.
He hesitated, before letting himself go and resting his hands on his thighs. You took your other hand, stacking it above the other.
“Grip… grip it tighter,” he rasped. You listened, looking up at him for approval but then he shut his eyes hard. “Tighter than that.”
He’d tell you this about two more times until you huffed against his length. “I’m.. going to hurt you...” you mumbled.
He opened his eyes, brows furrowing in frustration as he put his hand over yours and showed you exactly how he needed you to hold him. Just as you said, his hand hurt against yours and you couldn’t imagine that pressure on him feeling good—but, nonetheless…You held him that same way, getting a deep groan in response as his legs spread wider.
Your hands hesitated before they started moving up and down his length. Both following each other, before you started twisting them around him rhythmically.
He moaned, hips bucking into you and individual feathers twitching off his wings.
“Stop,” he suddenly grumbled, and you hovered before stopping. He sort of nodded his head as a signal for you to move, so you took your hands off of him.
A whine came from deep in his chest by the loss of contact. He grabs his waistband, tugging it down his legs, his lower half now bare. Your eyes automatically snapped toward his balls. Just as swollen as his cock, tightened up close and twitching as he grunted for you to continue.
You breathed, getting closer as your hands held him. You started stroking him, before his hand shot over both of yours again and crushed them under his grip. Again, completely unbelievable how this felt good to him, but you listened. You got a whimper in response, the muscles in his thighs shuddering.
You were sort of grateful by how empty your mind was right now. His pheromones were definitely doing something. Is this what the effect was supposed to be? Make someone’s mind blank, just willing to do whatever he needs them to? Fascinating.
Your eyes kept flicking toward the tight, swelling base of his length. It almost bothered you from your clinical view, how tight his balls were and the way they lightly pulsed with each stroke.
You didn’t want to speak, the words would have been awkward coming out of your mouth. Oh, can I touch your balls? You simply let your bottom hand drift every now and then, letting his pre just slightly get lower and lower to lubricate all of him, while you watched his reactions.
Then, you’d let your hand linger, your thumb rubbing against the skin between them before sliding back up. After a few more times, you fully moved your hand down, cupping them gently. They were hot and heavy, and you tried to stable your shaking fingers as you put just a little pressure on them.
“Ohhh, oh my god…” he moaned, his hips jerking up into you.
You almost smiled, so satisfied that he was feeling good. Your thumb and the pads of your fingers slowly kneaded into his throbbing sack. You found a rhythm, stroking him firmly and tending to his balls.
“Hurts… fucking hurts so b—aaad.” his words were slurred between whines, his hands gripping to the couch. You held him impossibly tighter, making him sob out a moan that had your hands hesitating against him. He sounded like he was in excruciating pain, honestly. “Keep… keep goin’… shit, hands feel s’fucking good…”
He placed his hand on top of yours again, this time thankfully not crushing your fingers under his. “Fuck… fuck, spit on me.”
“W—What?” you spoke quickly, hands stuttering against him again.
“Spit on it. Need your spit.” his gaze pierced into yours.
You frowned, looking away to think...
Well, actually…
If he needed it…
You lapped your tongue across the roof of your mouth, gathering spit and letting it dribble from your lips onto his tip.
“Oh my god, I need your cunt,” he whined.
“…Takami…” you muttered, your voice barely even coming out. You dragged your spit over his dick, watching him twitch as you did.
“Need to st—streetchh, mmmgh, stretch you out and… and use that cunt…”
“Not me,” you corrected quietly. “You don’t wanna do that to me.”
“I do, I fucking do—I need you,” he cried, now squirming under your touch. From the way his balls kept twitching in your palm, you could tell he was close. “Can’t… can’t cum if it’s not in your pussy. Wasting my seed in those fucking hands…”
You watched as his whole bottom half was literally tensing up from the way he was holding back his orgasm. He was very serious.
I mean, this goes back to the severe lack of relief he gets during his ruts. He jerks off when it gets bad, but that feral side of his mind very much hates wasting his sperm on anything but someone’s cunt.
“Waste?” you repeated quietly, making sure to keep that heavy pressure on his length, and your fingers massaging his balls. “Keigo… it’s… it’s not a waste.”
He could only groan deeply in response, the muscles in his thighs twitching. You knew the words he wanted to hear, and the words he needed to hear.
“You’re… using me right now,” you looked at him as you spoke, your glasses fogging with how you’d started panting (along with how you’ve been sweating for a while now.) “Using my hands. They’re… making you feel good… y-you’re… claiming them.” you gave him a firm squeeze at the base of his cock.
“Aaah, shit, making those hands all mine… gonna fucking paint them,” he whimpered. You knew those words would do him good. That’s exactly what he needs now. He wants to fill someone up, and claim them as his. Mark them—mark his territory.
“P—…Paint me then,” your wet hands sped up into a frantic pace over his length. “Paint my skin and cum for me.”
He couldn’t hold back for another second. His hips gave an uncontrollable, violent buck into your palms—his wings stretching out behind him, as his tip shot his cum everywhere. The second rope hit directly onto your glasses lens, you could almost hear the heavy splat against your face.
The strong scent hit you even harder than that, almost like honey right from the comb. A wave of bittersweet, animal musk instantly coated the back of your throat. It was like you could taste it on your tongue.
Oh, wait. That’s because you were.
Fuck, when it hit your glasses you gasped and opened your mouth in shock just as more splurted out of him again. A thick, extremely warm jet shot straight past your lips, hitting the roof of your mouth. With a gooey texture, and a deep pheromone sweetness that you could feel go straight to your brain. It was almost hard to swallow. Because of course you swallowed.
The whole scene was extremely sloppy, and messy. Your hands hovered over your glasses as you heard him moan and completely empty himself in front of you.
When it got quiet, you slipped your glasses off of your face, looking at him.
A mess, as expected. His own seed was splattered over his chest and the couch, and your hands, and your glasses—and just a sliver remained on your top lip. Without thinking, you licked it off. Then you met his eyes.
Low lidded, until he looked toward your glasses, and your nervous face. He groaned long, his hand suddenly sliding down his torso, shuddering—and you watched as his limp cock lifted back to its hardened state. The same as it was when he first started touching himself. Possibly harder, actually.
“Haah…” you let out a breath, surprised by how quickly that happened. You knew he could get boners back quickly, but… hardly even fifteen seconds had passed.
He simply looked in your eyes as you watched his flesh engorge, his veins fat and pulsing down the shaft again.
Your hand rested on your own chest, feeling your slowing heartbeat. Your lids were low, and now without the distraction of trying to make him finish, you realized just how out of it you were.
Realizing how hot this room was, the way you were covered in sweat. More importantly, realizing the aching pulse you felt between your legs.
It was intense, and you could only sit back and try to process what the fuck just happened. What was happening.
Your hand went over your mouth, trying to cover the way you were panting. You couldn’t control the whimper that came after that.
Keigo suddenly growled, making your eyes snap to him. He was taking slow, deep breaths and staring at you with big eyes.
“Mmmh… You smell so fucking sweet,” he grumbled. “Need to claim that wet cunt.”
Your thighs clenched together hard, the sudden friction only making it impossible to ignore the throbbing in your pussy. You were completely vulnerable to him now.
Well, you’re the one who decided to help him in the first place.
You’re the only one who can, so…
You should probably do your job.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. i’m sort of obsessed with this concept… might write more with it… anyway thankyou for reading! all interactions are so very much appreciated :)) also, happy happy pride month!! 🤍🪽
pushing katsuki away after you cum despite wanting nothing more than to have him smother you with his insane body but you’re too hot to have this million degree skin touching you. it’s the middle of summer, your body temp already running way to high for your comfort and now youre hot and sweaty and sticky and your heart is jumping out of your chest and you cant handle the heat rippling from him.
“kats…you…” you pushing him away, swatting at his massive shoulders but it does nothing. “away. too hot.”
you’re not making sense but it’s because your head is still spinning and blood is rushing in your ears.
“why are you pushing me-hey!”
“too hot. i’m- suki move.” with two hands you shove weakly against his chest and despite not having the strength to move him, he follows your shove and rolls onto his back beside you. “too hot. i feel hot.”
nonsense spills from you mouth as you breath deeply, gulping down cold fresh air (it’s hot air but it’s not straight from the lungs of your boyfriend air and that’s exactly what your body needs) vision that had been darkening begins to clear, your head swirling less dramatically.
the mattress shifts beneath you and the next thing you feel is a cold towel pressed against your cheeks. the relief is instantaneous, a sigh punching from your lungs as you feel another cold rag on your bare chest. soaking cotton is dragged over your stomach, down your thighs and over your calves before it is brought back up to your chest.
“better?” katsuki mumbles from beside you, his large hands wiping your searing skin cool with each pass of the towel.
your response is a pleased hum, lazy smile blooming.
your boyfriend continues to swipe cold lines over your heated skin, cleaning up the mess between you thighs in the process.
“need water?”
“mm-hmm.”
“snack?”
“mm-mm”
a water bottle is pressed to your lips. “drink.”
your eyes flutter open to see katsuki above you, red eyes half lidded in contentment. lips wrap around the straw, sucking down ice cold water to soothe the inner fire racing through your veins. he waits until youre done then takes a drink after you.
“almost made me pass out.” you mumble, fingers reaching out to trace random patterns across his muscled thigh.
“from heat or sex?”
“sex.” you dig your fingers into scarred flesh. “then heat but that was cause of the great sex.”
a/n: idk how to end this. the writers block is so real rn
Imagine being Bakugo’s S/O in the final battle and you’re both killed at the same time, lying together. It’s a horrific sight, even more disturbing when your broken bodies are still holding hands, like you two knew what would happen and wanted to stay together.
When Edgeshot realises he can bring you back to life, he also realises he can only do so for one.
Bakugo’s more powerful than you. Everyone knows it. And yet they still hesitate, because they also know Bakugo adores you. If you don’t come back, then there’s a chance his heart could give out from sheer grief alone.
But it’s a chance they have to take. Best Jeanist tries to move your body so Bakugo won’t see it and it can’t be Decayed, all the while mourning you. You’re still warm, your hand still reaching out for Bakugo. Most heroes are too busy to experience love, and some of them don’t even know what a true love feels like. Best Jeanist thinks you and Bakugo have taught him what it is from the day you two came into his hero agency. He recalls the Sports Festival commentary, telling everyone about how the pair of you were always side by side ever since Bakugo asked you out at age 10, on the same day your elementary class learnt about what girlfriends and boyfriends were.
Seven years is what you and Bakugo had together. That’s more than what most adult relationships have, and yet it’s too little for the pair of you.
Best Jeanist turns one last time so you can see Bakugo’s body one last time. So Bakugo can see you too, in a way. So you can see his heart only beat for you. Jeanist only hopes it can continue beating now yours has stopped.
Bakugo wakes up in the hospital after everything. Now the fight response isn’t activated, he can focus on you. But you’re not in the room. Shit, you must’ve been hurt more than he thought.
Mitsuki gasps as he wakes up. So his parents are here.
“Hag,” he gets out, “which room is Y/N in?” He moves to sit up despite the way his father pleads for him not to yet. Bakugo doesn’t give a shit. He’ll crawl to your room by his fingertips if he has to.
“Katsuki,” his mother begins. Bakugo stares at her and that’s when Mitsuki breaks, crying for you. Crying for the girl she’d always assumed to be her daughter in law one day.
Something cold runs through Bakugo. “Where’s Y/N? Is it bad? Is… is she in a coma?”
Masaru puts his hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “They tried everything they could. She was gone almost immediately. You nearly went with her.” Nearly. Bakugo had stayed. You’d left. That didn’t make sense. You two never went anywhere without each other. Why would he stay?
The heart monitor starts beeping at an alarming rate as he starts to work out what happened. Shigaraki had lunged for him. You’d moved in seconds after he’d been hit, exposing yourself too.
“No,” he says. “No. Fucking funny joke.” He looks at Mitsuki. “Hag, where is she? Hag. Mom.”
Mitsuki shakes her head. “She didn’t make it, Katsuki. Like Masaru said, they tried everything.”
No. No, they didn’t. If he’d come back, why couldn’t you? You wanted to be a hero too. You had plans - the two of you had plans. You were already thinking of your future together, and charted a rota for who’d be doing hero work on each day of the week after you two had children.
“No!” Bakugo yells despite the pain it causes. “No. She’s got you two in on it. She’s gonna walk through the door in a minute, and prove you two wrong. She’s… She’s gonna… She’s…”
His mother never cries for anyone outside the family. She’d accepted you as her daughter years ago. Now Mitsuki is sobbing, wrapping her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, baby. She tried so hard. But you held her. She wasn’t scared because she had you.” She doesn’t know that. Who’s to say you weren’t terrified out of your mind? Or even worse: you felt safe until Bakugo was brought back and ripped away from you. Now you’re somewhere he can’t follow you.
Bakugo’s body feels numb as his parents try to comfort him. He can hear his heartbeat. A heart that shouldn’t be beating. It should be yours that he can hear. His mind flashes to the times you snuck into each other’s dorms, times so often that Aizawa had to have known and just given up on separating you, and the way you’d hold each other if you had nightmares. He can hear your heartbeat even now. It’s clearer to him than his own.
Only now it’s stopped forever.
Izuku wonders if Bakugo did stay dead in a way. At least, a small part of him died when you did. To the onlooker’s eye, he’s still the same, but Izuku grew up with the two of you. He knows that you two had that epic love only reserved for stories.
It’s only a story now anyway.
It’s been eight years since you left. He and Bakugo visit each anniversary of your death day, but he knows Bakugo goes most days. After a tiring patrol when he needs someone to talk to, and on a weekend he has free, or just whenever he thinks you need him. His parents visit you too. Mitsuki called Izuku asking for help after she found Bakugo sat in the rain at your grave, unwilling to move. Because even though he hated the rain, you always made him dance with you in it.
Everyone from 1A is starting to settle down now. At each wedding, there’s an empty seat for you. Bakugo always sits next to it, a wedding band on his finger. He was going to ask you anyway. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if you two had the ceremony planned out already.
Bakugo won’t move on, and Izuku knows it. His only love is his hero work, because you wouldn’t want him to wallow in pity for you.
Izuku does he think he sees you in the same way he sees Shigaraki. You’re always at Bakugo’s side. A ghost on the edge of things, not quite tangible and more like a distant daydream of summer and warmth and all things wonderful. But then, as all wonderful things must do, you’re gone again.
Izuku doesn’t think you’ve left entirely though. In the same way a piece of Bakugo stayed with you in the afterlife, a part of you stayed here with him. After all, you two proved it with your shared deaths: you two wanted to stay together.
you were way too drunk, you realized it too late as you stumbled into somebody at some random house party. they caught you by the waist before you could fall. your vision was hazy, your eyes were glassy, but even through your bottle-induced haze, you saw those piercing red eyes staring back at you.
“...you’re pretty.” you muttered stupidly, allowing this familiar stranger to help you slump onto the couch. you couldn’t tell if they were drunk too, or if your compliment had gotten to them, but his face had an undeniable blush spread across it.. “..thanks. you’re drunk.” his voice was gruff, yet soothing. you would hear it all day. you wanted to.
“oh really? i couldn’t tell.”
he let out a scoff at that, seemingly annoyed with you. but he didn't move from his position next to you.
“.. he does this a lot too.” there was a pause after you said that, as if the stranger was contemplating on whether or not to ask further. he brushed a hand through his unruly blonde hair, “who’s he?”
“my ex. he acted juuust like you.” you booped his nose as if for emphasis. “he’d act all tough, but he didn’t leave me. well, i guess he did leave, but that's besides the point.”
you didn’t see anyone next to you for a brief moment, making you think you hallucinated the whole thing, before a bottle of water was abruptly shoved in your face. “drink.”
he slid next to you again like it was natural, his hand moved to go around you by instinct, before he retracted it, you grabbed onto his arm. “..please.”
as if on cue he cradled you to his chest, taking the opportunity to press his head against the top of yours. “you feel like him too.” you mumbled, “sweaty hands and everything.”
he didn’t laugh, but you felt his smile against your head.
it was comforting, the best you’d felt in the months following your break up. you felt the drowsiness overcoming you, prompting you to move your head closer to his chest and lay against his heart. it felt like the same heart that served as your lullaby for years.
“..i hope he misses me.” your eyes were closed, that familiar feeling of comfort and space welcoming you, though the last words that echo through your mind and fuel your dreams sound just like katsuki’s.
