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s6lars · 3 months

Text

dress.

a harmless prank leaves jamal acting unexpectedly and you're determind to find out why — even if it forces you to get dangerously close. (wc: 7.5k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jm42 x reader, ft. mathys tel

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut — mdni! with a good chunk of plot, jealous brother’s bsf jamal.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering + more

𝐀/𝐍. requested here, thank you for waiting patiently anon !! this is also my first time writing in months, i'm so terribly sorry that i'm rusty and it might not be my greatest work. but i hope you enjoy ! (also this is not proofread lol)

“Fuck!” you groan, examining the plastic bag in your hands.

“What? What’s wrong?” You chew on on your bottom lip, setting the bag on your thighs where you kneeled on the floor. You pick up your phone, flipping the camera so your friend could see on Facetime.

“They sent me the wrong one.”

Nothing destresses you quite as much as online shopping, and with your finals finished a few days ago, you’d gone crazy on the internet — fitting as much as your cart would allow it. The stack of boxes in your room began to pile as the orders came in one by one, and once they all did, you treated yourself to your own version of Christmas.

“Which one did you get originally?” your friend, Andrea, asks. You’ve been giving her an unboxing of everything you’d bought for yourself, opening packages on your bedroom floor with your speaker blasting Drake in the back.

“I ordered this in green, they gave it to me in black.”

“Oh. Well, at least it’s the same dress right?” Andrea takes a bite out of the donut she’s eating. “I still think it looks nice.” “Yeah, me too. But I already have, like, 3 other black dresses,” you sigh.

“I think you should still try it on.” “You think?” “Yeah, why not? It’s just in a different color anyway.” Andrea’s right. You’re not really in the mood to go through the hassle of online returns and back-and-forth conversations with the seller.

You leave your phone on your bedroom floor to get changed off-camera, standing in front of your mirror. The dress feels promising as you pull it out of the bag — it’s strapless, jet black in color with a few cutouts on the side joined by metal rings, exposing your sides. It feels smooth as you slide it on, the stretchy material hugging your curves and the hem stopping on your mid thighs.

“So…” You pick up your phone, showing the dress off to Andrea. “How does it look?”

Andrea gasps in awe, making you giggle at her reaction. “Oh my god, I think I’m liking this one the most so far,” she raves, and you look to the pile of the other dresses you’d bought on your floor.

You adjust the dress, smoothing it out, pulling the hem lower. The dress is gorgeous, hugging you in all the right places. You check yourself out in the mirror, feeling more confident the longer you have it on.

“This is so nice, actually. Who even cares about the color anymore, I’m obsessed,” you gush.

“Mhm. And you can wear it with that purse you bought, and with the gold jewelry as well,” Andrea suggests, and you hum in agreement. As she’s talking, you reach for your water bottle on your nightstand, disappointed when you realize it’s empty. “Hey, I’m gonna fill up my water, give me a sec,” you state, muting yourself and tossing your phone on your bed.

You waltz in the kitchen, bringing your speaker with you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re home alone. You incoherently hum along to SZA, waiting for your bottle to be filled — and a loud noise erupts from behind where you stood.

“BOO!”

You shriek, body jolting forward, causing some of the water to spill on your dress and your speaker to almost fall loose from your grip.

“What the fu— Oh my god, J.” You’re met with familiar brown eyes as you turned around, seeing Jamal with his hands flat on the kitchen island where he’d slammed them. He giggles at your annoyance.

To most, Jamal is Bayern’s starboy, a young player dazzling in the world of football. To you, he’s your brother’s best friend, and someone who shows up unannounced to your house a lot. Your older brother Noah works in the industry as an agent, and the two of them met many years ago as teenagers. Now, they’re close as ever — so close, that Noah trusts him enough to give him a spare keycard to your shared apartment.

You met Jamal not long after they hit it off, and you can safely say you’ve also become friends with him now.

Just friends. That’s all you’ll ever be.

Like Noah has stressed multiple times before.

You grab a towel, dabbing the wet spot on your dress. “What do you want, J?”

“Is Noah home?” “No. He went to the gym,” you respond, groaning, making sure your dissatisfaction is heard loud and clear. Once you do, you turn off the obnoxiously loud speaker that prevented you from hearing his entrance.

“Without me?”

“Yeah, he needed the time alone, clearly,” you snap back, circling around the kitchen island to face him. As you do, Jamal’s eyes trail down your body, your dress now revealed, his face twisting in a mix of confusion and awe.

“Bit early for a night out, no?” He says, clearly referencing to your dress. He’d be right, it’s only the early evening.

You look down at your dress before meeting his eyes again, seeing him shift uncomfortably. “Who said this was for a night out?”

He cocks his head to the side. “It’s not?”

The devil on your shoulder is telling you to get back at him for almost ruining your dress and breaking your speaker. If he can show up unannounced, why can’t you lie and pull a few strings? “No… it’s for a date.”

You lie straight through your teeth, making up a story as you go. Jamal’s jaw falls slack, like he’s about to say something, but then it closes before he does.

“A… date?” He heard you the first time. He just wants to know if you’re being serious.

And you keep pretending that you are. “Yeah, a date. Why’s that so shocking?” You fold your arms, leaning against the kitchen island.

Jamal pauses. “With who?” While you’re biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from laughing, he’s having none of it. His eyebrows are furrowed, his jaw tense as he questions you.

“With this guy from uni. He’s just so sweet,” you sigh dreamily for dramatic effect, dragging the gimmick as long as you could. “We’ve been talking for a while and now he wants to get serious.” “Serious?”

“...Yeah. I really think we could be a thing.” Your face falters at Jamal’s deadpan response. You’re only joking with him, but even if you weren’t, why is the mention of a date getting him like this?

You succesfully pulled his strings— but you don’t know if you should be happy or not. Jamal looks at you, almost in offense, and you can practically see the steam coming off of his ears. You’ve known him for a while, and yet this is the first you’ve seen of him like this.

“Tell Noah I’m not hanging out today.” Jamal storms out the kitchen, your mouth falling agape at his reaction. You trail behind him, worried that you took it too far.

“What? No, Jamal wait—” He doesn’t spare a single glance as he marches out the door, slamming it in your face, sending the hinges rattling. You’re frozen in your spot, unable to move or even process what just happened for a few moments before you’re dragging yourself back to your room, still slightly shaken.

You grab your phone and unmute yourself, still seeing Andrea on the line.

“Hey.”

“Hey, what took you so long?” She notices the startled look in your eyes, sitting up in her bed.

“Sorry. Jamal … came over earlier. It was weird,” you say, slumping against your headboard.

“Weird? Isn’t he your friend? Or a friend of your brother?”

“Yeah, but… well, I—” you exhale, taking the time to string your words properly. “I was joking around, but then he got really upset and stormed out,” you explain.

“What the hell?” “I know. I’ve never seen him that pissed off. Not because of me at least.”

“That’s so weird. All over a joke?” “Yeah.” “What a prick,” Andrea sneers.

“No, don’t say that.” You’re not sure why, but you don’t really want to tell Andrea that the joke in question involved you lying about going on a date. “Hey, I gotta go. Bye.”

You abruptly end the call carelessly tossing your phone aside. Now that you’re alone, you stare at the ceiling, finally having the time to process the interaction. The mood has shifted now. An inkling creeps into your thoughts as to why Jamal got so defensive, but you shrug it off, terrified of its consequences, terrified it would manifest.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble to yourself. But is it? You’re tossing and turning in bed because something is telling you that it’s not just nothing, and you have to find out for yourself.

You have to talk to Jamal.

“You’re up early.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn around to see Noah splayed on the living room couch, working on his laptop.

You take a sip from your mug, setting it down on the coffee table before replying. “And you’re home for once.”

Noah gets exceptionally busy during the transfer window. You’ve been getting used to spending weeks home alone, or only catching him in the early mornings or coming in late at night, but almost never when the sun was out. Part of you thinks it’s not just work that’s been holding up, though.

“You know how busy I get in January,” Noah says. He squints as he watches you sit adjacent to him, putting on your socks and shoes. “And where are you headed?”

You pause. “Just going on a walk.”

Noah doesn’t need to know that the walk in question is en route to Jamal’s house.

Last night, you went to bed uneasy, hoping you could sleep it off. You woke up this morning and nothing had changed, and that’s when you decided you had to talk to Jamal immediately or you’d explode by midday. Noah being home wasn’t part of your plans.

He’s always been a little protective, as all older brothers are to their sisters. You vividly recall when you first met Jamal at one of his infamous house parties— alone in the kitchen, getting drinks for your friends when he strolled in, starting a conversation. It was an instant connection, with you finding yourself taking your sweet time just to keep talking to him.

Of course, Noah barged in at one point, throwing his arm around you and escorting you out of the kitchen himself, not before interrogating you on your conversation with Jamal.

Although he’s loosened up since, you know Noah would start getting skeptical if you told him you were headed to Jamal’s place first thing in the morning. But what Noah doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Right, bye.” Just as you stand up to leave, Noah interrupts.

“Wait! Can you get some sandwiches from the café when you come back? Thanks!”

“As long as you pay me back!” you chime, already halfway out the door.

The walk to Jamal’s place is a rare but not unfamiliar one. You live not too far away, and there have been countless times where you had to pick Noah up after a night out, so you knew the way well. You could’ve taken your car, but you decided you need the extra time for yourself, deciding on a walk.

You’re not really sure what you’re getting out of this. Your mind fluctuates between feeling like this is the right thing to do and the urge to turn back and buy those sandwiches Noah was talking about earlier.

But you never do, and now you’re standing in front of his doorway.

Unlike with your house, Jamal’s never given you a spare set of keys so you can waltz into his at any given moment. You take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, your heart beating out of your chest as you do.

Silence. You ring the doorbell a few more times, hearing the soft pattering of footsteps behind the door.

You fix your hair and adjust your clothes, awaiting Jamal’s arrival.

Instead, you’re met with the sight of a woman when the door swings open.

A half-naked woman.

She looks slightly older than you, dressed in only a sports bra and sweats, her hair tussled like she just woke up. You’re both looking at each other up and down, confused. This is the first you two have seen of each other.

“Can I help you?” She’s the first to break the silence. You reluctantly meet her gaze. There’s a weird territorial atmosphere lingering between you two, like the person standing before you shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, I’m looking for Jamal,” you say, your voice coming out a lot shakier than you anticipated. A pit continues to grow in your stomach. You probably should have turned back home when you had the chance.

“Oh, he’s in the shower.”

Your heart drops. You’re not an idiot, and you’re no child— you can put two and two together. Neither is Jamal, and you know he probably hooks up with someone whenever he gets the chance. But why does that bother you so much? And why are you only feeling this way now?

You’re lost in your thoughts, and the woman waves a hand in front of your face, trying to pull you back to reality.. “Did you need anything? He’ll probably take a while.”

You shake your head, already getting ready to take off. “Just tell him I was joking yesterday.”

“Huh?” Turning around on your heels, you leave the woman hanging, walking away from the door. Whatever you were expecting to happen when you got to Jamal’s place, it surely isn’t this.

You glare straight ahead, not caring for whoever you bumped into. All you knew was just in that moment, you had to get as far away as possible from Jamal’s house. And so you did, marching as far as your legs would take you, until beads of sweat ran down your temples and your breathing turned heavy.

Maybe Noah was right in trying to put some distance between you two.

Meanwhile, Jamal dries himself off with a towel as he leaves his bathroom. He walks into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, passing by his front door, seeing the girl he picked up last night standing by.

She hears his footsteps as he comes down the stairs, turning to face him. “Morning, baby,” she coos, putting on the best lovey-dovey voice she could muster.

Jamal winces at the remark. “I’ll get you a taxi after you shower,” he replies, walking right past her and into the kitchen. The girl rolls her eyes, groaning silently. She doesn’t know why she keeps trying to get closer to him when all they’re doing this for is sex.

“Some girl came over while you were in the shower, by the way,” she brazenly states, hoping to get his attention for once.

“Who?” “Like I know. She just came by and asked if you were here, and then told me to tell you that she was just joking yesterday?”

It works. Jamal stops dead in his tracks. “And what did she look like?” The girl starts describing how you looked from the short appearance you made earlier. The more she speaks, she sees the gears turning in Jamal’s head as he puts two and two together, ultimately realizing that you had gone all the way to his house just to talk to him.

He looks at the girl before him. She came all the way to his house, probably to apologize, just to be met with one of his random hookups who he barely even spoke to outside his bedroom.

Jamal’s eyes widen in realization at how horribly he’d fucked up, abandoning his breakfast and rushing back up the stairs.

“Where are you going? Who is she?” The girl asks, waving her hand to get his attention, though all her calls are ignored as he shoves his way into his room to go looking for his phone, unplugging it from where it was charging on his nightstand.

His fingers rapidly dart across the screen as he types out a message, a desperate attempt at reaching you before it was too late.

[07:42] jamal: did you come over earlier? [07:43] jamal: i promise it’s not what it looks like [07:43] jamal: we can talk if you want to [07:43] jamal: just the two of us

Your phone buzzes four seperate times as you stand in line at the café down the street from your apartment building. Sometime during your walk, Noah had transferred some money into your account for both breakfast and you figured you needed the distraction.

It didn’t last long as you pulled your phone from your pocket, seeing the notifications from Jamal poured in. You shut your eyes, collecting your emotions before you shoved it back in, fixing your hair in frustration.

Out of sight, out of mind. Jamal got his chance when you were at his doorstep, willing, and he you weren’t about to give him a second. The fact that he thinks you would sets something off in you.

He watches as his texts stay on delivered. Deep down, he knows you read them through your lockscreen, and now you were choosing to deliberately ignore him. He stares at the screen in defeat, before another text comes in.

[08:01] noah: you’re coming over tomorrow night yeah?

The party. Noah had invited him and some other players to hang out before the season started, a tradition that’s persisted in the friend group for years. It’s hosted at his place this time around, a golden oppportunity.

Jamal has to talk to you.

For the first time in his life, Jamal regrets going to a party.

He’s used to having a blast, used to being the man in any room he walks into, instantly greeted by faces both familiar and unfamiliar, desperate to show him around— desperate to be seen with him.

Now, he throws his head back agains the wall of Noah’s living room, drink in hand, asking himself why he even left the house today.

Jamal arrived extra early to his friend’s place, hoping to catch you in a moment alone before it got busy. To his dismay, Noah informed him that you’d been out since the morning. Then he had to help him clean. A total nightmare.

He’s not so sure if you knew he was coming today, or just so happened to not be at home. Whatever the reasoning, he’d rather not have turned up altogether had you not been here.

While he’s drinking away his sorrows, you’re pushing him out of your mind as you spent the day with your friends. Shopping, going to the spa, more shopping, bar hopping— it was a perfect day.

Your smile quickly faded when you came home and was greeted with a crowd of men in your living room.

“Hey! You’re home,” Noah greets, pulling you into a hug. He gives you a look of guilt as he sees your eyes squint in confusion, knowing he didn’t tell you he was inviting people over.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I figured you’d be out the whole day!” he reasons.

“You’re so fucking annoying, I hope you know that,” you sneer, and Noah can’t fight back. You scan the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces. If it wasn’t for them, you would have cussed him out right then and there.

He knows you’re tired from going out all day, he knows you just want to rest. “Okay, listen, this isn’t anything crazy, we’re just gonna drink and talk, no loud music or inviting more people. It’s just my friends.”

Friends. You scan the crowd once more. If Noah ever mentions anything about friends, one person is almost always involved.

Jamal. You lock eyes with him, he’s been staring at you from across the room since you walked in the door. There’s a mix of anger, frustration and yearning brewing in your chest. You want to shove him down a flight of stairs. You also want to run into his arms. It’s complicated.

Noah shoves a can of beer in your hands, and you finally look away from Jamal. “Here, take this. Loosen up,” he says before leaving. You sip away your unwanted emotions and wince like it stings going down.

Knowing Jamal is here and with the intention of talking to you sparks an idea in your brain, washing a boost of confidence over your body. He can’t look away from you and you know it, and you had to take this chance in sending him a message.

Your message comes in the form of a youngster sitting on the living room couch.

“Mathys!” You approach him, arms wide to pull him in for a hug that seems a little too friendly in Jamal’s eyes. He grips his glass harder.

“Hey! When did you come in?” he asks, and you sit next to him, grazing your thigh against his. You take a big swig from the can, needing the extra tenacity.

“Not too long ago.” You start talking to Mathys about your day, striking up a normal conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch glimpses of Jamal glancing at you from time to time. It’s not enough. You want him to feel the way you did when you showed up on his doorstep the other day.

Mathys was happily recounting his encounter with some rapper he’d crossed paths with when you put your hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh up and down. You leaned in to his ear, covering your mouth to avoid Jamal from reading your lips. He jumps slightly at the motion, you’re never this close to him.

“Can I tell you something?” He nods, scared but intrigued.

“I’m trying to piss Jamal off. Will you help me?” Similarly to Jamal, you and Mathys have always been close friends. He’s younger than you, so you’ve always viewed him like a little brother more than anything, but that’s not to say you don’t appreciate his company. You knew he would definitely be down to help you tonight.

Mathys pulls away, searching deep in your eyes for certainty. He discovers you’re serious.

A smirk plays on his face as he nods slowly to himself. He’s not stupid, he quickly pieces things together. If he’s being honest, he’s always known something was going on between you and Jamal anyway. “Alright, alright. Deal.” “Deal, yeah? If anything I do gets too far, just tell me,” you assure.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be worth it in the end. Do what you must,” he says, winking.

It didn’t take long for the ball to start rolling. It starts off innocent — you laugh just a little too loud at one of his jokes, planting your palm on his chest as you do, playing with your hair. The small gesture has Jamal shifting uncomfortably where he stood.

It wasn’t enough.

You pull out your phone, asking Mathys if he wants a picture. He extends one arm behind you on the couch, leaning into you. Wrapping his shoulders with your free arm, you pushed your heads together, scooting closer to him, to the point where your legs were folded over his thighs. Jamal knows what you’re doing now, and it’s driving him to insanity. Yet, he stands there, unmoving.

It wasn’t enough.

The final straw came from Mathys. You tipped your drink as far back as you could, trying to get the last few sips from the can. A few stray drops landed on the corner of your mouth instead, dribbling down your chin as you raised your hand below it to make it stop.

He reaches over to catch the beer with his thumb, cupping your face, gently swiping your lips.

Jamal storms out of the living room.

Mathys takes his hand off of you immediately afterwards, and you two share a laugh, feeling achieved. “Well, he’s really pissed now,” he remarks.

“Good.”

He glances at you in curiousity at your deadpan, sly response. He had fun doing this whole tidbit with you, but he doesn’t even know why you’re doing it in the first place. “What’d he even do to you for you to do this?”

“Long story,” you say it in a way that lets him know you’re not going to go into further detail. You stand up from the couch, bag in hand. “I’ll be in my room. Thanks Mathys, that was fun.” He winks at you, clicking his tongue in response.

You made the walk to you room with your head held high in victory. The message you were delivering was definitely heard by Jamal, loud and clear. He’s not the only one that gets to mess around with whoever he wants.

You kick your heels off, throwing your bag on the floor and plopping down on the bed, scrolling on your phone. Tossing and turning, you ended up curled with your back facing the door, and that’s when it barges open.

“Hey.” You turn around, it’s Noah. You go back to scrolling on your phone.

“What do you want?” “I’m not gonna be at home tonight, yeah? Most of the guys already left anyway. Just wanted to let you know,” he says, rambling. “It’s just, work stuff…” You roll your eyes. Noah’s always been bad at keeping secrets, especially when it involves girls.

“Yes Noah, I’ll be fine alone while you go spend the night with that girl you met in Berlin. We all know you like her.” You don’t even have to look at Noah to know his mouth had fallen slack, the words being ripped from his throat.

“Man. That bad, huh?” Noah chuckles. “Alright, I’m leaving. Bye,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

A few minutes pass as you lied there unmoving. still scrolling through your feed when the door opens a second time. You hear the hinge creak open and the click of the knob as the person enters your room without saying a word.

You sit up straight, looking behind you. “Mathys? Is that y—” It’s Jamal. Daggers shoot from his eyes, watching you roll your eyes and go back to using your phone.

“What do you want, Jamal?” you groan. The fact that you’re not calling him by his usual nickname, not bothering to even spare a glance has his face contorting.

“Since when have you and Mathys been that close?” His voice is deep, interrogative, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t tense up at his tone, chills arising through your body.

You build up the courage to face him properly, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Why should I tell you about the people I’m hanging out with?”

“Hanging out?” he spits in disbelief, vitriol laced in his words.

“Yeah! Hanging out, Jamal, what’s so wrong about that? Huh?” you exclaim. You can’t believe the sheer hypocrisy in his words. “You’re one to judge, at least I was only talking to Mathys anyway.” “He had his hand around your neck and he was just gawking at your body the whole time, don’t act stupid!” he snaps back, raising his hands and dropping them to his sides.

You jump onto your feet. “At least I don’t go around fucking other girls as soon as one of them stops giving me attention!” Jamal’s eyes widen, offended. You both know what you were referring to.

“You told me you were going on a date with someone! You said he was the one — how the fuck was I supposed to know you were joking?!” He takes a few steps closer.

You struggle to find the right response, your mouth periodically opening and closing. He’s got a point. You hate that he does. “You didn’t even give me the chance to explain myself! You just stormed out of the house!”

“Yeah, of course! After hearing you say that, of course I did!” “Why?!” you ask, watching his eyes go wide, his mouth shut, unable (or maybe not wanting) to respond. “Tell me why.” Now it’s you who takes a step closer, and Jamal’s at arms length, causing you to look up at him as you speak.

He says nothing back.

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought,” you mumble. You move past him, lightly bumping your shoulders together as you do to convey your anger. You need to get a drink from the kitchen, and hopefully by the time you come back, Jamal will be gone.

Just as your fingers graze the doorknob, a strong grip gets a hold of your arm. It all happened so fast. One second you were facing the door, the next — your back hit the wall, and Jamal’s lips were on yours.

The kiss was hungry, one of Jamal’s hands on the back of your head, tilting it to kiss you deeper, the other on your waist. Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, scratching the back of his head, pulling him closer.

One of Jamal’s knees slipped between your legs, rubbing against your crotch. A breathy moan escaped your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours. It was a messy, desperate kiss — a clash of teeth and tongue, Jamal making up with his lips what he can’t with his voice.

Jamal runs his hands up and down your dress. Your dress — it’s the same one you wore a few days ago, when you first got into the argument. It’s driving him crazy and you know it, it’s evident in the way he trails his mouth lower to your neck and down to your exposed cleavage.

“Jl,” you whine, teetering on a plea. He presses his forehead against yours, watching your eyes trained on him, your lipstick smeared and loose strands flying from your hair. He don’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

“This dress looks so good on you.” It’s all he can say before he’s kissing you again, a lot softer this time around.

“Mhm. Wore it just for you,” you breathe in between kisses. “Now take it off, please.” Your voice, your words, they rush straight to his cock.

“Jump,” he instructs, and you do. Jamal walks over to your bed, plopping you on the soft pillows, his lips moulding against yours the whole time. He presses kisses lower on your neck, sucking, biting, being sure to leave a trail of purple marks for to blossom tomorrow morning.

Jamal takes the cut of your dress in his hands, pulling the fabric down, groaning at the sight of you without a bra. He wastes no time in swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud, causing you to throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sucks and pulls with his teeth, moulding the other with his hands before switching, grinding down on your clothed core.

Once he’s satisified, he takes one last look at your tits — now glossy with his spit and marked purple, before climbing lower down your body. He bunches the material of your dress up your waist, exposing your panties to him.

Jamal takes hold of your legs, pressing a kiss to your crotch, smirking when your back arches, whining at the contact.

“Fuck, don’t tease, please.” Your hand pushes his head closer to where you’re dripping, where you want him the most.

Jamal chuckles at your desperation, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, pulling them down and tossing them carelessly aside. He spreads your lips, cursing under his breath when he sees the string of wetness that’s accumulated.

“You’re soaked,” he says, planting delicate kisses to the inside of your thighs, intently watching how you jolt at each one.

“Jamal, please.” He loves it when you beg.

“Shh, I know, baby.” And he finally licks one long strip up your pussy, relishing in the way a moan is punched from your lips. You’re lucky your brother is out for the night, because he’s certain it can be heard through the walls.

He plants a few more kisses before spreading your lips, delving his tongue in your hole. Your thighs clamp shut around his head, but his strength pries them open. He alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking your clit, swirling figure-eights on it.

You’re a writhing mess, your throat dry from moaning and calling his name over and over. Jamal never wants to stop hearing the pretty noises you make.

He continues to push his tongue in your cunt, using his thumb to circle your clit, doubling the pleasure. He explores your walls, finding the spongy spot that punches a particularly loud moan from your throat.

“Fuck! Don’t—ah—don’t stop,” you beg, and Jamal is happy to oblige. He moans into your pussy, the vibrations rushing through your body. He feels you get wetter by the second, your juices coating his mouth and running down the sheets.

Your breathing is short and erratic, your fingers tugging at his hair as your orgasm washes over you, cumming all over Jamal’s mouth. He licks the slick running down your inner thighs, pressing some final few kisses to your clit before hovering over you, meeting your eyes.

The sight of Jamal above you is nothing short of glorious — his chin glossy from your juices, his eyes blown out and his lips plump and swollen. He can say the same for you below him, once snappy and sarcastic now panting and ruined.

You cup his cheek, adorlingly gazing into his eyes before tasting yourself on his tongue. He takes your wrists, one by one, pinning them above your head with one hand.

“Need to make sure you can take me, baby,” he coos. “Is that okay?” You nod rapidly. You’d say yes to anything if he asked.

Jamal chuckles, his free hand trailing lower down your body and finding your clit. You’re still sensitive from your last orgasm, bucking up into his hand when he does.

“J—oh.” He slips a finger into your cunt, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and your jaw falls agape as you do. He pumps slowly at first, feeling your pinned hands try to escape his grip, but he pushes them down harder.

After a few moments, he slips another one in, filling you with two digits. “Shit,” you whine, closing your eyes shut.

“You can take it, yeah?” he asks.

“Mhm, I can take more, a lot more.” Jamal feels his cock throb in his pants, desperate to be freed. He picks up the pace, and you squirm beneath him, taking your bottom lip in your teeth.

Jamal pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside your walls. Every time he fucks into you, his palm rubs against your clit, only adding to the pleasure. Once he finds your sweet spot, he relentlessly goes faster, chasing your second orgasm.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you blabber, unable to focus on anything else than the feeling of Jamal’s fingers.

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs, and eyes shoot open on instinct, seeing his brown eyes bore into yours.

“Want to see how you look when you cum.”

You struggle in keeping your eyes open but do so to the best of your ability, your chest heaving up and down as your moans get more sporadic. Jamal is lost in your eyes, his wrist starting to tire from his movements. After one rough push of his hands, shockwaves rippling through your body as your second orgasm washes over you.

Slick runs down your thighs, onto the bedsheets and on Jamal’s wrist. He pulls out, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact before he licks them clean, tasting every last drop. Jamal sits up on his heels and you follow suit, kneeling in front of him. You grab the hem of his shirt, quickly pushing it up and over his head, exposing his torso. You’re entranced by his physique, trailing your nails down his chest and abs. His hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss.

“Fuck me, J,” you plead in between kisses, and how could he say no?

“Get on all fours.” You flip over, arching your back, hanging your ass in the air for him. You hear the clink of his belt as he pulls down his trousers, watching from over your shoulder.

“I told you to take my dress off,” you remind him, lightening the mood a bit. You have to stifle back a moan as he spreads your ass, pulling you flush against the shape of his bulge, lowly moaning when he does.

Jamal pauses for a moment. “Nah.” He pulls his boxers down, taking his cock in his hands, hard and throbbing, jerking himself off before aligning the tip with your pussy.

“Wanna fuck you in it.”

He slides his cock up and down your slit before pushing into you in one long stroke. A long moan is drawn from your throat as your head drops, feeling him slowly stretch you out, stopping until his pelvis was flush with your ass.

It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, hearing Jamal whisper soft praises as he grips your hips, rolling his slowly to help. Once you do, he pulls back out, only living the tip in your cunt, before slamming back in and finding a rhythm.

“Shit,” you spit through a mix of moans and curses, feeling him push into you over, and over, and over. After a particulary rough snap of his hips, your elbows give out under you, causing you to bury your face in the sheets, arching your back harder.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” You hear Jamal breathe from behind you. His eyes are trained on where you’re taking him raw, seeing the glossy sheen coat his shaft, glowing underneath your bedroom lights.

His hands are rough where he gropes, alternating between bunching your dress up higher, spreading your ass and gripping your hips, slamming you against him harder.

Jamal pulls you up to his chest, one hand loosely hanging around your neck. You can barely process the change of position until you feel his bare chest flush against your back.

His lips curl into a smirk, watching your mouth slightly open, the filthiest of sounds pouring out into his ears, spit welling in its corners. Your eyes struggle to stay open, your head lulling on his shoulder.

“Don’t—ah—don’t stop, please,” you blabber, drunk on his hips snapping up into you.

Jamal plants a featherlight kiss on your temple. “Never.” He plants another. “So good, so good for me.”

He moulds his lips against yours, a messy clash of teeth and tongue. You struggle to kiss back, only whining into his mouth.

The knot in your stomach grows tighter by the second, your moans getting increasingly higher pitched by the second, your face contorting in pleasure. You’re close, Jamal knows it too.

“I’m close, fuck.” You reach out to him behind you, trying to lock him in place so he doesn’t stop. Not like he was planning on it, anyway.

Jamal twitches inside you, and you know he’s close too. His thrusts get sloppier, more sporadic, chasing your high before his own. “Cum for me, go on,” he coos, lips ghosting over your earlobe.

He reaches around your torso, his fingers finding your clit, circling figure-eights. It’s all it takes for your orgasm to wash over you in waves, sending your thighs shaking. Jamal doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it all, pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder, fingers still trained between your thighs. Jamal pulls out, causing you to hiss at the sudden sensation of being empty. You’re spent, chest heaving and sticky with sweat, but you still find the energy to turn around, facing him. He’s jerking himself off in his hands, his cock red and throbbing, begging for a release.

You look up at him with mischievous eyes, his own watching your every move. You pull your dress up and over your head, leaving yourself bare in front of him, sitting on your heels.

Jamal kneels high above you, groaning when he watches you push your tits together, inviting him closer. His head tips back when you stick your tongue out, kitten licking the tip of his cock, tasting the precum dripping from its head.

Strings of white liquid are painted across your chest as Jamal cums, shuddering. You feel some hit your chin, darting your tongue to get a taste, never breaking eye contact.

He cups your chin, pressing his lips onto yours, leaving chaste kisses. You both stay like that for a while, lazily making out, smiling against each other’s lips.

Jamal plants one final kiss before pulling away. “Stay here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He walks in your bathroom, leaving with a towel and a water bottle he’d found somewhere not long after.

You let him gently swipe the towel against your chest, his hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth against your skin. While you two sat in silence, it wasn’t an awkward one, far from it. It was comforting. It felt familiar, this domesticity. It felt natural.

You don’t say anything when he pulls you to lay on his chest. You don’t say anything when he pulls the blanket over you two, turning off the lights. You just focus on his heartbeat.

A throbbing headache has been your alarm these past few mornings, and today is no different.

The sunlight spills through the cracks in your curtains, bleeding through your shut eyelids. You slowly ease into consciousness, sitting up and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

The first thing that hits you is the cold. A shiver runs through your body, instinctively pulling the blanket closer to you.

The second thing that hits you is your lack of clothes. You blink away the drowsiness, examining yourself, completely bare. Peculiar, but not unfamiliar.

The third thing that hits you is the weight on the opposite side of your bed when you yank the comforter. Your eyes widen at the sight of an undressed Jamal, blanket only covering so much, stirring awake next to you. His toned abs in full display, glowing golden in the sunlight.

It doesn’t take long for your brain to floor your memories of recollections from last night. You wince, face scrunching in disbelief as the images flashed in your head one by one. What were you thinking?

You bend down to grab the first article of clothing you could find — Jamal’s shirt. Not ideal but it’ll do. You put it on to cover yourself, standing up with the plan of getting as far away from him as possible.

A strong grip on your arm stops your plans.

Jamal calls your name, voice gruff and thick with the early morning. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sound.

“Where are you headed?” he asks, adoringly.

No. This is wrong. You can’t think of him that way, someone who’s supposed to be irrevocably off-limits — so you get right to the point.

“Jamal.” His eyebrows furrow at the sound of you calling his full name. You’re never in a good mood when you do. “This, this cant… we can’t…” You watch him look up at you like he was expecting this from a mile away.

With one pull, he tugs you back in bed, causing you to sit on his lap, albeit not fully. You don’t want to run away from him, deep down you know you don’t, and he knows that too.

“Why? You scared of Noah?”

You’re not sure how to respond.

“This isn’t even, I mean, we’re not even…” you struggle to string the right words together.

Jamal cups your cheek and you melt into his touch. Your words say one thing but your body suggests another.

“I like you, I really do. I know I didn’t get the chance to say it last night,” he assures. You feel your cheeks heat at the sudden confession. “I don’t want to see you with someone else. I don’t want to act like I’m perfectly fine when you bring up some other guy.” You look deep into his eyes with a look that says, me too. After last night you knew you and Jamal would never be the same, for better or for worse. You pick the former.

“And especially not Mathys, Jesus.” You chuckle, finally lightening up. “Out of all the people you wanted to use to make me jealous, you chose him. Blegh.”

The giggles leaving your chest are unabashed the second time around. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Jamal’s palm lets go of your face, dropping down to take your hand in his. He resumes to his original point. “I want this, okay? I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to see you in my shirt every day,” he says while fumbling with the hem of his shirt hanging off your frame.

“I want you.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer, this time properly sitting on his lap. “Never took you for such a romantic, J.”

He stifles in a laugh, pressing his forehead against yours before closing the gap. You’re finally his.

#@s6lars #@s6lars: jm42 #football x reader #football imagines #football x you #football x y/n #football smut #jamal musiala x reader #jamal musiala imagines #jamal musiala headcanons #jamal musiala drabbles #jamal musiala fluff #jamal musiala smut #jamal musiala one shot #jamal musiala blurb

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s6lars · 4 months

Text

@s6lars’ 𝓜asterlist ! ౨ৎ

🔍 searching 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 ….

4 matches found.

📁 → pablo gavi.

📁 → pedri gonzález.

📁 → jamal musiala.

📁 → jude bellingham.

all my works are commonly tagged with #@s6lars.

#@s6lars

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s6lars · 4 months

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reds and yellows.

gavi’s temper has gotten the best of him on the pitch and you propose a solution to calm him down. (wc: 4.8k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. pg6 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut — mdni! established relationship, switch!gavi, little to no plot just filth tbh

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, explicit nsfw content; unprotected sex, dry humping, orgasm denial, oral (m&f), impact play, implied aftercare

𝐀/𝐍. reupload from 888bear. this was initially written towards the end of last season, before the 2nd leg against atletico (and before his injury 💔). probably my last reupload in a while, enjoy!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you yelled, irritated at the scenes unfolding before you at Camp Nou. The bright yellow card being raised in Gavi’s direction was visible from the stands miles away.

Strings of curse words can be heard as the crowd around you begin to hurl protests toward the referee’s actions. The shared anger of the fans only riles you up further, despite your best attempts at keeping composure.

To take the ball from the opposing team, Gavi slides in front of the player carrying it. His foot makes contact with the man, only grazing it slightly, but the player dramatically falls to the ground, clutching his calf in pain.

Gavi and the Barca players saw right through the player’s theatrics, yet their arguing failed to stop him from being booked. Again. He had amassed several yellow cards in the previous few months alone, and he’s missed key matches as a result. It was starting to become a habit.

This feat, was easily used against him by his opponents. They would purposely start a dispute with Gavi — be it in the form of a nudge, trash-talking, or straight-up foul play. All they had to do was sit back and wait for him to take the bait, which usually ended in a yellow card, or his performance deteriorating as his anger levels increased.

As much as you loved him and were willing to defend him, you couldn’t deny the truth. Sometimes, Gavi doesn’t know how to keep his anger in check.

You knew something had to be done about it, and the match you watched was the final straw.

About a week later, you two were cuddled in bed at Gavi’s house. He had to leave for a game against Atlético Madrid early the next morning. It had become a tradition for you to stay the night before Gavi had to leave for an away game, especially if you couldn’t tag along.

Your head rested on Gavi’s bare chest while his right arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you snugly against him. The topic of his recent performances comes up in your usual late-night talks, his fingers drawing circles on your back as he speaks.

“Amor, you know I love you forever, right?” you asked, looking up to meet his brown eyes.

“Of course.”

You took a deep breath before you spoke. “People are right. You can get too angry sometimes.”

Gavi throws his head back on the pillow, his eyes now fixated on the ceiling as he huffs in frustration. His free hand ruffles through his loose brown locks. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

You wriggle free from his grip and prop yourself sideways on one elbow, looking down at him with a softened gaze. The criticism (which borders on hate most of the time) that Gavi receives has always been a sensitive topic to you both.

“Everyone around me says that. I’ve been working on it. But, it’s just hard when everyone keeps taunting me about it. Like, sometimes, I’ll just be walking and then some dude elbows me in the back to try to get me riled up. Or, when everyone expects you to play aggressively because that’s all they chalk me up as, apparently,” he rants.

Your hand travels up his body and lands on his cheek, cupping it gently. Gavi leans into your touch as your thumb rubs the soft skin back and forth, giving him unspoken reassurance.

“And I’m scared for the next game against Atléti. They’re a really strong club and we’ve had our fair share of fights, I guess, in the past. If I get booked, I’ll miss the next match,” Gavi explains.

An idea popped into your head. It was something you’ve been thinking of for the past week, and now it was the perfect opportunity to present it to him.

“How about…” You were now fully sitting up, your hand moving from Gavi’s cheek to his abdomen. “...we make a deal?”

Gavi’s head tilts in confusion. “What deal?”

“If you can go the next match without getting booked, you get a reward.”

“What kind of reward?”

Biting your lip, you throw one leg over Gavi’s thighs, hovering over his frame, your hands now on opposite sides of his head. Your actions take Gavi by surprise, yet his hands instinctively move to grip your waist. You lean your head lower until your lips come in contact with his earlobe, brushing the flesh gently.

“This kind of reward.”

Your lips hungrily leave a trail of kisses behind his ear, trailing down his neck and latching onto his sweet spot. Gavi groans at the feeling, his head leaning to the side to allow you more access. His hands travel down your body, taking in the feel of your curves before stopping at your ass, gripping the flesh.

You stop your assault on his neck to prevent any marks from forming, instead resorting to pressing your lips to his. Taking his bottom lip in between your teeth, you pulled away lightly before closing the gap once more. You waste no time swiping your tongue against the flesh, slipping past his lips. Gavi moans into your mouth, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his fingers tangled in your hair as your lips mold against each other.

You pulled away and sat up straight, admiring the state you left Gavi in. His pupils were blown out, his lips were swollen and glossy, and beads of sweat were forming in his ruffled hair. The heat between your thighs grows by the minute as your body screams at you to do something about it.

Placing your palms flat on his chest, you slide lower down his torso until your core eventually comes in contact with his growing bulge. A synced moan erupts from both of you, your bodies desperate to align.

You lift your hips by just a few inches and plant them back down. You repeat this action a few times until you find a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth on Gavi’s crotch. You can feel how painfully hard he is beneath your equally throbbing core.

“Ah, fuck, amor…” you whine in ecstasy, knowing how much Gavi loves it when you get vocal. “Feels so good.”

Gavi’s breathing becomes rapid as you pick up the pace. His hips buck up to meet your movements, moans and whines spilling out from his throat every second.

“God, don’t stop.” Gavi’s hands find the straps of your pajamas, tugging the string down your shoulder to free your breasts. His hand grips the mound of flesh, squeezing it in his palm, causing you to throw your head back.

Fire coursed through your veins, concentrated on the movement between your thighs. You’re sure the dripping wetness has stained Gavi’s sweats at this point, a testament to your pleasure. A whimper leaves your lips every time your clothed clit rubs against the coarse fabric, the sound echoing within the room.

Your movements become more erratic as your hand reaches up to fix your hair, grinding harder to chase your high. The sight was nothing short of art to Gavi, seeing the mess you’ve made yourself on top of him. Your desperate mewls reaching his ears only egged him on further.

Gavi’s chest is heaving and his eyes struggle to remain open. His moans were growing louder and his head was almost completely thrown back, letting you know he was close to coming undone.

Gavi feels the flames pooling in his lower abdomen. His hips begin to stutter as he feels his cock pulsating inside his sweatpants, aching to finish. He closes his eyes shut, feeling small beads of sweat form on his temples.

It was then that you lifted yourself off of him completely, abruptly ending your movements. Gavi’s head snaps up at the sudden loss of contact, totally confused.

You reached over to your side of the bed, turning off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in total darkness. You fix your top and lay down beside him, pulling the covers up.

“It’s getting late. You need to be up early tomorrow,” you said, planting a kiss on Gavi’s cheek and turning away from him.

Your movements happened so quickly that it took several minutes for Gavi to process them. He props himself up on his elbows, breathing heavily as he tries to understand what just happened.

In the dark, right beside him, a mischievous grin crept up on your face. You had left him flustered and painfully hard just moments away from release. To be fair, it was painful for you too, but the thought of your plan commencing made up for it.

Gavi looks down next to him, seeing you bundled underneath the sheets. He knows you’re not waking up to finish what you started. Begrudgingly, he lies under the covers to join you. He only wraps an arm around your shoulders, keeping his lower body as far away from you as possible.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. Gavi had left for his travels, the sticky note on his side of the bed telling you so. You couldn’t wait for what could unfold in the coming days.

Gavi sits on the bench in the Metropolitano dressing room, Atlético Madrid’s stadium. He bounces his leg impatiently, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness for the game ahead. He’s on his phone, replying to some final texts of support before he heads to the tunnel.

Among the sea of notifications, he finds yours at the very top.

[19:36] mi vida 💗: good luck baby !!! i love you no matter what 🥰 go out there and kill it !!

Gavi smiles to himself reading your text. You always made sure to cheer him on in whatever way possible before a game, be it via text, Facetime, or being there in person. He was the luckiest person on Earth to have you.

At home, you were sitting on your living room couch, across the TV, patiently waiting for the kick-off to start.

When Gavi replies to your text, you realize he was still in the dressing rooms. You thought he had already left for the tunnel and wouldn’t respond until after the game. Knowing this, another idea popped into your head. You’ve been getting a lot of them recently.

You tugged your shorts down your legs and tossed them to the floor. There was a body-length mirror right next to the TV, visible from one corner of the sofa.

Maybe Gavi needed a little more motivation before he played.

[19:38] mi vida 💗: [sent a photo]

When Gavi opened your next notifications, it took everything in him not to spit out his mouthful of Gatorade.

You were sitting on the couch, wearing Gavi’s home kit. The hem of the shirt was lifted, in between your teeth, partially exposing your bare chest. Your knees were pressed together and folded to the side, displaying the fact you weren’t wearing anything underneath. The sight has Gavi’s eyes bulging out of their sockets, and if it weren’t for Xavi letting the boys know it was time to head out, he would’ve stared at it for hours.

Gavi only had thoughts of you in his head as he walked to the tunnel. He desperately tries to shake them off to focus on the game ahead, and the deal you proposed the day before. To the people around him, Gavi only looked nervous. In reality, he was battling sinful images in his mind. He was yelling at his brain to stop the tent in his shorts from growing further, hoping his face isn’t as red as he thinks it is.

You watched intently from the comfort of your home as the match commenced, signaled by the blow of the whistle. Gavi was in the starting lineup (as usual), and it didn’t take long for the game to get intense.

Gavi dribbles the ball into the box, and the Atléti defenders in front of him attempt to block his moves. As they press him harder, he takes a chance and shoots, but it ends up going wide. Gavi sinks to his knees in frustration, strikes the grass, and walks off. You debate to yourself if that counts as getting aggressive, but decide otherwise as he wasn’t taking it out on a player.

The risk of getting booked comes when Gavi is dribbling the ball again, making moves toward the enemy goal. Suddenly, a player runs up from behind, pushing him forward, and causing him to tumble toward the ground. Usually, Gavi would get up in an instant, chasing down the player and getting his payback.

Instead, you watched as he stayed sitting on the grass, arms raised in confusion. Gavi’s teammates do the dirty work for him, some confronting the player while others attempted to prevent a fight from happening. In the midst of all this, Gavi stayed away from the commotion, pacing angrily in circles.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his actions, seeing the drastic contrast to how he regularly acted. The fact that you were the cause only inflated your ego more. Your plan was working.

Through the remainder of the game, you watched as similar events unfold. Another opportunity rose for Gavi to blow up in a rage, only for him to wipe his sweat and catch his breath. His collectedness aided Barca in winning the game, earning them a valuable three points.

Hours later, once the players had cleared the stadium and completed all their necessary press conferences, you received a text from Gavi. It was nearing midnight and you were tucked under the covers, ready to fall asleep.

[23:11] gavisito 🤍: so [23:11] gavisito 🤍: how’d i do

You knew you were in for a hell of a ride when he lands tomorrow morning.

[23:11] you: hmmmmmm [23:11] you: let’s just say [23:11] you: your reward is waiting when you get home <3

The clock ticked to exactly 3 pm when you heard your doorbell ring. You walked from the kitchen into your house entrance, expecting only one person to be behind the door.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend. Gavi’s hands are full with his belongings and he’s wearing Barca training wear, indicating that he drove straight to your place after landing in Barcelona. The sight prompts a soft chuckle out of you. You step aside to let him in, the youngster dropping his bags in the hallway.

“Welcome back, mi ganador,” you cooed, coiling your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Gavi grips your waist, holding you close to him, taking in your embrace. Resting your forehead on his, you look up at his glimmering brown eyes. “Congrats on the win. You played well.”

It was a sweet, intimate moment between you two. Somewhere in the air, there was a sense of anticipation — a buildup to something you’d been waiting for since last night.

Gavi’s eyes trail down your figure, taking in the blue-red shirt a few sizes larger than you that hugged your frame. You were still wearing his shirt from watching the game last night. All the thoughts that flood his mind only lead him to recall the few minutes before the match, you in the same outfit, in a much more revealing position.

Gavi’s fingers toy with the hem of the jersey. “I didn’t get booked.”

“I know.” Your fingers entangle themselves into his hair. “I’m proud of you.”

“Proud enough for a reward?”

Those words were all it took for you to smash your lips against his. It was a full 180 from the kiss prior, laced with hunger and lust, hands reaching for anything to pull the other closer than they already were.

You two stumble into the living room, your lips only parting to discard Gavi’s shirt and joggers, immediately reconnecting in desperation. You alternate between coiling around his neck or placing it on his shoulders, either way, you were the one in control.

The back of Gavi’s knees hit the sofa leg, causing him to fall back on the plush surface. Your palms land flat on either side of his head, hovering over his body. You two pulled away, breathless, lips swollen and the air knocked out of your lungs.

Lifting yourself higher, you tilt your head to question him. “How should I reward you, amor?”

Your right hand traces the curves and ridges of Gavi’s chest, nails lightly grazing the skin, making him shiver. You follow his happy trail lower down his torso until you land dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers.

“Should we pick up where we left off?” you teased, recollecting two nights ago when you two were in this exact position. Gavi shakes his head, refusing.

You were now sitting on his upper thighs, your left hand moving to cup his cheeks. Your thumb swipes the flesh a few times before tracing the outline of his bottom lip, stopping at the corner of his mouth.

“Use your words, cariño.”

“I want to feel your mouth around me.”

You step off him completely, tucking the hair behind your ears as Gavi sits up straight on the couch. His hands quickly move to discard his last piece of clothing, leaving him bare before you.

Gavi leans back comfortably against the back of the sofa, extending his arms while you sit next to him. Taking his chin in between your fingers, you slot your mouth over his as your other hand goes to reach his cock, now free from the restraint of his boxers.

You give him a few pumps, capturing the low grunts escaping Gavi’s mouth with yours. After a few moments, you pull away, leaning down to give his length the attention he desperately craved.

Your lips ghost over his tip, giving it a few kitten licks as Gavi’s hand lands on your back. You push your head down, just barely taking him in your mouth.

“Fuck, don’t tease,” he groans. You look up at him through your eyelashes, expecting more words.

“Please.”

You finally push your head down, taking him in your mouth fully. With one drawn out moan, Gavi throws his head back on the sofa, eyes shut in pleasure.

You bob your head up and down his cock at a steady pace, hands stroking what your mouth can’t fit. Gavi reaches to pull the hair away from your face — partly to help you, partly to see his name donned across your back on full display.

His calloused hands travel lower down your spine, stopping at your ass to grip it. The contact has you moaning, the sound vibrating against his length.

“God, you feel like heaven,” Gavi praises, his hips bucking up to meet your movements. It takes you some effort to not gag around him.

Moans begin to spill from Gavi’s mouth at a rapid rate, his chest heaves quicker, and he struggles to stay still. You only pick up the pace, hollowing your cheeks to aid him in chasing his high.

Gavi moans your name over and over, like it’s the only word he knows. Your escapades from a few nights before and the added distance of the away game had made him extra sensitive.

You lift yourself off of him with a pop sound, your hand continuing to stroke him feverently. Gavi’s stares at you with lost eyes, his pupils shaking at the sudden loss of contact. You gently cup his cheek and press your foreheads together, hovering your lips over his.

“Shh, I know, bebé,” you reassured, promising that you wouldn’t leave him completely hanging like last time. You swing a leg over his thighs, straddling him. Gavi’s hands instinctively move to grip your waist, his eyes never wavering from yours. His fucked-out state, despite only being sucked off, has you chuckling under your breath.

With one hand on his cock and the other tugging your underwear to the side, you fully sink onto his length, relishing the way he fills you up. You two moan in unison, the noise erupted borderline pornographic, bouncing off the.

Once your ass was flush against his thighs, your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself. Slowly, agonizingly, you lift yourself off of him completely, Gavi hissing at the sensation. You whine in ecstasy as you grind his tip against your clit before sinking back down onto him in one swift motion.

You begin to move up and down his length at a steady rhythm. It didn’t take long for you to quicken the pace of your movements, riding his cock mercilessly as Gavi can only sit back and watch.

His lip is caught in between his teeth, biting back moans as his eyelids struggle to remain at the sight of you bouncing on his length. Your hands reach up to his throat, adding the slightest amount of aggression as you press your nose to his, glaring into his eyes.

Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, gathering the spit and smearing it to his cheek. “Don’t hold back, amor,” you instructed, your voice low and demanding. “Let me hear how good it feels.”

Your words have an immediate effect on the youngster as a filthy, guttural moan is ejected from his throat. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Gavi whines, his lips trembling.

Gavi’s hands travel up the sides of your torso, dragging the hem of your (or his, you should say) jersey up with him, stopping just below your chest. He groans when he realizes you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

You take the hem in your fingers and move to take it between your teeth, exposing your breasts to his face. Gavi swears he could faint at the sight, blinking rapidly to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. You were recreating the picture you’d sent him yesterday, except you were now in the flesh, connected and full of him.

Gavi’s tongue darts at your left nipple and you bite down harder at the fabric, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. His hand goes to grab your right, squeezing and playing with the mound.

When Gavi rolls the hard nub between his teeth, you release a shriek muffled by the shirt. His lips hover in between the valley of your breasts before moving to do the same with the other.

You drop the hem from your mouth, letting it fall back down your body. Your head was overwhelmed with the mixed sensation of euphoria and slight pain from riding him, but you can easily forget the latter once you feel Gavi’s hands snake between your thighs to rub circles on your clit.

“Fuck, bebé, I need you taste you, please,” Gavi begs, looking up at you to wait for your response. You can only nod feverishly before pulling away, sitting beside him.

Gavi moves to kneel on the sofa, and before you know it, his hands push you into the cushions, leaving your ass hanging in the air. The feeling of cold air on your sensitive core elicits a sharp inhale from you, morphing into mewls when you feel Gavi’s palm land harshly on your exposed bottom.

“Fuck! Gavi!” you cry out in pleasure. He drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, feeling your wetness spread before roughly spanking you again. You arch your back further, elbows completely giving up on supporting your weight.

“So fucking wet.” His fingers rub up and down your folds, spreading the slick around your sopping core. All sense of dominance in you from before had evaporated as you became a writhing, whining mess under him.

“All this for me, yeah?” Gavi taunts.

“Just — ah — just for you, amor.” You don’t have to look at Gavi to know he has the biggest smirk splattered across his face.

You feel his cold breath fan your pussy, barely making contact before diving in completely. Gavi lapped at your juices, devouring your core as he stroked his cock with his free hand. A string of incoherent curses and praises tumble from your mouth, getting louder by the second.

All of a sudden, Gavi stops, sitting straight up. With whatever strength you could muster, you turned over your shoulder to look at his actions. His left hand grips your ass, the other roughly stroking his length as he brings the tip closer to where you needed him most.

Gavi rapidly taps the head of his cock, red and throbbing, against your clit. You claw at the material of the couch beneath you — the sound of your needy mewls, the sloppy noises coming from your pussy, and Gavi’s low grunts resonating throughout the room.

With one swift motion, Gavi enters you completely, knocking the air clean out your lungs. Your throat feels dry from the filthy noises it’s been making, only encouraging him further. Gavi gives you no time to adjust, pulling out until he leaves you empty before slamming right back into you.

“Those Atléti players targeted me for no reason yesterday,” he says — pulling out, then slamming back into you a second time.

“Pissed me off so bad.” A third time.

Your legs tremble with each move, knees buckling below your weight, but you muster enough strength to look over your shoulder at him, almost chuckling.

“Hmm?” you questioned. “Show me how bad.”

Gavi doesn’t pull out this time, instead he begins ramming into you at an unforgivable tempo, taking out all his anger on you. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping and repeated moans, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but you could care less.

Gavi is drunk on the sight before him. The way your ass bounces against him with every stroke, his name exhibited in bold letters on your back, yourself a squirming, whimpering mess. He could live forever in the moment, taking in the feel of your walls clenching around him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “So beautiful beneath me.”

Gavi’s hands collect the stray hair strands spilling onto your back, turning it into a makeshift ponytail. He leans over and you feel his breath tickle his ears. You feel him plant a few soft kisses along your neck, brushing your earlobe occasionally.

“Gavi, fuck, don’t stop.” The new position allows him to reach a deeper angle than before, mercilessly thrusting into your g-spot. Gavi revels in the obscene noises escaping your parted lips, smirking against your skin.

“I’m close,” you plead, and Gavi can tell from the way your walls clench tighter around his cock. He can’t last for much longer, either.

“Go on, cum for me, amor.” You can only moan in response. “Make a mess all over my cock.”

His words send you into overdrive — tears well in the corner of your eyes, electricity coursing through your body as your vision goes white. Your climax washes over you in waves as you fully collapse on the sofa, your cheek pressing against the material.

Gavi pulls out and flips you onto your back, pumping his length in his hands. It takes you a few moments to come down from your high while he chases his own. Thick ropes of cum ejects from his cock and paints your aching core white, dripping down and spilling onto the sofa.

With your remaining stamina, you collect the juices between your thighs, a mix of your release and his, and pump two fingers inside of yourself, hissing at the overstimulation.

Gavi’s eyes are glued to your movements, captured in a trance as you touch yourself. You pulled out, taking the digits into your mouth, wiping them clean.

Your hand grabs the back of his neck, pulling Gavi down to press your mouth over his, allowing him to taste himself. With one final drawn out kiss, you rest your forehead against his, feeling your breathing slow down.

Gavi collapses on top of you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Your hand reaches to tangle itself in his ruffled hair, scratching his head. You can hear him sigh in content as you wrap your other arm around him, pulling him in closer.

“That was…” Gavi breathes out.

“…fucking amazing,” you finish the sentence, eliciting a soft chuckle out of him.

“You should reward me more often.”

“I will if you get booked less often.”

“I’m making a conscious effort.”

You press your nose on his scalp, planting a soft kiss on his head. “I know, bebé. When’s your next match?”

Gavi’s head turns to look up at you. “In two weeks. We have a day off tomorrow, then it’s back to training.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I can walk, and I need someone to help me get around.” A smile slowly works its way onto Gavi’s face.

He wriggles free from your grip, standing from the couch. Taking you into his arms, he picks you up bridal style and carries you into the bedroom for some much needed rest.

#@s6lars #@s6lars: pg6 #football x you #football x reader #football x y/n #football imagines #football smut #gavi imagines #pablo gavi imagines #gavi headcanons #pablo gavi headcanons #gavi smut #pablo gavi smut #gavi angst #pablo gavi angst #gavi fluff #pablo gavi fluff

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s6lars · 5 months

Text

over the top.

pedri needs to let loose after a rough day training. (wc: 2k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. pg8 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. smut – mdni, they do it in the kitchen lol just pwp

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), spanking, little aftercare but it is implied

𝐀/𝐍. reupload from 888bear, and first pedri reupload ! this one's a bit short and i wrote it on a whim (and might be a bit rushed oops) but i still hope you enjoy ☺️

It was nearing midnight when you heard your apartment door open, signaling Pedri's arrival.

You focused on the sight before you, food simmering in different pots and pans. Maybe, a little too focused that you don't seem to notice the silence that persists despite his presence.

Typically, Pedri would announce his entry by calling for your name the moment the door closed behind him, you responding with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. This time, there was nothing of the sort — the soft click of the lock heard rooms away.

As you stir the wooden spoon around the pan, you hear footsteps ring louder as they stop behind you. A pair of well-built arms embrace you from behind, and Pedri's nose nuzzles its way into the crook of your neck. You jolt forward slightly, startled.

Pedri had been training since the early morning thanks to Xavi's one-and-a-half-hour-before-training rule. Although it ended shortly after lunch, Pedri had to stay behind for various business meetings with sponsors. What he thought would take an extra 2 hours off his rest ended up consuming the entire day, and he was exhausted by the end.

You certainly could feel it from the way his shoulders engulfed yours. Tapping the spoon several times on the rim of the pan, you place it down to reach up. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, massaging his scalp. Pedri lets out a sigh, hugging you tighter.

"Hi, bebé," you say. "You feeling okay? How was today?" He sighs once again. Lifting his head, he presses his cheek into yours.

"Shit." You hum in response, chuckling lightly. "I hate work sometimes."

"Don't say that," you replied, knowing he was just frustrated but reassuring him otherwise.

"I know, I know. But it was just so tiring, you know? They kept shoving me into different rooms to talk to executives I'd never met when I just wanted to rest. It was awful," he said.

Pedri was so busy that he wasn't on his phone all day, so the business meetings were news to you. You look down at his arms wrapped around your waist.

"Is that why you're wearing a suit?" You chuckled, noticing the navy blue cloth.

"Yeah," he exhales, letting you go from his grip. "I was supposed to return it earlier, but I can't be bothered. I'll deal with it tomorrow."

You switch the stove off, finally turning around to meet Pedri's gaze. Your arms reach up and wrap around his neck. You two hold eye contact for a moment, smiling up at the man you're lucky to call the love of your life. His hands land on the island behind you, trapping you in front of him.

Your arms pull him closer, and you place a small peck on his lips. Before you could pull away, Pedri's hands took hold of your hips, closing the gap between you two. His lips press against yours, perfectly molding together. His right hand up to cup your cheek, his head tilting to deepen the kiss.

One of your hands reaches up to the back of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair. Tugging at it slightly, Pedri moans into your mouth. His lips leave yours, and you whine at the sudden loss of contact, desperate for more. Pedri's hands trail down your body, propping you on the kitchen island. You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against his clothed bulge.

He drags his lips across your jawline, peppering kisses as he goes along. He trails his lips down your neck, pausing at your sweet spot, enjoying the breathy moans escaping your mouth.

You remove your hands from his neck and tug at his blazer, taking it off Pedri and throwing aside. He pulls the silk nightgown over your head and discards it, groaning when he notices you weren't wearing a bra underneath. Your hands reached for the top button of his white button-down, undoing them all, Pedri standing shirtless before you.

"You’re gorgeous," he breathes out. Your hands grip his shoulders, trailing down to his chest and abs, stopping at the tent growing in his trousers. Your lips latch onto his neck as your hands palm him through the material, eliciting a string of curse words from Pedri.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper in his ear before pulling away. Adjusting your position, you kneel before him on top of the counter. Your hands swiftly undo his belt and trousers, the clothes dropping to the floor, pooling at Pedri's feet. You pull down the boy's boxers to free his cock, the tip hitting his abdomen.

Leaning down, you maintained eye contact with him as you slowly licked a stripe up his shaft. Your lips suck on his tip, giving him a few pumps before taking him fully in your mouth, bobbing up and down his length.

"Fuck, bebé," Pedri moans, his head thrown back and mouth open from pleasure. His hands find the hair drooped on your shoulders, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail. You feel his sensitive tip hit the back of your throat with every bob of your head.

"You take me so well," he pants. You hum in response, the noise vibrating around him, causing him to push forward. You could tell Pedri was close. But before you could make him finish, he cups your cheek and pulls you up, catching you by surprise.

He smashes his lips into yours, his tongue swiping across your lips, entering your mouth.

"Need you inside me," you whine in between sloppy kisses.

"Then bend over for me, amor."

You waste no time, jumping off the counter and flipping yourself over on your belly. Bending down over the counter, you prop yourself on your shoulders, waiting in anticipation.

Pedri's hands land on your ass, tugging the waistband of your underwear down before taking it off you. He slaps your ass, causing you to jolt forward, whimpering in pleasure.

The sting lasts for a second before you feel his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your elbows buckle, and you fully bend over on the counter, your cheek against the cold marble. You moan out his name, your chest heaving.

"So fucking wet for me." He coats his fingers in your slick, prodding at your throbbing core. You find yourself grinding back at his touch, aching for more. Suddenly, he slips two digits into you, making you gasp. He continues to scissor you as he pumps his cock with his free hand, groaning at the sight.

"Pedri," you plead. You needed to touch him, to feel him. Just as you feel a knot build in your stomach, Pedri's fingers slip out of you, the empty sensation causing you to whimper.

Pedri looks down, and a string of spit leaves his mouth, landing on your core. He uses his tip to spread it around, groaning through gritted teeth. He slides his cock up and down your slit before pushing into you with one long stroke.

The sensation makes you two moan in unison, Pedri's hands gripping your hips. He starts moving in and out of you, and your eyes shut in pleasure.

"God, I missed you so much." A low, rough grunt escapes Pedri's lips. He leans forward to hover over your figure, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your spine. "I've been thinking about you all day."

You prop yourself on your elbows and look back at Pedri. He smashes his lips into yours, one of your fingers latching on to his hair.

Pedri's hips begin to snap at a quicker pace. The sensation overwhelms you, and you struggle to kiss him back, moaning in his mouth.

"Does that feel good, amor?" Pedri teases, a smirk plastered on his face. You nod in response, head dropping down and hands back on the counter.

Pedri grabbed your face with his hand, directing your gaze back at him with the slightest aggression.

"Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels so fucking good," you breathe shakily, staring right into his brown eyes.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you empty. He stands up straight, and you look back at him, confused. Before you could catch your breath, he flips you on your back and swings one of your legs over his shoulder.

Pedri slides back into you in one swift motion, the air knocking out your lungs. "Pedri!" a desperate, filthy noise escaping your throat. His hips drill into you mercilessly, and his free hand reaches up to grip your breast, squeezing the flesh.

"God, you're so tight." Pedri throws his head back in pleasure, biting his lip to contain his moans. As he slid in and out of you, you felt a familiar knot building in your stomach. His hand trails down your abdomen, and tingles rise with every touch. His thumb finds its way to your clit, rubbing circles into the nub.

You gasp in surprise, your back arching off the counter, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Pedri bends forward, taking your breast into his mouth. The combined feelings cause your eyes to squeeze shut, and your hands claw at his back, leaving marks you both know will last until tomorrow.

He could tell you were close, his face hovering over yours. His hand cups your cheek, directing your gaze at him as his thumb swipes against your lips. "You gonna cum for me? Hm?" he taunts, smirking.

"Yeah," you whine, nodding.

Your clench your walls around him, and Pedri's brows knitted. He was getting close too. Pedri's thrusts become deeper, sparks of electricity running through your entire body. The sounds spilling out of your mouth came out in pleads, begging him to go faster.

"Fuck. Cum for me, amor," Pedri growls into your ear, his voice coming out thick and hoarse.

The knot that was building in your stomach comes undone, dissolving into pleasure. Your lips trembled, overwhelmed with how good it feels to let go. Pedri's hips continue snapping at yours, fucking you through your orgasm. After a moment, his movements slow down. His hips buck one final time, his cock twitching as he empties himself inside your walls, earning a restrained moan from you.

Your name falls on Pedri's lips, drawled out as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close as ropes of his release shoot into you.

You two stay there for a moment, catching your breaths. Pedri rests his forehead against yours, then plants a soft kiss on your temple before pulling out of you slowly.

Pedri gently picks you up, carrying you to your shared bedroom, and placing you on the bed. He crawls under the covers with you, wrapping you in a bear hug, planting his chin on your head.

"I spent all that time on dinner and now it's probably gone cold," you blurt out, resulting in a giggle from Pedri. "And I have to clean the kitchen."

"We can worry about that tomorrow morning." Pedri pulls away slightly to look at you. "Now let me recharge."

You scoff at his remarks. "You just did."

He chuckles at your response, pulling you in closer to peck your lips lightly. "How did I get so lucky?" he questions, eyes softening.

You hum in response, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. You gaze up at the boy, eyes blazing with love. "Yeah, you are. Don't forget it."

You two share a laugh, and Pedri's hands cup your face, his lips centimetres from yours. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too." You lean forward, closing the gap between you.

#@s6lars #@s6lars: pg8 #football x reader #football x y/n #football x you #football smut #pedri x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri imagines #pedri smut #pedri headcanons #pedri drabbles #pedri fluff #pedri angst #pedri one shots #pedri scenarios

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s6lars · 5 months

Text

rae ᝰ .ᐟ ⋆ sagittarius , asian , she/her , 9teen ‹𝟹

about me. — rules. — inbox.

masterlist. — pending.

latest release ;

dress. — jm42 ୨୧

writing for: pg6, pg8, jb5, jm42, taa66 requests are: CLOSED (!) player thoughts: OPEN (!)

anons ; 👒 🎀

RESOURCES FOR PALESTINE.

#@s6lars #✎ rae’s inbox!#fic recs ཻུ۪۪♡.#pedri thoughts ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ #gavi thoughts ͙͘͡★#jude thoughts ᗢ₊˚✧#jamal thoughts ˖𓍢ִ✧˚.#trent thoughts ⩩ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

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s6lars · 5 months

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the 4 times he didn’t – and the 1 time he did.

a sequel to the 5 times he knew.

a trip to his hometown for the holidays might just be gavi’s golden chance to tell you how he really feels. (wc: 13.2k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. pg6 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff, some angsty bits and mildly suggestive in the end. more idiots in love, mutual pining, childhood best friends to lovers!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, suggestive at times

𝐀/𝐍. reupload from 888bear. part two to t5thk, i'll always remember the staying up until 3 am to crunch this one out in time. happy reading!

NOVEMBER 19 — PROLOGUE

[13:09] you: are you coming back home with aurora?

Gavi stares intently at the message illuminating his phone screen. When he planned a trip home to Sevilla for the holidays, the reality that you were also in the city never crossed his mind once.

[13:10] gavi: why? you miss me that badly?

He punches the letters into his keyboard before pressing send. The tone of his message is playful and frisky, all done to keep his distance and your friendship intact.

Gavi will never forget the day he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, water trickling down his face. The day he faced his emotions head-on, the day he told himself that by tomorrow, you would be his. He had planned it all out — the bouquet of roses and the reservation for a seat at Barcelona’s most luxurious restaurant had been sitting in his possession for a week, waiting to be presented at the right moment.

He asked you over the phone that night if you were down to have dinner the next day. It was a phase in his plan that he wasn’t scared of at all, as you always agreed to all of his plans.

So, you can imagine the shock when you told him, “Gav, I’m going back to Sevilla tomorrow. Didn’t I tell you the other day?” Brutal.

For the only time in his life, Gavi hated being a footballer. He hated being stationed in a city unable to leave for months. Sure, he could’ve confessed his feelings over the phone or in a text, but really? He couldn’t think of a cornier, less romantic way to start a relationship with someone.

It seemed like every time he tried to make a move, something new blocked his path. Gavi wasn’t a superstitious person, but over time he took it as a sign from the universe that he should probably slow down. I mean, he doesn’t even know if the feeling was mutual. You two still kept in touch despite the distance, and he did his best to repress the desires in his heart through it all.

Maybe, a little too well that he had completely forgotten you existed when he announced to his family and friends that he would return to his hometown exactly a month from now.

It would mark three months since you last saw each other in person. The last time you were apart for long, it was for three weeks. He still remembers the burning feeling when he hugged you after coming home from the States, bringing him to the realization that he wanted nothing more than to be yours.

[13:11] you: who wouldn’t miss the nicest sweetest most attractive paez family member

[13:11] you: talking about aurora, ofc

Gavi smiles to himself at your words, blushing like crazy. God, even pixels on a screen could get him this riled up as long as it was your doing.

He had mixed feelings about the trip. On one hand, Gavi missed you so, so much — on the other, he’s terrified that he’ll fall to his knees and break into dramatic speech upon seeing you.

Just how long can he go before he comes clean?

DECEMBER 19 — STUDY BUDDY

When Gavi arrived in his hometown, he was welcomed by his family, friends, and the crowd of strangers that had gathered in front of the restaurant he was eating lunch at. He was arguably one of the biggest stars to emerge from the area, and people were eagerly anticipating his return.

As soon as he unpacked his bags at his parent’s house, Gavi was met with numerous invitations from people he hadn’t seen in years. Lunch here, dinner there, can you stop by my nephew’s football practice? He was here to rest and spend time with his loved ones, not embark on an impromptu press tour.

His first stop was a big lunch, attended by his family, cousins, and childhood friends. The twenty or so people were gathered in a local restaurant owned by Gavi’s uncle. He enjoyed catching up with everyone, but a quick scan around the table informed him that you weren’t there.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked around.

“Oh, she’s studying for some exam, I think,” one of his friends replied. He was upset with the answer. He’s been dying to see you for weeks, and you prioritized some stupid test over him?

Gavi pulls out his phone and sends you a message.

[12:33] gavi: how dare you leave me to study

[12:33] you: some of us actually went to uni, high school dropout [12:34] gavi: I FINISHED SCHOOL I DID NOT DROP OUT

[12:34] you: at SIXTEEN. be serious

[12:34] gavi: i finished early to play football for the best club in the world.

[12:34] you: cool story, still a dropout

[12:34] gavi: not a dropout

Gavi can’t stop himself from smiling alone like an idiot.

[12:34] gavi: you’re telling me you cant even spare 5 mins for me 🥺

[12:35] you: ew dont ever use that emoji again

[12:35] gavi: can i come over at least [12:35] you: only if you bring food

[12:35] gavi: deal

Once everyone had enough food in their stomachs, people started leaving one by one. It was time for everyone to go home. After exchanging goodbyes with the party, Gavi checked the clock: 2 pm. He hoped you were still hungry for the food he promised. One quick taxi ride later, he was knocking on your front door.

Gavi can hear the soft patter of your footsteps behind the door before it swings open, revealing your face beaming back at him. His heart skips a beat at the sight.

“Hey delivery guy,” you tease, your tongue in your cheek, “it took an hour and a half for my food to come? I’m leaving a bad review.” Gavi playfully pouts at your words, his head sinking as you start to burst into laughter.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” You said in between giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into an embrace. He coils his arms around your waist, his face instinctively burying into the crook of your neck. The familiar scent of your perfume fills his senses and he feels himself falling head over heels for you again.

You pull away from the boy and he hands you the bag of food in his hands. Gavi hopes his face isn’t as red as he thinks it is.

“Get in. We have a lot of catching up to do.” You move away from the door to let him in, leading him into your living room.

“We could’ve caught up if you were there. At lunch.” You roll your eyes at him and sit on the couch, a mountain of notes and open textbooks before you. Gavi’s jaw drops at the sight.

“Oh, come on! You’re still studying?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“How do you think I get straight A’s, Gavira?” The youngster plops down on the opposite end of the couch, extending his legs on the cushions.

“Cheating. Pure luck. Bribery. You hire a genius doppelgänger to sit in for you at every exam.”

“Very funny,” you responded sarcastically.

You take the container of food from the plastic bag and set it on your lap. Opening the lid, you were met with the sight of one of your favorite dishes. Gavi watches the way your eyes light up, your tongue darting to lick your lips.

“So you invite me over to get free food and to sit and watch you study?” Taking a bite of the meal, you turn to look at him, stifling a laugh.

“Yeah. Basically.” You placed the container on the table across from you. “It’s the least you can do to help.”

Gavi sees you pick up a stack of flashcards and start flipping through them. Your lips mutter something under your breath every once in a while, inaudible to him. You were deep in focus, working to remember the terms you had written down. That’s when an idea pops into his head.

Reaching over the length of the couch, he yanks the papers from your grip. You looked at him stunned, jaw hanging in the air. “Hey!”

“I know another way I can be helpful.” He leans back on the couch arm and you crawl towards him.

“Give them back!” you exclaimed, attempting to pry them back from him. Maybe you forgot that he was a professional athlete because he quickly overpowers you, laughing at your efforts.

You don’t back down. Your mother didn’t raise a quitter. Instead, you push even further, your arms gripping Gavi’s wrists as he twists and turns away from you. Both of you burst into a fit of laughter, trying but ultimately failing to form any coherent sentences. Not long after, you two had to pause to collect your breaths, your abdomens sore from laughing.

It was then that you realized your current state — you were sat on Gavi’s lap, straddling his thighs with your hands interlocked, your faces inches apart. Silence falls in the room as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

You pulled away from him, flustered, flicking hair out of your face. “Give me back my flashcards.”

“Just let me help you,” Gavi’s voice turns soft as he speaks. You couldn’t say no to that.

You mimic his posture, leaning opposite him and extending your legs, folding your arms against your chest. Gavi flips through the flashcards and lands on one. He pauses to read it before speaking up.

“Enterprise zones.”

“Specific geographic areas to which governments try to attract private business investment by offering lower taxes and other governmental support,” you stated. Gavi raises his eyebrows and nods, astonished. You didn’t stutter once.

“That is… correct.” You smirk, proud of your knowledge. He flips through the deck and lands on another card.

“Venture capitalists.”

“Individuals that invest in new businesses in exchange for partial ownership of those businesses.”

“Individuals or companies,” Gavi corrects you.

“Doesn’t matter. Same thing.”

“Nuh-uh!” Gavi lifts his hand to silence you. “If it’s not exactly the same, you’re wrong.”

“You didn’t even write the flashcards!” you protested.

“I thought you wanted straight A’s,” he taunts. You sink back into your seat as he begins flipping through the deck again.

“Microeconomics versus macroeconomics.”

“Microeconomics focuses on the actions of individual agents such as consumers, householders, works, and businesses, regarding the allocation of scarce resources within an economy.”

“Right. And macroeconomics?” Gavi tilts his head low, his brown eyes piercing into yours. The sudden eye contact stops any train of thought in your brain, leaving you speechless. You attempt to form an answer but come up short.

“Macroeconomics…” you trailed off, buying time for yourself. “...focuses on…” Gavi lifts one of his eyebrows, waiting for you to finish. His gaze lingers as you chew on your bottom lip in thought.

“Come on,” he encourages. You dug deep in your memory. This was basic stuff, how could you not know the answer? And why were you so rattled making eye contact with your best friend?

You took a deep breath, covering your eyes with your right hand. You just needed to focus. “Focuses on… broad issues… such as the unemployment level, GDP, inflation, interest rates, government deficits, and…” you attempt to finish the sentence, desperately trying to get Gavi’s face out of your brain. “...monetary policy, and fiscal policy.”

You lift your head to check Gavi’s reaction. You’re sure you got that right.

“That’s right. Good girl.”

If you weren’t sitting down, you’re sure your knees would’ve buckled at his words.

Disappointed with your knowledge, you diverted your attention back to the flashcards, memorizing the terms from the beginning. Gavi assured you that you were fine (before persuading you to play Mario Party), but you were a perfectionist. The fact that he successfully distracted you earlier only motivated you more.

As you sat examining the cards, Gavi opted to scroll through his phone. Eventually, he got bored of his Instagram feed and turned it off to look up at you.

He admired the details on your face, the way your brows furrowed in focus, your head tilting as you rested your face on your palm. He catches you scrunching your nose now and again, and the way a sigh leaves your lungs as you switch between cards.

Gavi’s eyes trail down your body. The burgundy t-shirt wrapped around your figure was a little too big for your frame, and it hangs right above the waistband of your shorts. Every time you readjust your position, he gets a glimpse of your abdomen, and he swallows at the sight.

“Is something wrong?” Your voice interrupts Gavi’s little daydreaming session. His eyes widen in shock. Fuck, he thought to himself. Did you catch him checking you out?

“Hmm?”

“Do I have something on my top?” You looked down at the material, scanning it for any stains.

“No,” he responds.

“So what is it?” You questioned. Gavi takes a moment before responding.

“Nothing.”

The words sit on the tip of his tongue, seconds away from being spoken. He looks back down at his phone, preventing himself from doing so.

DECEMBER 23 — LATE NIGHT TALKING

The muffled jazz music from the bar is all that can be heard as Gavi leans against a brick wall. He stares blankly into the distance, feeling the cool nighttime breeze fanning his face. The silence was a comforting contrast to the bustling scene indoors.

To millions of people around the world, Gavi was a passionate (and borderline aggressive) ball of fire that blazed through the pitch, a player who was willing to go toe-to-toe against men taller, stronger, and older than him for the sake of his team. Though they weren’t wrong, Gavi off the pitch was a very different person. It was evident in the way he frequently excused himself in the middle of gatherings this past week, seeking time alone.

Suddenly, he heard shoes clicking against the cobblestones and quickly pulled his hood over his head, preparing to leave. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice calling out to him that he stops dead in his tracks.

“Gavi?” Who else, if not you?

He turns around and sees you step closer to him. The street lights illuminate the surroundings just enough for him to barely make out your figure.

“What are you doing out here?” you asked.

“I could say the same about you. Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?”

After you had bailed on the planned lunch several days ago, Gavi made sure that you were present at the next gathering — reserved only for his childhood friends at a local bar. He went as far as calling you every five minutes for a whole hour before you left. You contemplated blocking his number.

You scratched the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze. “Some dude tried to flirt with me. Got pissed when I said no. It got really messy.” Gavi’s face twisted in anger at your words.

“What?!” He was about to march back to the bar, ready to confront the man. You grabbed him by his arms, preventing him.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Please,” you pleaded. “The other boys took care of it. Please don’t, I really don’t want it to get even messier.” Gavi would do anything for you if you asked. And when you’re in a vulnerable state like this, he doesn’t dare to go against your warnings.

“Are you okay?” The boy’s hands land on your shoulders and you nod in response.

“Are you actually?” He always knew when you weren’t telling the truth.

You sighed, looking in the direction of the bar. The boys were probably still going at it, cussing out the man in your defense. You remembered his foul words being hurled at you, his disgusting actions in your way as you repeatedly refused. The thought was vomit-inducing.

“I don’t want to go back inside.”

“We don’t have to.” We. It was his way of telling you that he would go wherever you wanted him to.

“But I’m not ready to go home either.” You turned back to Gavi and he slips his hands in his pockets. For a moment, you two stand in silence, staring into each other’s eyes.

Gavi inhales sharply, his face lighting up. The expression was familiar — he had an idea.

“I know a place.” “A place?”

“It’s not home. It’s not here.”

“How do I know you’re not gonna throw me off a cliff?” He smirks at your teasing. You always make room for snarky comments, no matter the scenario.

He extends his arm out to you, waiting for you to take his hand in yours. “Do you trust me?”

You don’t even have to think twice about the answer.

Wrapping your hand around his, Gavi’s signature smirk appears on his face as he tugs you towards him. Hand in hand, you two stroll through the streets of Sevilla, laughing at each other’s antics for the world to see. The streets were empty as it was well past midnight, providing a perfect opportunity for you and Gavi to chase each other down the alleyways, giggling like little kids.

You didn’t even notice that you arrived at his planned destination until he spoke up. “This is the place.”

At first, you struggled to make sense of your surroundings due to the lack of light. You were squinting your eyes, looking in every direction to find this ‘place’ he kept referencing.

You hear Gavi release a chuckle, barely audible. When he grips your arms and slowly pushes you forward, you jolt at the sudden action, involuntarily holding on to his wrists for support. You take a few steps forward, and it’s when the city scenery comes into view that you realize why he brought you here in the first place.

“See? I told you I know a place.”

When you two were just ten, Gavi challenged you to a game of two-touch, eager to show off his skills. Toward the end of the game, you miserably failed to control the ball, instead kicking it far away and smashing it into the window of a bodega. You could hear the bickering of the owner from inside, and as you prepared to be scolded for hours on end, Gavi grabbed your arm and started running in a random direction. He continued to run as if his life depended on it, leading you to god knows where, laughing every step of the way. Eventually, he stops at a patch of grass to collect his breath. You two collapse on the land, lying in the shade underneath a tree. It was one of your fondest memories with Gavi.

The tree stands tall eight years later — except, the two little kids that once rested below it were all grown up.

You gazed out at the city skyline from above, taking in the fresh air. It was exactly what you needed to make you feel better.

A rustling noise to your left catches your attention, and you see Gavi had sat down on the patch of grass, making himself comfortable. He pats the space next to him, inviting you to do the same. You join him on the ground, bringing your knees to your chest,

Suddenly, a chilling gust of wind blows over the area, causing shivers to run up and down your spine. You hug yourself to generate some warmth, regretting wearing a short-sleeved crop top knowing how cold Sevilla could get at night.

Gavi notices your actions, and without a second thought removes his zip-up jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. You sigh in relief as the warm fabric engulfs your bare arms.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

“No catching colds while I’m here,” the boy replies.

You look at the youngster and realize he only has a t-shirt underneath. He couldn’t be any warmer than you were at the moment.

“Gavi, you’re going to catch a cold.”

“I’m built different.” He shrugs, and you clicked your tongue at his response.

“I’m being serious!”

“Don’t worry about me.” He hopes that deep down, you know that he was willing to risk everything for you, only you.

You wrap the article of clothing tighter around your frame, never wanting to take it off.

“When are you going back to Barcelona, by the way?” The sudden question causes Gavi’s head to snap in your direction. He had been enjoying the comfortable silence between you two.

“Uhm, the day after New Year’s.”

You pouted at the response. You wanted him to stay for longer.

“Why can’t you stay for longer?” It was at this point when Gavi usually retorted back playfully, but when you spoke in that voice that made him weak in the knees, enveloped in his jacket, he didn’t want to spoil the moment.

“You know why.”

Gone were the days when Gavi was a young kid, happily telling his neighbors he played for Barca every chance he got. No longer could he join his family for their yearly vacations, he couldn’t even see them when he missed them most. This was his life now — a professional athlete, the weight of a million expectations on his shoulders as he represents the club he grew up with and the country he was born in.

“I still can’t believe you’re, like, actually a football player now. No more funny business.”

“You’re only now realizing that? Really? Multiple victories, a World Cup appearance… it never occurred to you then?”

“Mmm…” you pondered for a moment. “Nope.”

“I’m heartbroken. How could you do this to me?” Gavi fakes crying as you giggle at his antics, nudging him by the shoulder.

In the dark of the night, Gavi can see your face suddenly drop. Something was bothering you.

“Y/N?” It takes you a few seconds before you can speak.

“Do you ever feel scared of growing up, Gav?” The air had shifted around you two. “Like, mentally you feel like you’re still a kid, but all of a sudden you have to worry about bills, and rent, and exams, and just, ugh.”

You drop your head, resting your chin on your knees. The thought had consumed you for months at this point.

“Like, I see you, and you’re out here doing all these things, making our country and city proud, and then I look at myself and just think, damn, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing with my life.”

Gavi scoots closer, your sides now touching. His skin yearns, burns at the contact.

“Who says everything’s been going well for me? I don’t kick a ball into a net and now millions of people say I should be sold, or I’m a scam, or I don’t deserve my spot on the team. Sometimes I look at my friends that are still in La Masia and think they deserved to be called up instead.”

You lean your face closer to him. “Don’t say that. You deserve everything you worked for.”

“I wish you could feel that way about yourself.”

“I… don’t know if I can.”

“Well then, I wish you know that I feel that way about you.” Gavi’s words pierce through your cold exterior, landing straight in your heart.

You hide your face in your knees, feeling your face getting hotter by the second. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Gavi’s heart rapidly thundered in his chest. This was it.

You two were sharing a moment, you were alone, and the ambiance was perfect. The stars had quite literally aligned and led him to this moment. It was time to release the words suffocating his chest every time he saw you, to finish what started back in Barcelona.

“Y/N, can I tell you something?” You lifted your head and turned to him.

“Anything.”

Gavi opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket.

Sign from the universe. If you weren’t around, he would’ve let out the loudest, most blood-curdling scream Spain had ever heard.

He hastily retrieved the device, unable to hide the sneer on his face. Whoever calling him must’ve been on the verge of death if they had to interrupt this critical moment.

It was his sister. Gavi accepts the call, lifting his phone to his ear. “Hey.”

You can barely hear Aurora’s words through the speakers but deduced that she was asking about Gavi’s whereabouts, and by extension, yours. She was probably telling him to go home soon, and for good reason — it had to be at least 3 am at that point.

After muttering a quick goodbye, Gavi shoves his phone into his pocket at stands up. It was time for you two to leave. He extends his arm to help you get up, and you accept the gesture.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” You turn to part ways but was met with Gavi gripping your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

He looks at you, confused. “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

You stare back at him, unblinking. “Home?”

“You are not walking home alone at this hour. I’m walking you there.” Always so considerate of him.

The walk to your house was less eventful than the walk earlier. You two were completely silent the whole way through. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that drove people crazy. Rather, unbeknownst to each other, you two were fighting with the most severe case of butterflies in your stomach, desperately trying to hide it.

Not long after, you arrived on your front steps. You were just about to bid your goodbyes when you remember the jacket still around your shoulders from earlier.

“Oh yeah, thanks for the jacket again,” you said as you removed it from your body. Seconds before you could hand it back, he pushes the bundle of clothing back to you.

“Keep it.” The words don’t help with the warm feeling bubbling in your abdomen.

“Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.” You pulled him into a hug before quickly pulling away, a blushing mess. You thank whoever decided to leave the area surrounding your house devoid of any light sources.

Before you were about to open your front door, you remembered the end of your conversation with Gavi. You turned around to see him kicking pebbles on the pavement.

“Hey, you said you wanted to tell me something earlier.” Gavi’s heart drops.

“Uh… don’t worry about it.” You tilt your head in confusion. There was something he was keeping from you. But then again, you were keeping things from him too.

“Alright then. Goodnight, Gav. Stay safe on the way home.” You can make out the faint silhouette of the boy giving you a thumbs-up before walking away.

You entered your house exhausted from the bar and your feet sore from the walk. When you made your way to your bedroom, you didn’t have the energy to change out of your clothes or remove your makeup. Instead, you simply tossed your shoes aside and collapsed onto the bed.

Feeling your eyelids flutter shut, you buried your face deeper into Gavi’s jacket, seeking some kind of warmth. The scent of his body fragrance floods your senses, as you fall into a deep slumber, dreaming about him through the night.

DECEMBER 27 — FOR TWO

Christmas was usually one of the busiest days of the year, but to Gavi, it was the few days following it that were worse.

The holidays were one of the rare (and possibly only) times everyone wasn’t burdened with work, uni, or other doings, so it had become a yearly ritual for his group of friends to venture on a getaway, even if it was just for a few days.

While the group had gone far to other cities or even other countries, this year they had opted to stay in the city, renting an Airbnb to hang out in. It might not be anything crazy, but Gavi always knew how to have fun as long as his friends were with him.

The Airbnb you rented boasted an impressive six bedrooms, complete with a pool and a yard. It was perfect for the six of you that would be present, providing you with enough facilities to keep you entertained for the next two nights.

The plan was for the group to drive to the house together, maybe spending some time in downtown Sevilla beforehand. The car had been rented and suitcases were packed, but the night before the trip you had to break some bad news to your friends.

[21:41] you: bad news guys

[21:41] you: i have to be on campus tmr morning

[21:42] ale: oh come on

[21:42] ale: you're telling us NOW

[21:42] you: ITS NOT LIKE I WANT TO BE THERE?

A paper you thought was due weeks from now was actually due in about 12 hours, and after trying your hardest to finish it in a few hours, you quickly realized how much you underestimated the weight of the assignment.

You could get the job done by around midnight, but you needed to get it printed and bound. It meant that you couldn’t use your home printer, and you would have to go to the campus printing lab which opened at 10 am. This did not flow well with the original plan of leaving with your friends two hours before, at 8 am. You tried your hardest to explain the situation to your friends, only to be met with their complaints.

[21:47] lu: cant you get someone else to print it?

[21:47] you: no u need to sign shit when you turn it in

[21:47] mateo: boooooooooooo

[21:47] you: ill just go by myself after i turn it in it’ll be fine

[21:48] lu: literally how. you cant go yourself and you know that

Lucia was right. The rented house was at least an hour's drive from your place, and you didn’t have a car to use. You can rule out ordering an Uber or a taxi as the price would go through the roof. Moreover, you were carrying a suitcase with you, so it was impossible to get there by public transport.

[21:49] you: fuck youre right

[21:50] lu: anyone wanna take one for the team and stay behind w y/n?

[21:50] lu: anyone w a car probably

[21:50] lu: oi losers [tagged alvaro, gavi, ale]

[21:51] mateo: alvaro is probably drunk out of his mind rn LMAO

[21:52] gavi: why did i get tagged

[21:52] lu: can you take y/n to the airbnb tomorrow?

Gavi. Since your little deep talk a few days ago, you hadn’t seen him in person again. When you woke up the morning after, you felt embarrassed, ashamed even of the emotions you felt the night before. It felt wrong to think about someone you had known for your whole life in that way. It was also incredibly stupid, given the level of fame Gavi was at, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a supermodel girlfriend he had hidden from everyone.

The good news was, in the four days that you weren’t together, you were able to sit down and process your thoughts. The butterflies had flown away after 48 hours, so you sat with the decision that it was just a small phase, nothing more. Thankfully, it was nothing more.

But now, with the possibility of meeting him again, a feeling brewed in your gut that something might happen between you both, despite your efforts to prevent it. You prayed that Gavi would tell Lucia he couldn’t make it, or perhaps Ale would be the one swooping in to help. But no one ever gets what they want in life, do they?

[21:55] gavi: yea sure

Damn it. So much for keeping your feelings in check.

You texted him privately afterward, coming to an agreement that he would pick you up from your house, take you to campus for you to turn in your assignment, and then drive to the Airbnb. It was fast, efficient, and ensured that neither of you would be making back-to-back trips.

What the journey ahead would behold was something future you would have to worry about. Right now, current you needed to finish the rest of the paper and get in as much sleep as you could squeeze in.

Gavi arrived to pick you up at 10.45 the next morning. He helped you haul your suitcase into his car trunk, asking if you had brought your entire closet with how heavy it was. It was more surprising when you learned he only packed a gym bag’s worth of clothes for the trip.

“We’re gonna be stuck indoors for three days and you’re calling me crazy when you brought a whole ass suitcase?” The comment earned a slap on the shoulder from you.

After a quick 15-minute drive, you arrived on campus. Gavi dropped you off at the main lobby before leaving to find a place to park. He sends you off, telling you to text him when you’re finished.

The printing lab was empty when you stepped in, and it wasn’t far from the lecture hall where you needed to turn your paper in. The whole ordeal was done and dusted in half an hour, leaving you and Gavi plenty of time to catch up with your friends. You hope you two wouldn’t miss out on much.

[11:36] you: im done

[11:36] you: walking to the main lobby rn

[11:38] angry bird 🦜: kk give me a minute

It took Gavi a few minutes before he pulled up to the lobby. At first, you assumed he parked quite far, which is why the journey took a while. However, it wasn’t when the car door opened and the smell of fast food wafted in your face that you discovered the truth.

“You got Mcdonald's? Seriously?” You sat in the passenger’s seat, shutting the door before you as you looked at Gavi, one hand on the steering wheel and a pack of fries in the other.

“It’s gonna be a long trip, so I thought we should get something to eat.” Gavi waits for you to put on the seatbelt before driving off.

“Oh yeah? How long?”

“An hour and 20 minutes.” You dug through the Mcdonald’s bag on the car floor, sifting through the brown paper bags for something to eat.

“You know what I always get at Mcdonald’s?” you proposed the question to him, striking up a conversation.

“Yeah. You get a quarter pounder with no mustard, extra pickles, potato wedges, and a coke,” he responds without missing a beat. You didn’t expect him to actually know. Once he stops speaking, your hands find a brown bag with the exact order inside. He had memorized your order and bought it for you.

“...That’s exactly what I always get.” You pulled back the wrapper from the burger and took a bite. There’s that funny feeling again. You shake it off, sipping your coke.

The rest of the car trip involved singing Anuel AA and Myke Towers at the top of your lungs, you gossiping about your new friends at uni, and a long debate about whether or not Avatar was overrated. You’re lucky Gavi was a very different man off the pitch, as the heated conversation could’ve gone sideways very quickly.

The piece of food that sat on your lap went untouched for a long time — you were getting full. Looking at the boy in the driver’s seat, you wondered if Gavi wanted your leftovers. He usually did, anyway.

“Finish my burger for me?” You raised the small piece left, offering it to him.

He glances at you before looking back at the road. “I’m driving.”

“And?” You pushed it closer to his mouth, attempting to feed him yourself. Gavi nudges his shoulders to push you away, causing you to laugh at his antics.

“Y/N! Stop!” he reasons, but it doesn’t stop you.

“Say ahh!” After a few moments back and forth, Gavi gives in. He opens his mouth, letting you feed him like a child. You know he hated being treated like a baby, yet you couldn’t help but laugh when he pouts as he chews. He looked adorable doing it.

Wait a minute, adorable? No, you couldn’t say that about him. God, you needed to get it together.

One long drive later, he pulls up to the Airbnb. The house comes into view and you realize it looks bigger in person. The pictures didn’t do it any justice. You absolutely couldn’t wait for the next few days. Gavi parked the car in the driveway and you two finally step foot in the lavish house.

Alvaro, your mutual friend, greets you in the living room. The space was open with floor-to-ceiling windows, letting warm sunlight enter inside. There was a cluster of sofas in the center, facing a wide-screen TV set atop a fireplace. He had a drink in his hand, dressed in shorts.

“Took you bitches long enough,” he teased. “We couldn’t wait so we dived in the pool before you guys, sorry.” The sun had reached its peak at this time of day, and you were eager to dip in the cool waters.

“Find the empty bedroom upstairs, you guys can put your things there,” he continues. As you and Gavi made your way up the first few flights of stairs, Alvaro called out to you two.

“Oh yeah, wait!” You two turned around to face him in unison.

“The owner told us one of the bedrooms is off-limits because a pipe leaked, or something. And everyone already tagged a room, so…” Alvaro presses his palms together, and the look on his face lets you know what he was implying.

You had to share a room with Gavi.

“Uh…” Both of you could only glance at each other for a few moments at a time, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

Gavi looked down at the boy below. “Is there, I don’t know, an extra bed?”

“Oh yeah, maybe? I don’t know. I’ll text the owner. For now, just put your bags there first.” Alvaro leaves the living room to go outside. You head up the stairs and find the remaining bedroom, opening your suitcase.

It’s fine, Alvaro will text the owner and you’ll get an extra bed. Everything will be alright, you thought to yourself as you changed into your bathing suit in the bathroom. You push the thought out of your head, leaving to join your friends at the pool.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this happy. The weight of school and life, in general, had burdened you for far too long, and now you had fully let loose. You and your friends had stayed in swimwear the whole day, switching between grilling food, playing video games on the TV, chasing each other around the property with water guns, and jumping off the second-floor balcony into the pool.

Before you knew it, the sun had set, and the sky turned a bleeding color. The time had passed by like nothing, it always did every time you were around these guys. The ability they had to turn your worst days around, to erase every negative thought in your brain solely with their presence was exactly what you needed after a hectic past few months.

The night quickly turned cold and your friends were getting ready for bed. Seeing everyone starting to enter their room, you catch Alvaro in the kitchen and ask him for any updates on the bed situation.

“Varo, did the owner say anything about the bed?”

“Oh… uhm.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking his messages. “Nothing. Didn’t even read it.”

You turned to look at the clock, it was midnight. The owner, whoever they were, was probably fast asleep at this point. Moreover, you were scared of coming across as pushy if you were to question them further. This was their property, anyway.

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

It had been ten minutes since that conversation and now you were in the bedroom with Gavi. Fresh out of the shower, you were towel drying your hair as you sat cross-legged on the bed, while the boy opted to fumble around with his gym bag. There was clear tension in the room, and it materialized as an invisible brick wall wedged between you two. Neither of you had uttered a single word since entering the room.

Suddenly, Gavi gets up, grabbing a pillow from the bed. He marches to the door with it in hand, and just as his hands land on the doorknob you finally say something to him.

“Where are you going?” “Downstairs. I’ll sleep on the couch if there’s no extra bed.” The living room, as beautiful as it was during the day, was cold and bleak at night. It was probably still wet from the water gun fights from earlier, adding to the freezing temperature. You couldn’t let him sleep there.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. It’s freezing,” you retaliated. “Well, if it means both of us can sleep alone, then I’ll do it. It’s only for one night, anyway.”

“I won’t let you.” You stood up from the bed and pushed him away from the door, locking it in the process. Gavi looks at your actions, stunned.

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?”

“On the bed.”

“And you?”

“I’ll manage on the floor,” you proposed.

“Absolutely not!”

“Why!? You wanted to sleep on the couch.” You two started bickering nonsensically, hoping your friends were deep in slumber.

“The couch and the floor are two very different things, genius.” “Fine, we’ll both take the bed! Happy?!” You froze at your words, instantly regretting even arguing with Gavi in the first place. You did not just offer the man you were having an internal battle about your feelings with to share a bed. To make things even worse, Gavi agreed.

You always thought this one-bed thing only happens in cheesy romcoms, yet here you were building a mountain of pillows in the middle of the bed to prevent your unconscious minds from moving you two closer. Gavi props himself up on his elbows, watching you intently.

“Do you have to do this?” he questions. You plop down on the bed, laying next to him. Or, the pillow mountain, you should say.

“I’ve watched enough movies to know what would happen if I don’t.”

“What? It’s not like we’ve never cuddled before.” Your head snaps in his direction, remembering the time when you woke up on his sofa together, bodies tangled.

“Hey, that was not my doing.” You hear Gavi mutter something under his breath before he moves the pillows out of the way. His face comes into view and you’re shocked to see just how small the distance was between you two. Nevertheless, you didn’t move away. You could get used to the view.

He rests his head on his hand, lying sideways to look at you. “You literally told me to stay when I tried to get up.”

“Only because you,...” your finger landed on his nose, and it scrunches at the contact. “...told me to stay the night before.”

Gavi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “No, I didn’t.”

“Are you seriously doubting my memory?”

“Yeah, actually.” You pushed him backward, causing him to lie flat on his back. Meanwhile, you prop yourself on your shoulders, flipping over on your belly.

“The night before that, you pulled me by the arm on top of you and asked me to stay.”

“And you didn’t refuse?”

“Not like you did either.” You had a point. Gavi’s eyes drift to the ceiling above him, placing his arms behind his head.

“Well, you asked me to stay. Did you not… want me to?” You couldn’t fathom a life without him.

“I always want you to be with me.”

Gavi could feel his heart rapidly thundering in his ribcage at your words. As he examines your face in the warm light of the room, all he can focus on is the twinkling in your pupils as you look down at him, and how much love floods his heart at the sight. Never breaking eye contact, you lie your cheek flat against the pillow.

So little, yet so much was spoken. There was a lingering feeling in the air that the two of you were restraining yourselves from saying or doing something, something that has been brewing for months. You two sat in silence, breathing in unison, twitching every so often as if to move, stopping midair before you could follow through. When Gavi finally builds up the courage to speak, the words he sounded weren’t the ones he expected.

“It’s getting late.” He reaches over you to turn off the nightstand on your side of the bed. As he lifts himself and extends his arm, his chest brushes against your face. Without a second thought, you nuzzle deeper into him, taking in the scent of his body wash. After the light goes out, Gavi doesn’t retract his arm back, instead dropping it over your waist, his hand landing on your lower back.

The last time you found yourselves in this position, you two were drunk and disoriented. This time, you were stone-cold sober. There was nothing to blame your actions on. But was it so wrong to be doing this?

Your eyelids flutter shut and your breathing slows as you slowly fell asleep. You can feel Gavi tug the sheets up to cover you two, further trapping you in the position. His nose finds its way to your scalp and you feel the air fanning your scalp.

His warmth was engulfing you, your ear was pressed against his shirt, listening to his heartbeat, while his hand sends shockwaves up and down your spine as he slips his palm under your shirt. You’ve slept like this before. You don’t mind doing it again.

When Gavi woke up the next day, he checked his phone to find a text from Alvaro.

[09:08] alvaro: the owner just texted, he said theres no extra bed

[09:08] alvaro: you ok with that?

Gavi looks down to see your face buried in the crook of his neck, feeling the featherlight touch of your arms that slithered around his neck unconsciously during the night. He looks back to his phone to respond.

[09:09] gavi: i’ll be fine

The second and last night you would be staying at the Airbnb, you didn’t have to say anything when it was time to sleep. You simply got under the covers and waited patiently for Gavi to settle in next to you before turning off the lights. It felt like it was a normal part of your nightly routine.

When you arrived home two days later, lying in the comfort of your bedroom at night, you turned to the empty spot beside you. The bed felt half-full.

DECEMBER 31 — OVERDRIVE

New Year’s Eve was synonymously known as a day of celebration and joy, but you couldn’t have had a worse day.

For starters, when you woke up this morning, you were greeted with a bright red stain spilling on your white sheets. The days leading up to the new year had been so hectic that you completely forgot your period would start today. Resentfully, you changed your sheets first thing in the morning, the action taking up too much energy for how early it was.

You shoved the bundle of cloth in your washing machine and went to turn it on, but it didn’t budge. You tried a few more times but it remained off even after your best attempts. There was no point in trying to wash the sheets by hand, so it meant a trip over to your neighborhood’s closest laundromat.

Your first mistake of the day, you would soon learn.

Shortly after lunch, you arrived at the laundromat, sheets in hand. As you sat waiting for the machine to finish washing your sheets, a young man walked into the store, choosing to sit next to you out of all the empty seats available. You feel his eyes glued to you as you mindlessly scroll through your phone. It didn’t take long for the words to start coming out of his mouth.

You’re not from around here. What’s your name, bonita? It’s not often a young girl like you shows up around this part of town. Each sentence raises goosebumps on your skin — and not in a good way.

The last straw came when his palm landed on your bare thigh, quickly working its way up. You shove him away from you, maintaining your distance.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You loudly called out his disgusting actions in the middle of the laundromat, warning him to back off. The man starts sputtering nonsense back about how you shouldn’t get aggressive and how you were overreacting, only adding fuel to the fire.

“You can’t go around wearing that and get upset when people start touching you!” A hoodie and shorts. You were wearing a hoodie and shorts, and even if you wore anything else, that was not an invitation for his hands to land anywhere near you.

That was the final straw. You hastily pulled your sheets from the dryer, feeling your eyes well with tears in the process. The man continues to hurl insults in your direction, and the owner of the laundromat finally steps in to defuse the situation. You shoved the money on the counter and borderline ran out of the place as he shouts at you to never return.

It was the only time you took his words seriously.

Back home in the shower, you felt filthy. You aggressively scrubbed at your thighs with the loofah, hoping to eradicate any trace of him left.

Later in the evening, you opened your laptop to go through your emails. You thought the mundane routine would be enough to take your mind off of this morning’s happenings. What you didn’t expect was that it would turn out to be the complete opposite, as your mouse lands on an angrily typed-out email from a college friend.

According to them, a recent group project involving you two received lower marks than they expected, and they felt the need to pin the blame on you. Your eyes darted across the screen, only skimming over the words — a few of which bore through your skull.

…I don’t know why it’s so difficult for you to just try and at least put in a little effort…

…I don’t care if this is how you do all your assignments, but this is a group project…

…You just never get anything right…

You sacrificed sleep for that project. You bailed on personal events to work on it alone. You gave it your all, sitting through your partner’s endless criticisms on early drafts. It’s funny how they have the nerve to accuse you of not putting in any effort when you clearly remember doing the majority of the work, while all they did was made small modifications.

The words came out of the screen and pierced you straight through the heart. Trembling fingers hovered over your keyboard as you struggled to respond.

You find yourself typing and deleting sentences repeatedly, hovering between staying professional and feeling livid. Your brain was in too much of a frenzy to keep your emotions in check. The seething sensation you felt continued to build and build until you snapped, slamming the laptop shut and burying your head in your hands.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, you thought to yourself. Slowly but surely, your breathing collected, your heart rate slowed, and you began to calm down. You set down the laptop on your desk, vowing to keep it closed for the remainder of the day.

After a quick bathroom trip to splash your face with water, you walked back into your room and dropped on the bed. You managed to take a peak at the clock on your wall; 6 pm. While you had made plans for a New Year’s party with your friends, midnight was still hours away, and all you could feel was the sleepiness consuming you.

Turning your phone off and setting it on the nightstand, you decide to take a quick nap. It was the least you could do to give yourself a break.

You woke up to a stuffy, pitch-black room. You slowly lifted your head before jolting fully awake, scrambling to find your phone. The numbers glared back at you through the screen — it was 10.00 pm. The ‘quick nap’ you planned on taking had actually lasted almost five hours.

Below the clock, multiple notifications from your friends poured through, asking you about your whereabouts. You were supposed to be at Mateo’s house at this hour, getting ready to celebrate the new year. Instead, you were in clothes you use to sleep in every night.

[22:04] mateo: [tagged you] hello?? where are you?

[22:04] you: im here im here im here

[22:05] you: im omw i promise i had to deal with something first

You were, in fact, not on your way — rather you were hastily stripping off your clothes as you sat on your vanity, pulling out your makeup bag. You had less than two hours to get ready and be at Mateo’s place.

You had originally planned a glamorous look for the night, constructing the perfect outfit, hair, and makeup look, but you were racing against the clock. You decided to skip multiple steps in your routine and simplify your hairdo to help your case. As you ran your hair through the straightener for the nth time, you got another text from Mateo.

[22:23] mateo: oh yeah btw [tagged you] can you get grapes we’re running short

Mateo was talking about las doce uvas de la suerte of course, the Spanish tradition of eating twelve grapes at midnight for good luck. You’re pretty sure you have a fresh container in the fridge from your grocery shopping last week.

[22:24] you: yeah dw

After a 30-minute-long struggle, you were finally done getting ready. Shoving your belongings into a purse, you reached for the closest pair of shoes in your closet before stopping in the kitchen, retrieving the grapes. You know you’ll be met with endless complaints from your friends for being late, but hopefully, the grapes could somewhat make up for it.

The Uber ride to Mateo’s house consisted of you anxiously bouncing your leg to the point of cramping. You incessantly checked the time and watched as the time ticked up agonizingly slowly. When the driver took you to your destination, you could only mutter a quick ‘thank you’ before dashing out onto the street.

You could spot the fairy lights decorating the backyard from the distance, and the closer you stepped the louder the music resonated in your ears. Your friends, Mateo’s family members, and even his neighbors had gathered to celebrate.

Mateo emerged from inside the house and greeted you with a hug. “Took you long enough! We thought you’d never show up.”

You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing you were so, so close to sleeping through the whole thing.

The boy looked you up and down and poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Damn, you look like a mess,” he teased.

You knew it was all in good fun — Mateo was always the jokester in the group. Despite this, you felt your veins throbbing in rage and your eyes getting hot.

You had just gone through more than you can handle. It seemed like since the second you opened your eyes, nothing had gone your way. Something as seemingly trivial as a joke had pushed you over the edge, causing your blood to boil.

“Enjoy your fucking grapes,” you sneered.

You shoved the container harshly against Mateo’s chest and he steps back at the impact. His eyes go wide at your sudden, out-of-character actions. The people in the yard watched as you stomped off the premises, jaw clenched and eyebrows lowered. Anyone could tell that you were fuming.

You had spent half an hour getting ready only to stay at the party for less than 2 minutes. The second Uber ride of the night was more depressing than the first. Your head was thrown back against the headrest as you stared at the car ceiling with dead eyes. You wanted nothing more than for the day to end.

Arriving home at your house, you gently shut the door behind you. The house remained in the same silent, dark condition it was in when you left not long ago. Your legs slowly carry you to the living room couch, letting your purse fall down your arms and onto the floor. Sinking onto the cushions, you sat alone in the gloomy space. You check the clock for one last time; 11.49 pm.

So, this was how you were spending New Year’s. Alone in the dark.

It was right at that moment when a series of rapid taps sounded against your front door, causing you to flinch in place. Who could be visiting you at this hour?

You swing the front door open to be met with a face you’ve seen a million times over. Gavi.

“Gavi,” you breathed out, no louder than a whisper. His gaze softens at the tone of your voice.

“Can I come in?” You nodded, stepping out of the way to let him in. You lead him to the living room, picking up your purse and placing it on the coffee table. You didn’t want him to think that you were on the verge of a breakdown not even five minutes ago.

“Why are you here?”

He sits next to you on the couch. “I heard something happened with you and Mateo.”

“Nothing happened. I was just, kinda pissed— not at him, but he was the unfortunate target.” You started to feel bad for the boy at that point and hoped he would be just as understanding as Gavi was. “He’s not hurt, is he?”

“No, no. He was more worried about you. We all were.”

“How did you get here?”

“Oh, I drove.” Gavi pointed behind him as if pointing to his car. “Soon as I heard what happened I just tailed after you.”

“Did they ask you to pick me up?”

“Do you want to go back?” The silence that followed lets him know that you didn’t want to.

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Actually—” Gavi suddenly twists his body, digging in the pockets of his outfit. “If you’re planning on staying, I might as well give it to you now.” He searched his jacket and his shirt before feeling the back pocket of his pants and turning back to you.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” he instructs. You were hesitant at first but complied in the end.

You felt a small weight fall on your palms. “Open.”

Your eyelids fluttered open to the sight of a small gift box wrapped in a bowtie. Undoing the knot, you fumbled with the box before turning it upside down to reveal its contents, feeling Gavi’s eyes on you the whole time.

Two things fell out of the small box; a small folded note and another, smaller, velvet box. You examine the latter first, undoing the clasp to reveal a necklace gleaming in the dim moonlight. The piece of jewelry was gold in color with a thin bar of metal hanging from the middle. Upon closer inspection, you saw something engraving on the bar.

You picked up the necklace between your fingers, running them through the etches, unsure what was written.

“It’s the coordinates of my parents’ old house. Where we first met,” Gavi explains. The mention of the location brings back recollections of a sweaty nine-year-old Gavi, mud on his football kit, knocking on your front door to ask if he can take the ball he’d accidentally punted in your backyard. When you let the boy in, you would’ve never expected the bond you’d form for years to come.

A smile slowly appeared on your face as you fiddled with the necklace, rewinding the memories in your head. You moved to unravel the note next. The note was short, only containing wishes for you in the coming year, but it was the last sentence that stirred your emotions.

I’ll never shut up about how proud I am of you. You’re actually one of the best things that have ever happened to me. Happy New Year’s, stink •ᴗ•

After what you had endured from the moment you woke up, the thought that someone — Gavi, on top of that — told you they were proud of you and were one of the best things to ever happen to them was enough for your emotions to start stirring in your head, the first beads of tears dribbling down your heated cheeks.

Gavi didn’t even notice your crying until your silent sniffles grow louder and louder causing your body to droop. He wasn’t expecting you to react like this. At first, he thought he did something wrong. Was it a bad gift?

His arms encase your hunched frame, pulling your face closer to his chest. The feeling of his flesh under yours only made your sobbing worse. The items in your hand fell to the floor, tumbling on the carpet. “Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed, patting your back, letting you drench his dress shirt with tears. His outfit was the least of his concerns at that moment. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

You don’t answer, pulling him in closer. He allows it.

Gavi cups your cheek in your hands, directing your gaze to look up at him. If you looked a mess at Mateo’s a few moments ago, you don’t know what you were now. Mascara staining your cheeks, eyes blown out and puffy, your nose bright red. Regardless, Gavi held steady eye contact with you, patiently waiting for you to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” you squeeze out in between inhales.

“No, no, no, don’t apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

“It’s just…” The back of your hand goes up to swipe your face dry. Gavi’s thumbs tenderly swipe underneath your eyelids, finishing the job for you. “...shit day. Nothing else.” You contemplated telling him the full story. But that was reserved for another time.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking back with puppy eyes. His other hand moves to brush the hair out of your face, running his fingers through your locks. You hummed in response and sat up straight, taking deep breaths to compose yourself.

“Fuck, I need to get some water,” you said to yourself. Gavi leaps off the couch and borderline sprints to the kitchen.

“Sit down. I’ll get it for you.” He came back not long after, a water bottle in one hand and a box of tissues in the other.

He remains silent as you blow your nose in the tissues and chug the contents of the bottle. He knows sometimes you don’t want someone to talk to when you’re sad, you just needed someone to be there with you.

“Sorry for getting your shirt wet.” Gavi breathes out, mumbling an it’s okay under his breath. He was tempted to ask about the series of events that led to your current state. Instead, he takes your hand in his and you almost melt into his touch.

You lean forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder and your heart rate finally slows. You can’t remember the last time you cried that hard, and now your head was throbbing, your eyes were dry, and your nose was stuffed. Gavi’s head leaning against yours helps you take your mind off the pain temporarily.

“Thanks for the gift. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

You have no idea how much you mean to me, he thinks to himself.

“Did you…” you began to speak, “... really mean what you said in that note?” Gavi looks down to find you looking back up at him through your eyelashes.

“Every word.”

Your faces were now inches apart, the distance so small that you can feel each other’s breaths on your face. Your heart pounds like a drum in your chest, fast and hot in the anticipation of something — anything. It felt like you were on fire and you might spontaneously combust at any moment.

Gavi’s hand moves to cup your cheek again. His touches send a flood of adrenaline coursing through your veins. His head tilts to the side, and he pulls you in closer ever so slowly. You felt the soft brushing of his lips against yours, and that’s when a loud crackle erupts in the sky, brightening the entire room.

You and Gavi pull back from each other at the noise. Your heads snap in the direction of your window, watching as radiant colors decorate the pitch-black sky, leaving trails of makeshift stars behind.

The New Year had arrived.

The thundering of fireworks and whistles in the distance persisted for some time, as you and Gavi sit in awkward silence, breathing heavily. The universe is a douchebag, Gavi thought to himself. That was the closest he had ever gotten to releasing the stream of emotions he had locked away for months in his heart.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed suddenly.

“What?”

“We didn’t eat the grapes!”

Gavi almost scoffed at the sentence. Your faces were burning red and your hearts throbbed in your ribcages, but a cultural tradition was the most of your concerns.

“Well, here’s to twelve months of bad luck for us,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Together?”

“Together.”

JANUARY 2 — THE ONE TIME

Two weeks had never flown by faster for Gavi. Mentally, he’s still in his parent’s house for the first time in six months — he blinks, and now his train ride back to Barcelona is four hours away.

His mom had been blowing up his phone since he woke up. She had told him for the nth time that day to not forget his ticket, to make sure his ID was within easy reach and asked him repeatedly if he needed any food for the journey back home. He tuned out every message. His brain had been consumed by one thought, and one thought only.

The feeling of your lips on his.

Even if it lasted for a millisecond, it drove Gavi to what seemed like insanity. When he bid his goodbyes, he sat in his car and stared at the steering wheel for fifteen minutes before he could drive off. When he washed his face that night, his fingers grazed over his lips to mimic the feeling. When he lay in bed, shutting his eyes to end the day, he was greeted with the memory of your face inches away from yours. He couldn’t escape you even in his dreams.

You, you, you. The thought had latched onto his senses and followed him the whole day. He looked at his living room sofa. You. He walked into the backyard and found fireworks boxes shoved in the dumpster. You. For the first time in his life, he took notice of how the fruit bowl in his parent’s kitchen contained grapes. You.

It was like the universe was taunting him at this point. It nudged him closer and closer to his heart’s desires at unfathomable speeds, only to materialize a brick wall blocking the way, smacking him in the face.

It was even worse that neither of you had spoken to each other since. There was no good morning text, no voicemail, and nothing planned for you to do today. After all, it was his last day in Sevilla anyway.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe the universe actually knew best and was only trying to protect Gavi from having his heart torn into pieces. As he sits in the aftermath of his failed confession, he was convinced he had sent you flying the other way. He had gotten to the very position he swore against ending up in.

Meanwhile, you were experiencing the same distress he was going through. You couldn’t even step into your living room the next morning, avoiding it like a crime scene. You typed and deleted paragraphs of messages over and over, the words in the back of your mind but never successfully transferring to the screen.

You felt like it was now or never. Today was the day he would go home. With your uni and his football season starting soon, you weren’t sure when you’d see him again. You were horrified at the thought of Gavi thinking you didn’t want him just as badly, returning home hand-in-hand with a supermodel after moving on.

The two of you sat kilometers apart, an invisible string entwining your beating hearts.

Gavi bid his final goodbyes to his family members. He grabbed his belongings and went inside the car that would take him to the train station. Leaning his head against the window, he gazes at the views of the city one last time.

Then, the driver stops at a red light, and your house enters his field of vision.

The anxious feeling in his gut slowly reappeared as his legs instinctively bounced up and down. You were probably inside. He wonders what you were doing. At this time of day, you were usually getting your chores done.

He thinks to himself, does your heart beat the same way when you think of him? Do you feel the same fluttering sensation in your stomach when he gets close to you? Did you go through the same agonizing twelve hours as he did?

Gavi’s friends had all either texted or called goodbyes through the phone. All of them, except for you. And he wasn’t about to leave until you did the same.

It was like he lost total control of his body. In the middle of traffic, Gavi jolted out of his seat and walked out on the street, rapidly telling the driver he’ll be gone for a minute. In between car honks and angry cyclists, he pushes his way through the commotion and sprints to your front door.

He banged on the door, sweat dampening his collar from running. His hair was a disheveled mess. He had no big speech planned. All he needed was you. He doesn't care if you decide to slam the door in his face — he was seconds away from imploding.

If the universe dared interrupted him then, he would fight it with his bare hands.

You opened the door nonchalantly. You weren’t expecting any guests, especially not Gavi.

“Gavi!” you greeted him. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“We need to talk.” The sentence wasn’t a suggestion. It was a demand.

For the third time that week, you found yourself alone in the living room with Gavi. Nothing good ever came out of situations like these.

You trailed shortly behind him as he walked into the living room, hands running through his hair. You had never seen him this distressed in your life.

“Gavi, what’s going—”

“I think we both know what’s going on.” Gavi takes a step closer to you.

Deep down, you did. You had been toying with the idea for months, but it had reached new heights last night. You should’ve known when you almost tried to kiss him, it wasn’t something you could just sweep under the rug. It would forever change your relationship with Gavi.

“Seriously, Y/N. I don’t think I need to spell it out. I’ve held it in for months, and it hurts everyday not being able to say it to your face.” Another step.

He watches as your expression remains unchanging. Your eyes darted across his face, avoiding his piercing stare.

“I’ve made it so clear that there isn’t anything in this world I wouldn’t do for you. And I’ve sat for months waiting for a response, for you to even notice.”

Months. He’d liked you for that long?

“What are you so afraid of?” his voice comes out breathy, almost desperate. He takes another step closer.

Sometimes you wish you could tell Gavi how much you hated him. How much you hated how you felt around him. You hated how he could bring out the depths of your heart that no one had ever seen. You hated how he would leave golden touches on all your aching wounds. You hated how easy it was to show your weakest sides to him.

He didn’t have to ask. You were already his, as he was already yours. And that fact left you petrified. It wasn’t the first time you had entrusted your heart in the hands of another, only for them to be the reason why it burst into a million pieces.

But Gavi wasn’t just any other man.

You finally build up the courage to look him right in the eye. He took half a step closer, standing apart from you at the shortest possible distance without coming into contact.

The recollections from the past week enter your thoughts as you gaze into the familiar hazel eyes. You tried one final time to suppress your true feelings, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Something inside you screamed to just let go.

Your voice trembles as you speak. “I’m not sure what you want here.”

“You. I want you.”

You inched closer to him, lips hovering for a few seconds before they barely grazed against each other. Pushing the slightest bit closer, you softly pressed the kiss you had been dying for on his lips.

You pull away just enough to look him in the eye. “Gav— ”

Before you could finish speaking, Gavi’s palms cupped your neck, closing the gap between you. Your hands naturally land on his chest as he pulls you in even deeper, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

A million unspoken words were exchanged between the two of you. A million words telling him you felt the exact same way about him, how you wanted him just as badly. Gavi’s taste on your tongue was otherworldly, and it only makes you realize just how badly you’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life.

Your hands on his chest scrunched the material of his top, begging for more. You felt Gavi’s fingers trail down your spine, running his palms over your figure before landing on your hips. Before you knew it, your back came in contact with one of the cold walls of the room.

If it wasn’t for Gavi’s hips on your waist, you would’ve sunk to your knees. Trails of fire ran up and down your skin as your breath passionately huffed into each other’s mouths, hands grabbing at anything they could to pull each other closer.

With one final drawn-out kiss, you pulled away from each other, foreheads resting and eyes still closed. Your jaws were slightly agape, processing the encounter.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open and your vision clears. You almost had to pinch yourself to convince yourself that this was not one of your many dreams about Gavi — this was real life.

Your right palm comes up to cup his cheek and he melts into your touch. Breathless, you smiled up at him softly before you spoke.

“Didn’t take you for a great kisser, Gavira,” you teased. He flashes a smug grin in response.

“Why, thank-”

“Better than I even imagined.” You cut him off, silencing him with another peck. You had finally learned to let go.

MARCH 17 — EPILOGUE

“Gavi! Let me change in peace,” you said in between giggles as the boy continued to bury his nose deeper in the crook of your neck.

“But you’ve been changing for hours now,” he complained, pacing in circles in the closet of your apartment in Barcelona.

“Hey, it’s my birthday so I’m the one in charge here,” you retorted, flipping through your selection of dresses.

It seemed like Gavi was finally getting bored of tormenting you all day as he left you alone to make your choice. He peeked over your shoulder to get a good view of the selection, watching your movements attentively.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots an all too familiar garnet-colored dress.

“What about that one?” He points to it, his arm going over your shoulder. Taking the hanger in your hands, you lifted the dress so Gavi could get a better look.

“What, this one?” Gavi hums in agreement.

“I wore this last year, I can’t wear it again. Especially not on my birthday.” You returned the item of clothing to your wardrobe before comparing different outfits again.

“Which is exactly why I want you to wear it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because seeing you in that dress last year was the very first time I realized I loved you.” Your head turns in his direction, disbelief splattered across your face.

“You’re joking.”

“Am not! You should’ve seen the way you looked in that dress. Who wouldn’t start falling head over heels for you,” he spoke as he leaned into your ear.

“God, I never took you for such a cornball before we started dating.” Giggling at his comments, you held his face in your hands, pinching his cheeks.

“But you love me.”

You spin around to look at him, your fingertip landing on his nose. “I tolerate you.”

“Hm, last night didn’t seem like just tolerating to me- Ouch!” A playful slap landed on Gavi’s right shoulder. His hand goes to rub over the affected area. You laughed at his reactions, and the devious look in his eyes shows that he had something up his sleeve.

Suddenly, his hands grab your waist and he throws you over his shoulders, causing you to yelp.

“Oh my god! Put me down!” You tried to jerk out of his grip to no avail. The youngster marched into your bedroom and plopped you down on the bed. He planted his hands on either side of you, trapping you beneath him.

Gavi’s fingers poke at the sides of your body and you instantly knew what he had been planning all along.

“Stop! That tickles!” you laughed uncontrollably, wriggling under his touch as he giggles along to your reactions. “Gavi!”

“I won’t stop until you say it!”

“Okay, okay! Please!” He gets in a few more pokes before leaving you free. You had to catch your breath for a few seconds, chest heaving from laughing so hard.

You grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him in just close enough so that the tip of your noses brushed against each other.

Gavi could see the way your glossy eyes glimmered under the room lights, the way you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“I love you,” you breathed out, pulling him in.

#@s6lars #@s6lars: pg6 #football x y/n #football x reader #football x you #football imagines #gavi x reader #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagines #gavi imagines #gavi fluff #gavi smut #pablo gavi headcanons #pablo gavi drabbles #gavi drabbles

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s6lars · 5 months

Text

the 5 times he knew.

read part two here.

gavi has always considered you his best friend and nothing more — until 5 events proved him wrong. (wc: 6.2k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. pg6 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. just pure fluff! classic childhood best friends to lovers trope, idiots in love

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking

𝐀/𝐍. reupload from 888bear. dedicating this to my most beloved boy 🫶 this was the very first thing i've ever written and it rlly kickstarted my writing on tumblr! happy reading my loves

MARCH 17 — THE BIRTHDAY DRESS

You weren't the type to throw lavish celebrations for your birthday, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to go all out on your 18th — your first step into adulthood.

The morning was spent with mostly your family members. You enjoyed lunch with them, smiling and giggling as you feasted on the dishes served. You ripped open boxes of wrapped gifts and read through a heap of colorful greeting cards. You were lost in the live music playing in the restaurant and surrounded by your loved ones. Before you knew it, the sun was about to set, signaling you to say your goodbyes and leave.

Exhausted but content, you got into an Uber and made your way to your flat in Barcelona. There was one more thing left to do that night, something you'd been looking forward to since you began planning today's festivities. Now that you're 18, it was only fitting to go to a club for the first time. Legally, at least — free from the stress of fake IDs and negotiations with the bouncers that lasted what felt like an eternity.

This part of the day was only reserved for your friends. You had rented out a private bar in a club named RED58, a place you were already quite familiar with, but it was the first time you had a space all to yourself. You curated the guest list and promptly informed them via text.

One of those friends, and the quickest to think of among 15 others, was Gavi. You two first met in his hometown of Sevilla when you were both just 9 years old, through your parents. You had grown quite fond of him, but eventually, Gavi signed with Barcelona and was forced to move away. The abrupt lack of communication with him pained you, only hearing occasional updates from your mom at the dinner table. This period of radio silence ended when you and your family moved out and followed suit around 4 years later.

It was then when you reconnected with him, 13 years old, still young and clueless but all the more mature. You frequently watched his games at La Masia, the training grounds within walking distance on your way home from school. Your bond strengthened as Gavi moved up the ranks, which peaked with him signing his first professional contract with Barcelona and making the national team. For the past five years, you couldn't think of a single moment where you two were distant. You were practically joined at the hip, and everyone in your life knew that too.

Gavi had been exceptionally busy these past few weeks, playing matches that ended either in despair or in tremendous victories. So when you first told him about your plans for today all those weeks ago, you made it clear that he wasn't under any obligation to come. If he felt that he needed some more rest, then he should. But he insisted on being there for you, no matter how tired he was.

He always did.

You stepped out from the backseat of the Uber and went into the building, making your way into the flat. You had no time to lose and started getting ready immediately. Taking off your shoes and sundress, you rummaged in your closet for the dress you had bought for tonight. After gently laying it out on your bed, you began putting on your makeup and doing your hair. About halfway through, you picked up your phone as it dinged, buzzing against your vanity.

[22.39] angry bird 🦜 : be there in five. dont be late stink

You had asked Gavi to pick you up and take you to the club the night before. Placing your phone back down, you added some finishing touches to the look. Hoop earrings and simple gold jewelry, a set gifted earlier today by your mother. Feeling satisfied, you got up from the plush chair you sat on and walked over to the full-length mirror in your living room, clutching your purse. You examined yourself one last time, knowing Gavi would arrive soon.

Not long after, three rapid taps sounded on your door, signaling his arrival. Your head snapped to the direction of the noise, making your way over to let him in. Swinging the door open, you met his gaze and smiled.

"Gavi! Come in."

For a moment, he stood at the door as you walked back into the living room, feet frozen in place. Turning your head back around to him, a concerned look on your face, he shook his head lightly and followed behind you, his shoes echoing against the floors.

Standing back in front of the mirror, you adjusted your hair, turned, and looked back around, standing still once more to say to him, "How do I look?" You turned to look at him, his hazel eyes scanning you up and down before finally making eye contact.

He takes a deep breath before answering, "Nice." You hummed in response, sensing the slightest hint of restraint in his words.

Turning back to look at your reflection, you let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I know I don't... dress like this often," you huffed out, "and it might be weird to you. But I think I look pretty damn good." You put your hands on your hips, weight shifting to one foot as you bent the other, head tilted at him. He could only chuckle in response.

It was true. You didn't dress like this often, in fact, at all. The silk dress was garnet in color and noodle-strapped. The fabric hugged your curves and tightened around the waist. The skirt reached down to your thighs, a slit running down one side, your back exposed. Gavi had never seen you like this, finding himself unable to look away for even a second.

"I never said you didn't." He swiftly turns back, desperately trying to prevent you from noticing the red searing on his cheeks, fingers running through his locks. "Let's go. I'm sure the others are waiting for us." He walked to the door, you following not too far behind him.

As he holds the door open for you to exit, he pauses and lets you get a few paces ahead. Staring at your silhouette from behind, his jaw on the verge of dropping straight to the floor, he felt a fluttering sensation brew in his abdomen.

Fuck, he thought to himself, making his way to catch up with you.

APRIL 29 — JEALOUSY

"Y/N!" A distant voice shouted, snapping you back to reality. You opened your eyes and turned to look at the person who called your name.

"What?" You ejected back. You propped yourself up on your elbows and repositioned your sunglasses from the bridge of your nose to your head.

Vision clearing, you make out the shape of Pedri walking across the coastline towards you, stopping in his tracks once he was beside the sunbed you had been lying on. He towers over you and looks down to meet your eyes. "Gavi's starting up the grill."

Your eyes light up at the words, jumping up to your feet and marching in the direction Pedri came from. "Took you guys long enough!" You turned back around to see him following you.

"Hey! Not my fault Gavi doesn't know how to work a grill."

You giggled. "And you know how to, but just decided to play volleyball instead of helping?" You turned around to face him, now walking backward.

"You're one to talk. You passed out for at least half an hour, you know."

"Because the food wasn't ready," you teased, arms crossing on your chest.

"Maybe if you helped." He steps closer to you.

"Maybe if you helped." You pointed your finger at him, the tip landing on his chest. Before you two could argue further about who was less helpful, a third voice interjected from ahead.

"Pedri! Help me out!" It was Gavi. The two of you went to look at him in front of the grill, holding tongs in one hand and fanning his surroundings with the other. The white smoke from the grill had swirled in front of his face, obscuring his vision, but you could tell he was sneering from afar.

"Looks like he still can't work the grill," Pedri remarked. You turn to look at each other in unison, his lips pursed. "I think I should help him out for real now." He jogs toward Gavi, leaving you alone with the others.

Gavi had a few days off from training and decided to host a hangout with his friends. He invited some other Barcelona players and his hometown friends, including you. He decided to spend the evening at Barceloneta Beach, bringing drinks and food to grill.

You grabbed a foldable chair lying on the ground, set it up, and sat down. You pulled out your phone from the pocket of your swimsuit cover-up and began scrolling through your socials, feeling the breeze in your hair and the smell of charcoal waft to your nose.

With the help of Pedri, Gavi successfully controlled the grill, and they began cooking together. He started rambling about how the grill was 'probably broken' and that they should've 'brought a better one.' Pedri didn't care to listen, the younger boy's voice fading into white noise. Instead, he was looking at you.

His eyes were glued to your figure, sitting with one leg over the other, your swimsuit cover-up failing to cover your thighs and legs. He noticed the tension in your face as you scrolled through your phone, eyes darting around the screen. It wasn't until Gavi shoved him in the shoulder that he snapped back to reality and turned to look at him.

"Are you even listening to me?" he chided. Pedri ignored him and redirected his gaze back at you. Gavi, curious as to what his friend was too busy staring at to listen to his words, glanced in the same direction. His eyes landed on you, and he looked back at Pedri, understanding what was happening instantly.

Gavi introduced you and Pedri some months ago. In fact, he was the first teammate of his that you met. You two kicked it off not long after, bumping into each other every time Gavi organized these hangouts (which was at least once any time he had days off). He's seen the two of you talk and joke about multiple times. But this time, Pedri had something in his gaze as he checked you out. Something Gavi knows is only reserved for girls he's interested in.

Pedri turned to meet his eyes. With a smirk on Pedri's face and Gavi shaking his head in disbelief, the two shared a look that fully confirmed Gavi's suspicions. "You," Gavi starts to speak before being interrupted by Pedri.

"Yup," he interjected as if reading Gavi's mind and knowing what he was about to say next. "Well, maybe." Pedri looks down at the grill and shuts it off, transferring the cooked pieces of meat to the serving platter, carrying it in his hands. The two make their way to everyone else, slowly walking to finish the conversation.

"What do you mean 'maybe'? Do you like her or not?" Gavi questioned. Pedri let out a scoff and looked straight ahead.

"I don't know, man. Things feel like they've changed between us, you know? Not in a bad way, obviously. I think I like her, and I think she likes me too. But I don't know for sure yet," he replies. Pedri set down the dish on a table and called the others.

He turns to look at Gavi. "If she doesn't like me back, I wouldn't be all that heartbroken. But if she does, dating her doesn't sound so bad."

Gavi kept his eyes on the sand between his feet the entire time Pedri spoke. Dating her. Those words echoed in his head and left a sour taste on his tongue. It didn't help that during the whole hour or so that everyone was eating, you two chose to sit next to each other. Talking and whispering things in each other's ears, your hand lightly hitting his back during fits of laughter and your thighs always touching.

Gavi didn't even try to hide the look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched, glaring at the sight. Lucky for him, everyone else was too occupied to notice.

He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head. You two had been friends for a while and knew each other well. He had seen it all unfold before his eyes, but why was he only now feeling this kind of resentment? Pedri was single, and so were you. He had no right to police who you could and couldn't date. After all, you weren't his.

Rounds of drinks and volleyball later, it was time for everyone to go home. Gavi was packing the things he had brought from his place when you walked up to him. Still irritated with what happened earlier, he tried his best to ignore your presence. That all went flying out the window when he heard what you said.

"You still taking me home?" You and Gavi had shown up to the beach together, and he would take you back to your place as usual. This happened often, the two of you showing up and leaving events together. It had been a sort of unspoken rule between the two of you.

"Yeah." He zipped close the bag containing all his belongings, gaze still avoiding yours. "I'm going to put this in the car first."

Gavi swung the bag over his shoulder and was about to turn away, heading straight for his car. However, a familiar voice came up behind him, one he couldn't ignore. Pedri. He showed up with his own bags, smiling at Gavi before turning to look at you.

"How are you going home, Y/N?" Pedri asked, a tone of optimism in his voice.

"Oh, I'm actually going with Gavi. I always do." Gavi smirked at that last statement. He examined Pedri's face, slightly dropping from disappointment.

"That's right," he says. Gavi extended one arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, sending a message to Pedri. "See you around, hermano." He walks past him towards the car park.

Blissfully unaware of Gavi's feelings, you felt confused. After a few paces, you looked up to make eye contact with him. "What was that all about?"

Gavi looked down, meeting your gaze. "What was what all about?"

You squinted your eyes at him. He certainly knew more than what he was leading on, but you shrugged it off anyway. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but you couldn't help but feel a slight tension between him and Pedri. You turned back to look forward, Gavi relieved you didn't interrogate him further.

Brushing those thoughts aside, you smiled at him and said, "I had fun today." He smiled in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Thanks for inviting me," you continued.

"Thanks for being here with me," his gaze unwavering.

"I'll always be here with you, Gav." You turned to look away once more. He felt his heart skip a beat. Not even 5 minutes ago, his head felt fuzzy from the mix of envy and beer. But now, his thoughts had never been so clear. He knew you weren't fully sober either, but hoped deep down that you meant what you said tonight - because it meant the world to him.

You start to stumble in your steps, leaning your head on his shoulder for support. He does the same, his head resting on top of yours. The two of you continue walking like this, breathing in unison as the sound of waves crashing surrounds you, the stars dimly illuminating the way.

Gavi lifts his head momentarily, looking back to where you two walked from, and sees Pedri. He whips his head in the opposite direction, avoiding looking at you two, and follows Ansu to his car with his head hung low.

Gavi turns back to look ahead of him, smirking. He can only tighten the grip of his arm around you, pulling you in closer, unwilling to let go.

MAY 4 — THE MORNING AFTER

Gavi had no idea how he ended up in this position when he awakened on the couch that morning.

You were sound asleep, lying on top of him. Your head was nuzzled in the crook of his neck, your hand resting on his shoulder. Gavi had one arm wrapped around you, his hand landing on the small of your back. Your legs were a tangled mess, your nose lightly grazing his jawline.

Gavi felt paralyzed. He was terrified to move, not wanting to wake you up. In the meantime, he racked his memory and tried to remember how this happened in the first place.

He recalls the day before. Barca had won 1-0, Gavi being the sole goalscorer leading them to victory. He still remembers the thundering roars from the stands and the celebrations after.

As usual, the team went to celebrate, drinking and partying through the night. Everyone had invited friends, significant others, and family members along. Gavi was no exception. He asked you to come along, going straight to the bar from Camp Nou. Your appearances at these post-match celebrations had become increasingly frequent as the season progressed.

From that point on, everything was a haze of vodka, EDM music, and neon lights. He remembers having one too many drinks that night. Now, he has a throbbing headache because of the hangover. He thinks it'll get worse if he keeps thinking but persists anyway.

He remembers getting to the point where he could no longer walk in a straight line, his knees buckling as he tried. The bartender saw this and began pulling his drinks back, obligated to. As he tries to reason with the man behind the bar to pour him up just one more shot, he starts to get aggravated. He's disoriented, and Pedri and Ferran have to step in, pulling him away and shoving him down onto a couch at a booth.

The pair decided that Gavi had partied to his limit and needed to go home. Pedri fetched you from the dance floor, and the three of you hauled him down the flight of stairs (hoping that there wouldn't be a swarm of fans at the exit) and shoved him in the backseat of Pedri's car.

Pedri drove you four back to Gavi's place, Ferran in the passenger's seat. In the backseat were you and Gavi. His head rested on your lap, your hands running through his hair. He fell in and out of consciousness, mumbling a string of incoherent sentences from time to time.

Not long after, you arrived, and Pedri pulled over. The three of you struggled again to get him out of the car and into his flat. Exhausted, you plopped him onto one of the couches in his living room. Gavi fell asleep immediately, and you and the two other boys went to collect your breaths.

"You guys should probably get going now," you said to them. Pedri and Ferran turned to look at each other, then back to you.

"Are you not going to go home? We can take you to your place," Pedri replied, knowing your car was back home.

"I can take care of Gavi. I'll take a cab home or something." You take a sip from the glass of water in your hands before continuing, "You guys are probably exhausted. Go have a rest."

"It's 3 am, Y/N," Ferran said.

"I'll be fine, really. Don't you both have training tomorrow? You really need to rest." They saw no point in refuting you. You got up from the chair you were sitting on and approached them both, hugging them goodbye and leading them to the front door.

Alone in the flat with Gavi, you walked over to him by the couch and sat next to him. You'd done this many times before, taking care of him after a long night of drinking, and he'd done the same to you. You examined his face, his eyelids shut, and his breathing slowed. He had fallen asleep.

You slowly got up again and walked to the edge of the couch, taking off his shoes and socks. Gavi twisted in his sleep, indicating he wasn't entirely unconscious. You debated carrying him to his bed, quickly realizing how horrible the idea was — you weren't sober yourself, and you were consumed with sleepiness.

So instead, you grabbed another glass of water and set it by the coffee table nearest to him, along with some painkillers. He needed it when he woke up. After completing these tasks, you sat down on the end of the couch and waited for an Uber driver to pick you up.

From the opposite end, a gravelly noise attracts your attention. Gavi had woken up, and you couldn't quite understand what he was saying, still intoxicated. Still, you let him know what was happening.

"Hey, sleepyhead. You're at home. You tried to climb over the counter to pour yourself a drink when the bartender refused." You got up and walked to him, bending down slightly. He was still disoriented but had it in him to keep eye contact.

"How did we get here?" he slurred, his voice no louder than a whisper. You could see from the distance that his eyelids were struggling to stay open, and he was about to fall asleep again.

"Pedri drove, and Ferran was with us too. They went home not too long ago." You hear Gavi groan in response. He laid his head on the armrest, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes again.

"Speaking of, I need to go home too. Waiting on an Uber," you said. You hear him grunt in response, some words escaping his lips. You hummed, asking what he meant.

The second time he spoke was louder but still inaudible. "What was that?" you asked one more time.

Gavi's arm suddenly reached out for you, wrapping around your torso and pushing you on top of him. You yelp out, trying not to make much noise. He nuzzled his nose into your scalp, and it was then that you finally made out what he was trying to say all along.

"Stay."

You wriggle from his grip and try to look up at him, finding it difficult because of his strength. But you catch a glimpse of his face, sound asleep once more. Your chest was flushed against his, and you felt the air coming out his nose, fanning your scalp. You desperately try to get back up without waking him but soon find it impossible.

A few minutes passed, and you felt your breathing slow, your eyelids fluttering shut. You felt safe this way, in his embrace. You take in his scent, how his fingertips graze your back every once in a while. You had accepted your fate and decided there was no harm in falling asleep like this, limbs tangled with your best friend. It was something you two would worry about when you woke up.

Well, now Gavi was awake, and he was definitely worrying. He had seen the cup of water and pill on the coffee table, quickly deducing that it was your doing, and took it. Within a few minutes, his headache had disappeared, leaving him to piece together an explanation without the pain.

But he soon realized that he didn't mind being in this position. He didn't feel uncomfortable and even started trailing his fingernails up and down your spine. This has never happened to you two before, but it didn't feel unfamiliar. The way your bodies molded with each other like perfect pieces of a puzzle, it felt like home. You felt like home.

Your body jolted awake, startling Gavi. You raised your head, your eyes meeting his. He tried to lean up from the couch, thinking that you would be up on your feet doing the same, slightly embarrassed. To his surprise, you laid your head down on his chest, preventing him from getting up any further.

"I have a headache," you groaned. The hangover had kicked in.

"I know," he responded. "Want me to get you Tylenol?"

You shook your head against his chest, refusing. Gavi mumbled in approval and slowly lied back down on the couch. He heard you let out a sigh.

"Do... you want anything else?" he asked. There was a slight pause before you replied.

"Stay."

He knew he had to return the favor.

JULY 13 — COMING HOME

[07.19] angry bird 🦜 : just landed. see u soon

You repeatedly read the text message until you felt it would be etched in your memories forever. Gavi sent that message over an hour ago, and he was yet to show up at your front door.

Gavi and the team had been in the United States on a pre-season tour. It was his first time joining the team on these trips. In the week leading up to your departure, he couldn't go a single day without telling you just how excited he was.

When he finally departed, it was the longest that you two had been apart in a while. Most of his games were played in Spain, the rest happening abroad. But even then, he would only leave for a week or so before returning home.

The distance was unbearable. You two always missed each other when you were apart, but you were perfectly content with just a few texts back and forth. Now, you felt like you could go crazy if you went a day without hearing his voice.

You supported him through your phone screen, watching his travels through his posts on Instagram and appearances on Barca's Youtube channel. You always sent a good luck text before every friendly match and another either congratulating his win or cheering for him after a loss. This routine persisted the entire time he was there.

The time difference was by far the worst. In the evenings, when you were done with the day, he was busy with training and press conferences. By the time he was done with work, it was past midnight for you. Still, you managed to stay awake until the early mornings to hear him talk about his day.

"There are so many cool things happening here. If only you were here." You were on Facetime with him, now a part of your nightly routine when he was away. He talked you through everything he did that day, and in return, you updated him about what happened back home.

"You seem to be getting attached to America," you responded. You hear a faint chuckle coming out of your phone speakers.

"It's nicer than what I thought." He moves to lie down on his bed, an arm behind his head supporting it. "But I really do miss being home."

Gavi had to lick his lips to physically prevent himself from saying he missed you the most. He was content with being anywhere on the planet so long as you were by his side.

"Then come home quicker, stink. It's been boring here without you," you teased. Gavi raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"So what you're saying is you miss me? Hm?" he taunted back, his signature smirk plastered on his face, his head slightly tilted.

"Oh definitely, I miss wiping vomit off my kitchen counters after driving you home from the bar. Can't wait to have you do that again," you replied sarcastically.

This brings you to your current state. He was expected to touchdown in Barcelona at around 6 o'clock. Over an hour had passed, and you waited patiently in your living room, knowing he had to get through customs and everything. But you yearned for him and wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and give him the biggest hug, never letting go.

Stuck at the airport, Gavi shared the same thoughts. He promised to meet you as soon as possible, but now he was trapped in a cramped room with the team, waiting for someone's lost luggage. His foot bounced as he fumbled with the strings of his hoodie, growing increasingly impatient.

Not a day went by in the States without you on his mind. He remembers getting a pack of M&Ms from the hotel snack bar and how you would eat one color at a time before moving to another because it just "felt right that way." One rainy day in New York City, he glanced out the hotel window and recalled every time you would stomp in puddles to get his clothes wet, annoying him. He cautiously examined a coke bottle before opening it, knowing how many times you had pranked each other with shaken ones.

But the worst was when he found himself at night in his bed staring at the ceiling, wide awake. He grew tired of seeing your face through a screen, your voice through a speaker. Without realizing it, he started counting down the days before he could see you again, the distance becoming unbearable.

Once the boys were free to leave, he practically leaped up from his seat and drove straight to your place. His phone died while waiting so he couldn't tell you he would be late. Gavi's heart sank at the thought of you in your living room, pacing back and forth, waiting for him.

He had no idea why he had been feeling like this. You two had gone longer without speaking in the past, and he definitely misses you every time he goes away, but it was different this time. He couldn't concentrate on anything else, a distinguished emptiness in his chest at every thought of you. It was hard to put into words.

He racked his brain at every explanation possible as to why until the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view. Exiting his car, he hurried into the building and hopped into an elevator. He didn't even need to see the floor numbers to know which he was punching. The action was essentially muscle memory at this point.

The elevator doors separated, and Gavi made his way to your door. He was tired and jetlagged, and his back was in pain from the uncomfortable position he was driving in. He rings your doorbell, hearing footsteps echoing inside before the door swings open.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in nearly a month. He catches you about to speak, but before you can, he wraps his arms around your waist, one of his hands resting between your shoulder blades. Gavi had pulled you flush against his chest, the force lifting you off your feet. He held you in the air for a moment before slowly placing you back down, his hand traveling up your spine to the back of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the crook of your neck, eyes shut, taking in your presence. How you felt under his touch, how your heart beat against his. Everything about you.

You were here. Not through a video call or an audio message. Gavi holds you for a moment, unwilling to let go in fear of being separated again. Once he eventually does, he pulls away slowly, your hands holding his arms. You two looked at each other, breathless from the adrenaline before you spoke.

"Hey."

"Hi." A smile slowly appeared on his face.

The two of you stood out in the hallway for the world to see, but Gavi couldn't care less. You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, your chest heaving, and your face burning red.

And that was when he finally understood why he's been feeling this way all this time.

AUGUST 12 — ACCEPTANCE

It had been a month since Gavi came to terms with the fact that he likes you. A lot. He's had feelings for a good amount of girls and dated them in the past, but there was something in the way you made his heart race a little faster and made him forget about anyone else.

Maybe "came to terms with" is not the correct phrase, considering how he's been acting lately. The week after he came home, he paced up and down his room for what felt like centuries, arguing with himself about these feelings. 'It was definitely the distance,' he thought, and now that he's home, it would all go away. That was quickly proven wrong when he failed to hold eye contact with you one night, fidgeting uncontrollably, cartwheels in his stomach.

'It's just a phase. I'll grow out of it,' Gavi thought a few days later, but now it had been a month since that fateful day, and all he's been able to think about was you.

He didn't know why he beat himself up so much because of it. Actually, he did know, deep down. He was terrified of losing you. You had shown interest in many boys multiple times, telling him about your crushes and situationships for hours. He also knew what you were like when it came to love — if someone dared to hurt you, you cut them out of your life without question.

Gavi was terrified that you didn't like him back. That one word, one wrong move, would send you far in the opposite direction, abandoning him. It scared him even more because you were his closest friend. You shared a bond with him that lasted years, never wavering, eternally strengthening. He didn't want to throw that away for your happiness or his.

It had been a month since Gavi came to terms with the fact that he liked you and had to keep quiet about it. He would rather swallow his feelings to keep you in his life than dare and watch you turn into a stranger.

This drove him into what felt like madness. It started to affect his daily life, even distracting him during training. He felt like a ticking time bomb that would eventually explode if he didn't tell anyone. He was never good at keeping his emotions in check.

Pedri was the first to notice this drastic change. Gavi always looked scared or anxious, but that was just his face. This time, he could tell something was different. He genuinely looked bothered.

This continued for weeks. At first, Pedri wondered if it could be his fault or someone else's on the team. He asked Gavi in the dressing room one day. The youngster was flustered, quickly dismissing the question and changing the subject. Pedri's suspicions grew, and he felt worried. So he tried again. This time, it was on a bus ride during media day.

Upon hearing the question, Gavi let out an exasperated sigh and rested his head back on the seat. He felt irritated at the question, the carsickness not helping.

"Why are you asking me this again?"

Pedri tilted his head slightly. "Because I know something's wrong, Gav. You're shit at hiding it," he responded. "I mean, if I did something wrong, then tell me."

Gavi's head whipped to meet Pedri's gaze, his eyebrows furrowed. "No, it's not because of you."

"Is it one of the boys?"

"No, it's not one of the boys," he maintained. Pedri crossed his arms and leaned against the bus seat, still looking at Gavi. He takes his word for it but knows he's still upset. But if it wasn't about football, what could it have been?

He was about to find out soon enough.

One fateful afternoon, the team was doing photoshoots at Camp Nou. Photoshoots like these took up the whole day and meant a lot of sitting around doing nothing. Pedri didn't like photoshoot days, but he endured it every time, knowing it was his job.

The photoshoot was being done on the court, near the goalposts. The boys were waiting for the photographers to set up and have their names called one by one. While waiting, they lounged up in the spectator's seats. Legs up on the seats in front or lying across the ones next to them, they were trying to make themselves comfortable.

Pedri was no exception, taking several seats and lying on his back. He had one arm over his eyes, blocking the sunlight. He felt the wind on his face and people talking in the background. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard footsteps make their way up the steps and sat on the seat next to his head.

Putting his arm down, he twisted his body to look at who the person was. To his surprise, it was Gavi. The boy had practically avoided him since the bus incident a few days ago.

"What's up?" Pedri says, moving his hand on top of his stomach. Gavi looks out into the distance and responds.

"I need to tell you something."

Pedri detected the seriousness in his deep voice, the air around the two shifting. He took a deep breath before speaking up again, "You can tell me anything."

Gavi pauses for almost a minute before replying, Pedri growing uneasy by the second.

"I think... i'm in love with Y/N."

Pedri nearly scoffs at the revelation.

He sits up, smiling widely at Gavi. The boy looks at the expression on his face in confusion, almost in worry. Pedri's hand lands on Gavi's shoulder, patting it a few times.

"Congratulations on being the last one to find out."

#@s6lars #@s6lars: pg6 #football x reader #football x you #football x imagines #football x y/n #gavi fluff #gavi imagines #gavi one shots #gavi smut #gavi x reader #gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #gavi blurbs

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s6lars · 5 months

Text

running the table.

what you thought would be as a boring, week-long stay at your parents’ house takes a turn when your brother’s best friend shows up. (wc: 17.6k)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jb5 x reader.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff, smut – mdni! brother’s best friend trope, sneaking around, slowburn ish?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. cursing, drinking, mild spoilers for the great gatsby and the secret history! explicit nsfw content: unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m & f receiving), dirty talk + more

𝐀/𝐍. first reupload from 888bear! those pool table pics could not have come at a better time. happy reading! (or re-reading <;3)

The last thing Jude wants after a long day of traveling is a swarm of fans in his hotel lobby.

After a particularly rough argument with his mother and a far too clingy air stewardess, the only thing that would ease his growing headache is time to himself.

“Just turn back round, I’ll find another place to stay,” Jude says to the driver in the van. He leans his temple against the tinted windows and watches as the man pulls out of the hotel entrance now packed with screaming teens and bright camera flashes.

As the crowd alongside the noise starts to shrink in the distance, Jude feels like he can breathe again. Out of sight, out of mind. With an exasperated huff, he leans harshly on the seat behind him, making his frustration a point. His fingers tightly grip the seats, eyelids closing as his head tips back to face the ceiling.

Air fills his lungs, peace at last — but he still needs a place to stay for the week. Jude’s eyes shoot open to face the black velvet interior of the Mercedes.

Jude reaches for his phone in his pocket, instinctively dialing a number he’s punched many times before.

“Hey, what’s up? D’you land yet?” The voice of his best friend, Marcus, rings in his right ear.

“Hey. Yeah, not too long ago.” Jude rubs his eyebrows with his free hand, trying not to remember how even more hectic the airport was compared to the hotel. “Slight issue, though. They found me.”

“Ahh, the fans?” Jude nods like Marcus can see him, kissing his teeth. “I don’t know what to tell you, mate. Whole city loves you.”

“If they really did they’d let me sleep in peace…” Jude trails off, his tone letting his best friend know he wasn’t fully serious.

A chuckle escapes from the other line. “Really? They’re at the hotel? Did you make it in one piece to your room?”

“My room? Nah, I can’t be arsed. I just told the driver to turn back round.” A heavier laugh escapes this time.

“So? Where to? Any other hotels in mind?” Marcus questions. Jude’s finger taps the leather surface of the car handle a few times as he looks out into the distance.

“Not… really a hotel, no. I was actually thinking if I could stay at yours for the week.”

When Jude thinks of Marcus’ house, he remembers the smell of sweaty football kits and freshly trimmed grass. He remembers the sound of boisterous laughter past midnight followed by the nagging of his best friend’s parents. It’s a house that holds memories for teenage Jude. Now, an adult, he can’t even remember what the living room looks like.

“If that’s fine with you, I mean, I don’t know if your parents are home or—”

“Of course it’s fine. And no, my parents are out of town for the week. It’s just my sister visiting, do you remember her?” A breath of relief escapes Jude knowing he has a place to sleep tonight, his mind too occupied that the last bit of Marcus’ sentence became barely audible to him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, her.” After more small talk and a final thanks, Jude ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket.

His best friend’s house is nothing in comparison to the glamor of the five-star hotel Jude had originally booked, but maybe it was karma for going against his mother’s wishes who, in her own words, felt it was too much even for someone like him. His mind continues to drift deep in thought as he sways with the car through the streets of his hometown.

It takes a few more minutes of thought-drifting for Jude to finally grasp the last of Marcus' words.

Do you remember her?

Jude tries to. He recalls a girl walking into the kitchen whilst he and his friends were sitting at the dinner table, quiet, and disappearing without him noticing. He remembers opening a door halfway as he’s occupied with his phone, only to be stopped by Marcus gripping his wrist.

The extent of his memory only reaches those cloudy recollections. Jude shakes his head, the presence of a third person in the house shouldn’t be all that of a nuisance.

The views in the window take Jude straight back down memory lane as it morphs from a metropolitan borough to streets he knows like the back of his hand. He leans forward to tap the driver on the shoulder, abstractly pointing to his right.

“Take a right here.”

“To Stourbridge, sir?” The driver glances at Jude, who had returned to lean on his seat.

“Yes.”

He’s home.

Nothing in your mind could come closer to a perfect summer vacation than a week-long getaway to Portofino, toasting champagne glasses on yachts and checking out hot Italian men by the docks. Unfortunately for you, your brother had successfully convinced you to come home to Birmingham instead, for the price of a couple hundred quid and a few favors to complete in the future.

It’s only been a few hours since you landed in your hometown from Spain where you’ve been studying for a semester. The chilling weather that greeted you the moment you stepped off the plane reminded you how happily you’ve been enjoying your time away from home— but the sight of your brother at the gate reminded you maybe just how much you needed it.

You’re deep into a book you’d found under your childhood bed when a series of rapid honks catches your attention. A quick check out the window reveals a black van with windows that are too dark to see who’s inside, a car that couldn’t have possibly belonged to anyone you knew.

Your brother, Marcus, was halfway down the hall when you left to check the commotion. There’s a smile present on his face, his pace eager with every step he takes closer to the stairs.

“Who’s that?” Marcus holds on to the stair railing to turn in your direction.

“A friend.”

“Who?”

“Jude, you remember him.” You don’t. Marcus is in disbelief as he realizes the look on your face shows precisely that.

“God, really? Jude, the loud one. He who used to come over with the rest of the boys. The one who moved to Germany, seriously?” Marcus proceeds to name the other five or so boys he used to hang out with, all of whom ring a bell— except for Jude.

Marcus clicks his tongue and starts walking down the stairs. “Whatever, you’ll have to get used to him.”

You move to lean against the railing, watching your brother from the top of the stairs as he reaches the front door. “Used? What do you mean used to him?”

Marcus looks up to meet your eyes. Your head was tilted in confusion, arms folded against your chest.

“He’s staying over for the week.” With a turn of the doorknob, Marcus is out of the house, but that doesn’t stop you from interrogating him further.

“What?! You said you were alone in the house.” Your brother doesn’t seem interested in your words as his footsteps get further away from the door. After a few unsuccessful calls of his name, you went back into your room with a roll of your eyes and an annoyed grunt.

Part of the reason you agreed to come home was Marcus’ insistence on how he’d “die of boredom alone” and “would get murdered by a serial killer if no one was in the house with him” (his own words) over the hour-long phone call you had. The presence of a third person in the house, and a stranger at that, means you’d sacrificed a glamorous Italian summer for nothing.

Soft footsteps echoed closer to your door before it loudly swung open, causing the book you’d continued reading to fall on your face.

“Can you knock?” you hissed.

“You wanna say hi to him? Jog your memory?” Marcus pays no mind to your sour grimace as you set the book down and pushed the loose hair from your face.

“No, I’ll be too busy to look at flights to Italy tonight,” you snap back. Marcus’ hands fall to his sides, hitting his thighs with an audible thud.

“Oh, come on! It’s just Jude!”

“To you he’s just Jude! He’s a stranger to me! If I’d known you weren’t actually alone for the week I would’ve never said yes to this. I could’ve been on a yacht by now!” As you spoke, you sat up straight until you sat on the edge of your bed, feet flat on the carpet.

Marcus raises his hand, eyes widened in offense. “Okay, first off— that’s rude. I can’t believe that you’d choose a yacht over your big brother.”

“I’d take the yacht any day,” you interrupt.

“And second,” Marcus speaks a little louder, preventing you from saying more, “I was alone when I called you last week. Jude called, like, 10 minutes ago. What was I supposed to say, no Jude, you can’t stay at my place, my sister hates you.” He lifts his hands in defense, theatrically moving them around to mock you. His face falls flat once the gimmick is over.

“Whatever,” you state, unamused. “I’ll go downstairs when I feel like it.”

You heard the slightest fine escape from Marcus’ mouth as he leaves your room. You left the book to your right untouched, instead opting to use your phone. You weren’t joking about those tickets.

The living room Jude remembers from his childhood memories looks nothing like the area he’s standing in now. It had been upgraded to a foyer, complete with a swirling staircase and a chandelier dangling off the ceiling.

“Looks exactly the same as it did, yeah?” Marcus playfully nudges Jude’s elbow, chuckling at his friend’s awed expression.

“When’d your parents get it renovated?” Jude looks over his shoulder to see Marcus locking the door, fumbling with the keys in his hand.

“Erm… not too long after you moved to Dortmund.” Marcus pulls the keys from the lock and pockets them, making his way over to Jude. “But nothing’s changed too much, so don’t worry.”

“I ordered food for dinner, it should be here any minute.” Marcus explains, hands on his hips. His eyes dart to the suitcase in Jude’s hand. “Oh, and you can put your stuff in the guest bedroom.”

It feels weird for Jude to stay in a room in this house that isn’t Marcus’ or in the living room with the rest of his mates, but times have changed, and he’s gotten older. The guest bedroom will have to do in the meantime.

Jude takes half a step to the stairs before turning back to Marcus. “Where is it again?”

“Just down the hall on the second floor. You’ll find it.”

When Jude finishes hauling his luggage to the top of the steps, he’s greeted with a singular hallway and five doors, all identical to each other. It seems like Marcus’ parents had no interest in signs when decorating the house, and their son doesn’t like going into specifics.

Jude tries the first door on the left side of the hall, knocking twice. There’s no response. He turns the knob— the door is locked. Four more doors to go.

He moves to the door across from it. Once again, he knocks twice and is met with no response. He turns the knob, and the first thing he sees is a woman’s bare back.

You’re halfway through pulling the sweater over your head, arms tangled and your face hidden under the fabric. The cotton shorts underneath cover just about as much skin as underwear would— or even less, as Jude can see your black panties peeking from behind.

Jude’s frozen. The spatial awareness from his footballing experience fails to show up as his brain tries to formulate a plan to leave as quietly as possible, albeit at the pace of a snail. He can only watch as you tossed the piece of clothing to the side, picking up a t-shirt.

The angle makes it impossible for Jude to see your exposed chest, but it does mean his face (thanks to his much taller frame) is now in the mirror. Your eyes meet his in the reflection, and you hurry to cover your front with the shirt in your hand.

You turn around, shrieking as you back up into the mirror. Only the sound of your voice makes Jude whip his head in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck?!” You stress every word, anger coursing through your veins. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Do you men not know how to fucking knock?!” Your voice only grows louder with every word, watching as Jude finally slams the door shut.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just, I knocked and I, I didn’t hear anyone answer so I thought this room was empty,” Jude explains profusely from behind the door. He’s still there. For a second, you thought you had sent him running downstairs.

After ridding yourself of the pajamas from earlier and putting on a semi-decent outfit, you open the door to find him leaning against the wall across your door, head hung low in shame. He almost flinches at the sound.

This must be Jude.

“Well it’s not, is it? And you should’ve left the second you realized,” you said, sternly. Jude’s posture is that of a child being scolded by his mother, but you’re sure he’s older than you.

“Fucking perv,” you murmur. The phrase doesn’t make Jude feel any less guilty.

“I thought it was the guest bedroom. Your brother didn’t tell me which door it was.”

You pointed at the farthest door down the hall. “The last one, on the right.”

With a quick thank you under his breath, Jude pulls his suitcase closer to his body and walks as fast as his legs would allow him. Your eyes remain on him even as he opens the door with shaky hands, and lingers until he’s closed it.

Whoever this Jude was, if this was the person you’d be stuck with for the next week, you’d rather sleep at your neighbor’s.

“Alright!” Marcus exclaims, dragging out the word. You see him ruffle through a big plastic bag at the dining table, setting down both of your dinners.

You see him take out a third. Oh right, Jude’s dinner too. Jude.

The sound of his name in your head is enough to have your forehead creasing, grumpily plopping down on a chair as you pick at your food.

Marcus catches on to your pissed-off demeanor, tugging at your hair. You slap his hip in retaliation.

“Can you at least try to not act suicidal because Jude showed up?” he teases. You debate telling him about the incident earlier but decide otherwise. It would’ve been embarrassing on your end, too.

“I couldn’t care less about him.” Marcus lets a slight chuckle escape his throat.

“That is a shocker. You know most girls your age are on their knees for him? They’d probably kill to be in your spot right now.” Whatever your brother is referencing, you don’t catch on to it.

“Why? Is he famous or something?”

Marcus sits next to you, picking up a fork to eat. He looks at you with an expression that just reads, really? You can’t tell if he’s taking the piss.

“Jude!” Marcus beckons, arms raising to invite him over. Speak of the devil.

Jude doesn’t have his head hung low this time, giving you a clear view of his face. You can’t hide it— he’s gorgeous in every sense of the word. The white tank top he has on does not help with your growing attraction, showcasing his toned biceps, almost glowing underneath the soft lights. He briefly looks around the table before sitting across from you.

An elbow pulls you out of your trance. Marcus has a precautionary look on his face.

“Don’t glare at him,” he whispers.

You shake it off and go back to eating your dinner. You’re relieved he thought you were glaring at Jude when you were actually checking him out.

Dinner went on, the two men catching up with each other’s lives as you ate quietly. Jude is insanely attractive, you finally decide. It’s ridiculous— you wanted this man dead 20 minutes ago. But he has a twinkle in his eye and a charm in his smile that makes you forget every bad thought you’ve had of him.

Half an hour and three full stomachs later, you’re left alone in the kitchen to clean up. You wipe the glass surface of the dining table clean with a washcloth, getting every last spot. A light touch to the shoulder makes you jolt and turn around, leaning back with your palms flat on the table.

It’s Jude. For the second time that night, he’s shown up just as you were thinking about him. He sees your startled reaction and takes a small step back, akin to a human trying to protect themself from a wild animal.

Jude’s lips curl into the friendliest grin he could muster. “I don’t think I was able to get a proper introduction. I’m Jude, by the way.” His hand reaches out for a handshake, testing the waters. You accept, taking his hand into yours.

“Y/N. I’m Marcus’ sister.”

“I know.” Jude’s grin has grown into a visible smile. You’re not sure which is more distracting; his eyes, or the fact that his hand is much larger than yours.

“And I… want to say sorry for blowing up in your face earlier.” You retract your hand and continue wiping. “I was already in kind of a bad mood, Marcus mostly.”

Jude lets out a breathy laugh. It was a sight to see this humorous and relaxed side of the girl cussing him out not too long ago.

“Tell me about it. He’s been pissing me off since he came out the womb,” Jude teases. A louder, more unabashed laugh escapes you. He thinks you’re gorgeous when you’re smiling.

“So, Jude…” you trail off, trying to get used to his name on your tongue. “...what brings you to our house?” The youngster opts to lean against the wall rather than sit on the table you just cleaned. “Marcus told me the decision happened last minute.”

Jude scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I have this event I have to do here.”

“Event?” You remember Marcus’ hinting that Jude might’ve been famous and slowly come to the realization that it might’ve been the rare few times he wasn’t joking.

“Yeah. Just a pop-up store for Adidas, they want me to stay for a bit. Fans will come over for photos, sign some autographs.”

“Fans? What are you, famous or something?” Jude cocks his head, chewing on his bottom lip. You’ve decided to take your brother’s word for it, but want to see just how far alleged celebrity Jude’s ego went.

Jude blows raspberries and flashes you that same toothy grin that has your cheeks heating. “You could say the whole city loves me,” he echoes your brother’s words before you two share some laughter.

Once the table is clear of packaging and spotless (a result of overly scrubbing the surface from not wanting to end the conversation with Jude), you moved to sit on one edge of the living room couch, Jude trailing behind you like a lost puppy. He sits on the opposite edge, stretching all 6’3 of his body on the cushions as you brought your knees to your chest.

“But, why couldn’t you stay at your own house?” you question.

“Well, the whole family’s moved out now. Mum’s always lived with me in Germany, and my younger brother’s in Sunderland with my dad. We sold the house not too long ago,” Jude explains.

You bite at your pinky nails as he explains, a habit you’ve tried way too many times to get rid of. An absentminded activity to you— you don’t catch Jude shuffling in his seat as he watched your pretty pink lips enclose the tip of your fingers.

“Why a week, though? The event’s only for a day, no?” Jude blinks rapidly to clear his head.

“I miss home.” Jude shrugs. “I’ve been traveling nonstop since December. All the times I’ve been here since then, it’s with my family. Now I’m alone, and I was hoping to really let loose, you know?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He looks abstractly beside him, running his hand up and down his biceps. You start to wonder if someone turned the heating up in the room.

You hear footsteps grow closer as Marcus steps into the living room. “Oh hey, looks like you finally decided to say hi,” he teases, referring to you. You roll your eyes in response as he stands between you and Jude behind the sofa.

Marcus turns to his best friend. “When’s the event, by the way?”

“Tomorrow, why?” Marcus groans under his breath.

“I have work. ‘Dunno if I can take you then, mate.” Just as the boys share a moment of silence to think of a solution, Marcus remembers you’re in the room. He glances at you fiddling with the hem of your shirt before turning to Jude.

“Y/N can take you!” Your head shoots up to look at your brother, eyebrows furrowed. You then turn to look at Jude with a much softer expression, mouth agape.

“What?” you protest. Marcus folds his arms, nodding in satisfaction.

“She can drive you there. Plus she could use the time out of her room for once,” Marcus snarks. You shove at his hip in retaliation. From the corner of your eye, you swear you can see Jude stifle a laugh watching you two bicker.

Marcus leaves to go back to his room not long after, leaving you and Jude alone again. “You can’t drive?” you ask, tone heavy with disbelief. Jude can only purse his lips before morphing them into a childlike smile.

“You’re older than me!”

“And I’m much busier than you. I just haven’t had the time…” he says trailing off, guilty, like he’s formulating an excuse in his head as he goes. You bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head.

When the sky turned pitch-black, you two decided to call it a night. You both have places to be tomorrow morning, anyway. Your conversation only continues as you walk up the stairs, joined by the hip, only stopping once you were in front of your door.

“Good night, Jude.” Your voice comes out mellow as you speak, music to his ears.

“Good night,” he replies, watching as you disappeared behind your door. He stays frozen in place for a few moments, only moving when he hears another door open down the hall— Marcus’ door.

His best friend doesn’t fully leave his room, his hand still lingering on the doorknob. The dim light from within Marcus’ room provided the only source of light in the dark hallway.

“Was that my sister?” he asks. Jude gulps, acting as nonchalant as possible.

“Uh… yeah. She just went to bed.” A factual statement, but hiding so much underneath.

“What are you doing in front of her door?”

Jude hopes Marcus can’t see how scared he is from where he’s standing. “Was just talking.”

“Huh.” Marcus pauses briefly before speaking again. “It better just be talking,” he ejects before closing the door shut.

Jude lies on his bed in his— or his friend’s, he should say— room, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the bare silhouette of the girl sleeping three doors down from him.

“You know, usually it’s guys who drive girls around.” You’re leaning against the hood of your car, watching as Jude walks out your front door. He’s locking the door with one hand while juggling a water bottle, his phone, his wallet, and his headphones in the other. There’s a smirk evident on his face as he walks over to you.

“Good morning to you, too,” Jude teases. He clambers into the front seat and you follow suit, buckling in the driver’s seat next to him.

You were up and ready by 7 am to take Jude to the pop-up store. Marcus was already out of the house by then, leaving you and Jude alone.

Speaking truthfully, last night really changed your perspective of him. Who you thought was some perverted douchebag quickly turned into a charming, irresistible gentleman. You also couldn’t resist doing a little digging before you slept; you learned he was a footballer and for Real Madrid at that. Football never piqued your interest, but even you knew that people from around here playing for them is far from a common occurrence.

The more you went looking, the more a part of you felt the need to suppress your desires for him. Not including the 10+ million followers on his Instagram, it seemed like everyone in the world collectively agreed that Jude Bellingham is a player. It didn’t take long for you to find a clip of his former teammate, Giovanni Reyna, proclaiming on camera that he wouldn’t let Jude near his sister. The comments were flooded with thousands of people cracking jokes at his playboy demeanor.

To top it all off— you were the younger sister of his best friend. Could he even see you the way you saw him? If Marcus found out that you as much found Jude attractive, he would shut you down instantly.

But Marcus isn’t with you two today. He’s on the other side of town.

You arrive at the shopping mall where the pop-up store was situated, parking in the basement. Jude was told he had to enter through the back entry as his whole appearance was a surprise.

“Thanks a lot for the ride,” Jude says as he unbuckled his seatbelt. You flashed him a small smile, doing the same.

“Oh! Yeah, by the way…” Jude turns to look at you, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you look at him inquisitively. “Do I just, wait for you? Or do-”

“You can come with me,” Jude interrupts. He jumps out of the car and starts walking— and this time it’s you who’s trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“Oh, okay, cool,” you mutter. Jude’s looking around the area, almost like he’s searching for someone.

“Of course. If anything happens to you, Marcus will never forgive me.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his words, Jude watching in amusement as he chews on his gum. “I’m an adult, I can take care of myself thank you very much,” you state.

Jude lets out a fake haha before his hands ruffle through your hair to make a mess of it—best friend’s little sister.

You two keep walking until a suited man approaches Jude, shaking his hand, then yours. He introduces himself as a representative from Adidas who’s in charge of the pop-up event. The man, who you soon learn is named Henry, leads you and Jude down a series of hallways and stairwells to avoid the main area packed with people.

“The store’s almost full already,” Henry informs as you trail behind the two men, who are walking much faster than you. “They can’t wait to meet you.

As Henry keeps talking, you learn more about this pop-up store in question. It’s a one-day exhibit that turned the Adidas store in the mall into ‘store twenty-two’, selling exclusively Jude’s new Real Madrid home kits and his signature cleats. Henry explains how Jude will get a chance to surprise unsuspecting fans and give out autographs to buyers.

Eventually, all three of you end up in an empty room. You could hear the sound of chattering and camera flashes on the other side— you’re next door to where all the commotion is.

“We’re in the employees-only room right now,” Henry says. “The door leads to the photo booth area of the event. Jude, when I give you the call, you’ll go out there and surprise everyone.”

Henry was now talking to his walkie-talkie almost nonstop in the corner of the room. You opt to sit down in a vacant seat, scrolling through your phone to no luck— there was barely any service in the area. Just as you put it back in your purse, Jude took the seat next to you.

You watch as he stares blankly at his feet, silent. “How’re you feeling?”

Jude’s eyes meet yours, laced with a tinge of worry. “Just normal,” he replies impassively. You’ve forgotten that he’s probably used to this by now— hundreds or even tens of thousands of fans anticipating his presence.

You turn to the door where Jude’s supposed to walk out, hearing where the crowd only gets louder. It’s not an easy life to get used to.

“Jude! 3 minutes until go time,” Henry calls from the other side of the room, hand already gripping the door handle. Jude’s patting down his clothes, trying to put on the best appearance.

“Hey, Jude.” You tap his shoulder, earning his attention. His head leans closer to the point where you can feel his breath fanning dangerously close to your face. You take your hand in his, interlocking the fingers, and Jude subconsciously forgets how to breathe as you do.

You lightly squeeze on the flesh, bringing the back of his palm to rest on your cheek. “Good luck.”

It’s only once you let go that Jude feels the air entering his lungs.

“...and he signed autographs for like two hours. Then he had to do some media for Adidas and that was it, really.”

You’re back in your bed after the pop-up event, retelling the story to Marcus on the phone. He’s still held up at work but will be back soon, in his own words.

“Wow. Seemed like a busy day.”

“Nah, I was just chilling.”

“For Jude, I meant.”

When Jude was finished surprising the lucky few fans in the photo booth before the news spread, you were able to weasel your way out of the cramped room and sneak off to the side. The store was probably nearing its capacity, and there were still more people outside.

As Jude carried on with his duties, you took the time to aimlessly stroll through the small makeshift Jude-centric store. A pamphlet catches your eye, tucked away behind the vibrant white and gold of the Real Madrid home kits.

From Birmingham to the Bernabéu, it read. Your eyes glazed quickly over the text, moving to put it back.

A sudden burst of camera flashes goes off on the opposite side of the room, earning your attention. Jude is gently stroking the crown of a small child, his head buried in his arms as he’s crying. You can see Jude lean in, whispering soft encouragement in the fan’s ear, fingertips dancing through his hair like he’ll break if he dares go any less gently. Jude lets go of the child, beaming as he squeezes in a personal handwritten message on the jersey.

“There was a kid who was crying when he went to get his kit signed.”

Marcus’ laughter fills your ears. “That must’ve gone well.”

“No, he’s…” You fiddle with the pendant dangling off your neck. “...he’s really good with kids.”

After you end the call with Marcus, you spend your evening going through your collection of books. A part of you feels disappointed you never kept up with your avid reading habits once you moved out for uni, and hope this will serve as a reminder to do. You make a mental note to yourself to pack some books for the trip back.

You’re halfway through a chapter in The Secret History, a book you last read far too long ago to forget the storyline, when the dinner bell downstairs rings. Some food would be great after a long day, but your brain tells you it needs to find out how the group kills Bunny. As a result, you drag your feet, taking long, drawn-out steps out of your room as your eyes are glued to the novel.

The dinner bell rings again, briefly invigorating your movements. Bunny shows up unexpectedly. You take your first step down the stairs. Henry takes one for the team. Your feet move faster, the adrenaline unable to be stored solely in your heart. Bunny laughs at Henry’s advances, blissfully unaware of the true nature of their meeting. You’re halfway down the stairwell when you stop walking completely, your heart beating out of your chest.

Bunny asks Henry what they’re doing. The adrenaline is back, and you’re jogging this time around. You make it to the ground floor and into the kitchen. Henry takes a step forward. And the first part of the story ends.

An intense gasp leaves your throat, eyes still on the page.

“What?” a voice calls. It’s not the one you were expecting.

You lift your eyes to find Jude by the dining table, shocked at the noise. Slamming the book shut, you stumble over your own words at the sight.

“Jude! Oh, I thought you were Marcus,” you explain, adding a polite chuckle for good measure. The aroma of something grilled hits your nose before your eyes register the meal in front of you— roasted salmon and the creamiest mash you’ve seen in your life.

“Whoa…” you murmur, taking a seat. Jude pushes a plate closer to you, and it only looks more delicious up close. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Jude scoffs and picks up his utensils to slice into the fish. “It’s nothing fancy. And I really hope you don’t mind me using some of the things in your fridge to make this.”

Your fork slides like a knife through hot butter as you pick up a morsel of salmon to eat. The taste has you moaning, already going in for a second bite. “Oh my god, not at all,” you praise. Jude looks away for a moment, feeling his face get hot.

“You didn’t have to do any of this, you know,” you say in between bites of the mash.

“Think of it as a thank you, for earlier.” Your head tilts in confusion.

“For the ride, and for dealing with all…” Jude’s hands abstractly move in circles in front of him. “...of that, for four hours.”

You flash him a small smile. “All I did was drive.”

“And all I did was cook,” he’s quick to respond. Fair play.

You shove the fork into your mouth, relishing the way the salmon almost melts on your tongue. “God, Jude. You’re so good at this,” you sigh.

It takes a lot for Jude not to choke on his water.

God, Jude. You’re so good at this. The words echo in his head as he looks over to you, focused on finishing your plate, unclear of the effects it has on him. He looks at the way your eyelids flutter shut as you bite, the way your tongue swipes across your pillow lips to catch any remaining seasoning.

You’re so beautiful. You’d be so easy to ruin. Jude squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of the thoughts dissipating.

Jude’s presence beside you doesn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes are glued to his biceps as they flex when he goes to lift his fork. When he reaches over to grab a napkin, his chest is so close to your face that you can smell the remnants of his cologne. His knee occasionally grazes your thigh, and you don’t dare move away when it does.

“Can I ask you something?” Jude asks. Both your plates are cleared and he’s doing his part in washing the mess he left behind while cooking. You decide to stay with him in the kitchen, feeling uneasy if you’d left so early.

“Go for it,” you reply. There’s a pause before Jude answers. He just needs an excuse to keep hearing your voice.

“Why’d you gasp like that earlier?” He hears you giggling through the sound of running water and scrubbing porcelain. Even better.

“I was just… reading this book. It’s called The Secret History.”

“What’s it about?” he questions. Just from the tone of your voice earlier, he can tell he’s hooked you into a topic that could leave you talking for hours.

“A group of friends at a university with a very dark secret.” You move to stand next to Jude by the sink, back against the counter so you’re essentially facing each other.

“And what made you gasp?” Jude can keep going for as long as you want.

“So, there’s two parts in the book. Part one and part two. And, well, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but something really crazy happens, and then the author ends the first part. Super abruptly, almost like a cliffhanger.” Jude nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in acknowledgment.

“You can just tell me what happens, you know,” Jude explains.

“Well, what if you want to read the book?”

“I’m not a huge reader.” You gasp for the second time that night.

“Unacceptable.” You begin listing off your favorite classics, only to be met with Jude frowning and shaking his head, revealing he hasn’t read a single one. Folding your arms against your chest, you tut as Jude turns the sink off. You don’t miss the muscles on his arms as he leans forward on the edge.

“Told you, I’m not a big reader.” Jude shrugs. “I don’t really know what to read, I guess.”

“There’s a local bookstore not too far from here where I used to get all my books from. You should go sometime.”

“Or…” Jude turns around, mimicking your pose with his arms folded. “...you can take me and show me around?”

You look up at him, a glint of excitement in your eyes. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure. You’re the book expert anyway.” Your face lights up and Jude melts in your warmth.

“Okay!” you cheer. You can’t wait for tomorrow.

All of a sudden, the door swings open, bouncing against the wall. Marcus brings dinner— and your conversation with Jude to a halt.

***

After lunch the next day, Jude is by the mirror in your doorway, adjusting his shirt collar. You thank whoever Marcus’ higher-ups are for the number of meetings they’ve decided to involve your brother in.

“Ready to go?” You stand up from the couch, gripping your bag. Jude nods and you’re out the door.

It’s an unusually bright day in Birmingham, and with the bookstore being close by, you two decided to walk there. It seems like almost everything is going in your favor as the streets have also cleared up, allowing you two to candidly converse and joke around.

Jude points out a familiar corner shop or park bench every couple of meters, remembering the days of his youth. You do the same, finding comfort in the similarities between both your memories.

“Can I ask you something?” It’s the second time Jude’s asked that this week.

“Of course.”

“Before I left to see the fans, you squeezed my hand when you said good luck.” Jude’s chest feels warm as he recalls the incident. “Why’d you do that?”

You’re nodding as you walk along, realizing how brash and impulsive your actions were that day. “It’s a thing me and Marcus have. He did it to me first before a play I was in when I was eight. I was so nervous I couldn’t bring myself to go out on the stage. Now it’s just become a subconscious thing between us…” Your hand finds Jude’s, interlacing the fingers and holding it up so he can see. “...as a way to show support.”

Jude nods. His hand doesn’t let go of yours for the rest of the walk.

“Here it is!” you half-whispered as you push the bookstore’s door open with your shoulder. Jude takes a look around the room. It’s cozy, filled with warm yellow lighting and the sound of light jazz echoes through the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He’s never been in here, but it feels familiar. It feels like home.

Your hand finally lets go of Jude to give him the time to explore. The selection of books ranges from classic Russian literature to modern-day poetry books you’ve seen on your Instagram Explore page. Your fingertip glides across the spines of several books, reading the titles to see if any piqued your interest— and find a pick for Jude.

“So, what are you into Jude?” He trails behind you as you walk down an aisle. “You a classics guy? Into the poets, romance, maybe fantasy or sci-fi?”

Jude takes a moment to think. “Maybe you can give me something you’ve read before. I’m open to anything,” he suggests. He catches you nodding from behind.

“How about…” You take a step back and reach for a shelf above you, failing to take the book you want in your hands. Jude sees you struggling and is quick to stand behind you, pointing to one with ease. His chest is pressed into your back and his arms are trapping you between the shelf. You feel the material of his pants graze the back of your exposed thighs, this time thanking the weather for allowing you to wear a skirt.

“This one?” Jude’s voice is deep, low in your ear as his hand grazes yours on the way up. Goosebumps arise on your skin from the contact.

“No…” Your fingers wrap around his wrist to guide him to the book beside it. Turning to look up at him, Jude leans down to meet your gaze. “This one.”

Jude can’t get enough of how you look and sound beneath him.

He takes the book in his hands and steps to the side, releasing you from his embrace. You wish he would’ve stayed for longer.

“The Great Gatsby,” Jude reads, examining the book in his hands. “Like the movie.”

“No, like the book. The movie is adapted from it,” you correct, moving to the other side of the aisle— partly to look for more books, partly to regain composure.

“But I’ve already watched the movie, why do I need to read the book too?” he asks from behind the shelf.

“You asked for my pick, and I’m giving you one. Besides, there’s always a difference between books and movies.” The needed time away from Jude is cut short when he meets you on the other side of the shelf.

You pick up Kafka from one side of the aisle and Ocean Vuong from the other. “And it’s a really short read, so it’s perfect if you’re new to classics.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” There’s that smile again.

You need some fresh air. “D’you want ice cream?”

The day ends with two cones of it.

Beacons of golden light decorate the streets, warming up the air and painting the sky a beautiful gradation of purple and orange. You’re transfixed at the sight as you slowly savor the taste of your cookies and cream cone.

Jude is halfway finished with his, terrified of the heat melting the sweet dessert onto the paper bag he’s carrying. He volunteered to carry the bag containing the books, especially after you paid for them all on your own.

With every lick of his green tea ice cream, Jude feels guilty as he tastes the sugar on his tongue. He’s supposed to be watching his diet. Preseason starts soon— Real Madrid’s coaching staff had already shipped him his training gear to his new address.

But when you offered him the first time in the bookstore, he knew he didn’t have the nerve to turn you down.

“The ice cream here is everything,” you gush, bringing the cone closer to your lips to lick the melt.

Jude might just drop everything in his hands now. “Genuinely.”

“Is there…” you turn your head to look in every direction, causing your hair to fly everywhere with the added evening breeze. “...anywhere else you want to go?”

You take another bite of the ice cream, licking your lips a second, third, fourth time. Jude looks down at his feet, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I think we should head back. Need to read The Great Gatsby,” he utters. You hum in agreement, and Jude can finally lift his head again.

“It shouldn’t take long. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.”

“Well, if I’m done, can I borrow that Secret History book you were reading?”

“Of course. I’ll give it to you tonight,” you reply, watching how his eyes gleam when the sun hits it. It’s impossible to look away. Your phone vibrates in your skirt pocket, probably from Marcus or your friends, but you deliberately ignore it.

A trail of soft cream dribbles down your wrist, pulling you out of your trance. You lick down the inside of your wrist to catch it with your tongue, not wanting it to stain your shirt.

“Let’s go,” you call to Jude so you can start the journey back home. You could’ve sworn his eyes were dark when you turned to look the second time.

It takes Jude four hours to finish The Great Gatsby.

He closes the book and runs his thumb over the embossed cover before setting it on his nightstand. It was a quick read after all— he started the second he got home and didn’t move an inch before he was done.

Jude checks the alarm clock plugged into the wall; 9.15 pm. He’s hungry, a result of skipping his usual dinner time just as Tom confronts Gatsby about his affair with Daisy at the Plaza Hotel.

Looking at the book set atop the nightstand, he remembers your conversation earlier. Once Jude was finished with The Great Gatsby, he could borrow The Secret History. It’s exactly what Jude needs; any excuse to see you.

Jude leaves the room and stops at your door, knocking twice. No response. He knocks a third and fourth time, progressively getting louder and adding in a few calls of your name to make his presence heard.

There’s still no response. Jude’s fingers skim over the doorknob. In the words of Taylor Swift, he thinks he’s seen this film before— and he’s not really sure how to feel about the ending.

Jude takes a deep breath, twists the metal and slowly enters your room. His eyes stay glued to the floor to prevent them from wandering, taking light steps like he’s walking across a decrepit bridge over a cliff.

“Y/N?” He calls. No response for the third time that night. Jude takes it as the green light to look around your room and finds it empty. His eyes scour the perimeter for any sign of life until the sound of a microwave beeping from downstairs catches his attention.

When Jude enters the living room, he’s greeted by a figure hunched over the coffee table, eating silently out of a plastic container. Something in you tells you to turn around, almost sensing Jude as he steps closer.

“Jude,” you murmur, mouth full of food. “Did you need anything?”

“Dinner,” he responds. His sight locks onto the container you’re eating out of, and you take the hint, turning to look at it, too.

“Oh, these are just leftovers from when Marcus bought food the other day. You can have some, I’m not finishing it anyway.” Jude sits on the cushion perpendicular to the couch, not daring to sit beside you.

Your fingers nudge the Tupperware closer to him along with the fork. Jude takes a bite out of the pasta presented to him, realizing upon the first bite just how hungry he truly is. He goes in for a second almost immediately.

You pull the zip-up jacket closer to your body, seeking warmth in the otherwise cold living room. There’s silence between you two, a comfortable one.

Jude is the first to break it. “I finished the book,” he says in between bites. Your eyes widen in amusement, nodding slowly.

“Really?” He nods. “Did you like it?”

“Honestly, yeah. I was hooked from the start.” A small smile creeps up on your face.

“Glad to hear that. I’ll give you The Secret History later when you’re done eating.” Jude lets out an acknowledging hum, focused on finishing his dinner for the day.

You reach for the glass of wine on the coffee table that you’d poured for yourself earlier, swirling it around and taking a sip. Jude watches as you do, feeling the heat build in his taste buds.

“Can I have some?” You’re halfway through your second sip when he asks. The expression on his face and the way he hisses lets you know the pasta’s too spicy for his taste. It’s an opportunity to keep him on his toes.

“No,” you say, tantalizing. Jude’s jaw drops lightly, panting to cool down.

“Oh, come on, please,” he begs, extending his right arm to ask you again. You deny him a second time.

“Y/N! It’s not funny, what kind of fucking pasta did Marcus buy?” You laugh at his frustration, hugging your knees and bringing the rim closer to your lips. You sipped loudly, slurping to annoy Jude about his lack of refreshment.

“Little shit—” Jude leans forward in your direction to forcibly grab the drink, bursting into a fit of laughter when you prevent him from doing so, backing into the throw pillows.

“No! Stop! Get your own!” you manage to choke out in between giggles, already clutching your abdomen from the excessive laughter. Jude leaps onto the couch, arms snaking closer to yours in every direction.

“Just one sip!” Your shared laughter only gets increasingly raucous, covering the glass with your palm as a final act of defense. Jude crawls above you, forehead pressing into yours. If it wasn’t for the humorous nature of your actions, you would’ve noticed his drop-dead features centimeters away from your face.

With one rough nudge of the knee, you jolt forward, splashing the dark red liquid onto your jacket. You gasp at the sight, lifting your palm from the glass to examine the damage. Jude takes this opportunity to swipe the glass away from you.

“My fucking god, this’ll stain for weeks,” you groan, running your fingers over the damp spot. Luckily, your zip-up was a navy blue shade, slightly masking the mess.

Jude giggles, proud of his steal. He takes his first sip of the wine, although the spice had died moments ago. His breath hitches when you slowly unzip the jacket, tossing the tarnished clothing to the side, all while your eyes remain on his.

The realization that he’s on top of you hits him like a truck, and Jude takes a strong gulp of the liquid. You’re just staring at him from below, chest heaving to collect your breath. The white bralette you were wearing underneath leaves little to the imagination, your chest poking through the thin fabric due to the cold. Jude swears he can drop the glass right then and there.

Jude bends lower and to the side, gently placing the wine glass on the coffee table. He’s frozen in place when he feels the pad of your thumb graze his bottom lip, and he turns to face you.

“Wine,” you whisper, not needing to speak any louder due to your proximity. Jude’s heart races in his ribcage, and he thinks it might explode when you suckle on your thumb to catch the last drop of Merlot.

Heavy panting. Lips breathing and eyes boring into each other. It’s all Jude can process as his eyes dart to examine your every feature, every inch of your face as you look on lovingly, the glow of a million stars in your eyes.

Your palm cups his cheek, gently pulling Jude in closer until your noses brush. You’re panting, heart beating fast and hot anticipating something, anything.

“Jude,” you say. It comes out more as a plead than a call.

Jude wants to run at you with all he’s got. He searches deep and hard in his brain for the final push to reach the finish line.

But when he speaks, nothing of the sort comes out. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The stars in your eyes die one by one, Jude observes as he leans farther away from you. “Then we should go back to our rooms.”

Jude’s quick to remove himself from you, adjusting his shirt and wiping his hands on his sweats— like wiping evidence off a crime scene, like he’s guilty. His brain is flashing back and forth between images of you and Marcus sleeping upstairs.

Jude turns around and is ready to make a run for it, until your voice rings in his ears, effectively gluing his feet to the carpet. “Wait, Jude,” you call.

Jude looks over his shoulder, unwilling to make eye contact. You’re handing him your copy of The Secret History.

“I’m sorry I’ve been held up at work a lot,” Marcus says as he swings his arm forward, knocking the cue ball with the stick. It rolls and ricochets off the pool table’s walls, and Marcus stands up straight to walk around. “It’s just, this new manager came in and he’s such a prick, honestly.”

Jude chuckles and gets ready for his turn. Not that he’s ever or will ever know what it’s like to work a 9 to 5, but he understands the sentiment of snobby higher-ups pushing him to work past the healthy limit. He calculates his next move, analyzing which ball to hit to get his remaining few striped ones in.

After Marcus was (finally) able to ensure one day where he has no obligation to come to work, the first thing he did was spend it with Jude. The two remained in the house mostly, playing rounds of FIFA 22 and watching some of Quentin Tarantino’s best works upon Jude’s recommendation. They made the most of the small backyard, challenging each other to increasingly bizarre trick shots before they had to run back inside due to a group of primary schoolers spotting Jude.

To end the day, they’re playing pool in the basement— a room that Marcus had turned into a man cave back in his school days, furnished with a couch, a cooler, a TV, several beanbags, and a drawer full of snacks.

The pool table was his father’s doing. As kids, the equipment went ignored, collecting dust and being used as a place to throw backpacks on. The boys have grown up now, and appreciate the finer activity.

“What have you been doing while I’m gone?” he asks. Jude places his cue stick on the table, targetting an easy shot to knock his 11 ball into the corner hole. Does he tell Marcus that he’s been spending every day since with his sister?

“Other than the Adidas thing, not much.” He doesn’t.

Whack. Jude strikes with shaky hands and the ball rolls in just as it was about to lose momentum. Marcus whistles proudly opposite him.

“Really? One of my coworkers who lives near here says he saw you out once,” Marcus says. Jude freezes— the only time he’s been out was with you, hand in hand.

“Oh, yeah. Just walking around town,” Jude clarifies, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. He conveniently leaves out an important detail from that day and hopes Marcus’ mystery worker paid no mind to the girl he was with.

Jude wants the conversation to end now. “Yeah? What else did you—”

The basement door slams open, followed by a barrage of footsteps. “Marcus, someone’s asking for you on the phone.” Jude’s head whips to the sound of your voice. His wishes were answered, yes, but in the worst way possible.

Your eyes look at the pool table, at your feet, anywhere but at Jude. He’s doing the opposite, blatantly staring at you with a look on his face that screams, we have unfinished business.

Ever since your incident on the couch, you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid facing Jude. The fact that he and Marcus decided to spend the whole day indoors didn’t help your case, resulting in you locking yourself in your room.

You tossed and turned in bed that night, smothering your face in your pillows to forget how he looked hovering over you, how his lips felt on your thumb, how his voice sounds right next to your ear. Turns out, it’s quite difficult to do that when the man in question is sleeping down the hall, across your brother’s room.

Marcus groans in disappointment, setting the cue stick down and debating whether he should go or not. He goes with the former.

As he approaches you on the steps, he nudges you and says loud enough so Jude can hear as well, “Continue my game with Jude for me.”

You’re left in awe, jaw slightly agape at his request. The slamming of the door leaves you and Jude in a room, all to yourselves, for the first time since the incident.

Both you and the youngster stood unmoving in your places, unwilling to take a step any closer. Your hand still lingers on the stair railing, halfway up the first step. You barely comply with most of Marcus’ usual demands anyway, why do you have to listen to now?

Your foot is planted firmly on the step, propelling your body up just as Jude utters his first words after a solid three minutes of silence. “You play pool?” His voice chains you to the ground. You can’t leave now that he’s spoken.

“I’ve only seen people play,” you reply gently, retracting your feet. Just the sight of him with his head titled down, almost glaring at you has your legs intuitively walking closer to the pool table, almost gliding in the air.

“You want to have a go?” Jude picks up Marcus’ cue stick and reaches out to hand it to you. You accept, not missing the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles as you do.

You know the general rules of pool, a feat you can thank GamePigeon and hundreds of 8Ball wins for, but have never played let alone held a cue stick in your hands in person. Bending over the table, you place one leg behind the other, sticking out your knee and aiming for Marcus’ 6 ball.

Jude can only look on as you push your hips behind you, arching your back to get a clearer view of your target. He gulps at the sight, shifting uncomfortably in his jeans.

You take a deep breath, mimicking what you’ve seen time and time again with people in movies or Marcus and your father. You swing— and the cue ball slides in the opposite direction. Kissing your teeth, you lift your head but remain leaning over the table.

“Okay maybe watching other people play wasn’t enough,” you joke, lightening the atmosphere. Jude chuckles in response, pretending that he didn’t just spend the last few minutes staring at your ass.

Your hand beckons to the table, stepping back to make way for Jude. “Your turn.” Jude steps up, smiling politely. “Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about the right form.”

“I mean it’s just…” Jude demonstrates, getting ready to target a shot before the 8 ball. “I guess an important thing is you’re leaning into the stick, not, like parallel from it,” he explains. Now it’s your turn to pretend like you have any interest in pool that doesn’t involve staring at Jude’s biceps while he plays.

“And when you’re striking the ball, do it kinda slowly, like your arms sort of moving through water. A long stroke.” Jude does as he says, and gets the last ball in smoothly. You nod along, acting like you register even a word of his explanation.

Jude stands up straight. “Your turn again.”

You mumble a soft okay and move around the table to designate your next target. You find one, conveniently right next to where Jude is standing. He has to move backwards to give you space to get into the proper stance.

Following his advice, you place your cue stick on the pool table and bend over, slowly, to get a view of the ball. Jude is transfixed, regretting his decision to stand behind you now as he can see the curve of your ass peaking through your skirt. God, your skirt, it’s the same one from your bookstore date with him, and it’s driving Jude to the point of insanity.

“Like this?” you ask, innocently. Jude takes half a step forward, toying with his own fingers.

“Uh, just, a bit more to the right,” Jude instructs. He hovers over you, one hand gripping your waist and the other on your hand planted on the table. The feeling of his skin on yours sets your body ablaze.

“Oh, okay.” You shift your weight on one of your legs, sticking out your hips. Your skirt rides up with every movement, almost taunting Jude. He feels the bulge in his pants grow more prominent with each moving second.

You strike the cue ball with one long stroke, getting it in the nearby hole. Jude’s advice worked.

“How’d I do?” you ask, looking over your shoulder and up to Jude for a response. He drinks in your sight— bent over below him as his (much bigger) hand engulfs your wrist. The dim glow from the overhead lighting obscures Jude’s vision, but if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that you’re mesmerizing. Your demure, doe eyes staring up at him and inviting him in closer, to do the most sinful things imaginable.

You lift your head to stand up straight, in doing so unintentionally pushing your ass into Jude. You attempt to pull away as quickly as possible, cheeks heating as you felt how hard he had gotten through his pants— but his hand on your waist locks you in place, grinding just the slightest bit forward.

Your hands are shaking from the weight, so you prop yourself up on your palms, only pushing back on him even more. Your head drops, unable to process any thoughts other than how good he feels pressed onto you.

There’s no hiding now. Jude wants, needs you, as you do him.

“Jude,” you gasp, feeling the air knocked clean from your lungs when he repeats his motions a second time.

Jude shushes you. “Quiet,” he grunts, both of his hands now clutching your waist firmly, boldly pulling you back on him. You had built up walls, holding back from the moment you first saw him, and now you’re whimpering, on the verge of begging.

Jude’s palm smooths over the curve of your ass, feeling the flesh below his skin, and squeezes. His hand travels lower, down to the hem where he flips your skirt over to expose more skin. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath, and he can see the damp spot where he’s pressed against you. Jude curses at the sight, pulling you back against the shape of his cock, punching a whine from your throat.

Your hips roll back on their own, meeting the rocking of Jude’s hips, making a mess on his pants from how wet you’ve gotten. You chase the drag of your clit against him, but it’s not enough.

“Please,” you plead. “I need you, Jude.” Jude thinks he’s never heard anything more beautiful than the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

You take matters into your own hands, taking his hand in yours, moving it from your hips to between your thighs. You look back at him, eyes laced with want and lust, shifting from grinding his hard-on to rocking against his fingers.

Jude finds the band of your underwear, gently pulling it down and watching it snap against your ass until it reaches your thighs. The cold air of the basement hits your exposed core, earning a hitched breath from you. Jude watches your slick glisten in the dim lighting, groaning lowly as his fingers separate your folds.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, feeling the wetness gather on his fingertips. Jude’s other hand is rough where he gropes, alternating between feeling your bare ass under his touch and bunching the material of your skirt above your waist.

“Been so good for you, Jude,” you whine, circling your waist on his hands, inviting him for more. He obliges, slipping a digit inside you, focusing on the way your jaw falls slack once he does.

Jude pulls out after a few pumps, leaving you breathless and confused. As you look at him for any idea of what he’s doing, he roughly pushes you down onto the table on your elbows. You’re just about to stand back up when he sinks two fingers in your sopping core, pinning you down to the furniture.

You feel the stretch first, followed by waves of euphoria centered between your thighs. Jude twists his fingers inside you, curling them upwards, and your elbows topple under your weight, pressing your chest flat on the table.

He starts slow and steady, finding his own pace as he savors the feeling of your warm walls sucking his fingers in. Moans began to spill from your lips at a sporadic rate, a symphony Jude hopes he’ll never stop hearing.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Jude curses. You can only whine in response, warm and dizzy on the feeling of Jude inside you.

Jude angles his fingers higher, reaching that spongy spot that has you holding on to the table for dear life. He starts scissoring you at a relentless pace as you beg and whimper beneath him, getting louder with every thrust.

After a particularly loud moan bordering on a scream, Jude is quick to pull you up to him. His hands wrap around your throat, snaking around your chest so your back is flat against his chest. “I said be quiet,” he warns, and you gulp.

“What if your brother hears?” Jude asks, almost taunts, and he swears he feels you get wetter. You throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes shutting in pleasure.

You can practically sense Jude smirking. “Bet you’d like that, huh?” he groans deep and low. “His own best friend, knuckles-deep in his sister.”

Your lip is caught in your bottom teeth, attempting to suppress your voice when you open your eyes again. Jude’s eyes are watching your every move, the way your face contorts when he pumps a little harder into you, and the way your eyebrows crease along with it. His pace never wavers once, a testament to his stamina.

Your jaw falls slack after a while, and Jude takes this as an opportunity to slip his fingers into your mouth. Just the other day he’d been fantasizing over the way your tongue feels around them, and now he gets to experience it firsthand.

You whine and moan around his fingers, bobbing your head back and forth as your tongue swirls around his digits. Jude can’t help himself from groaning at the sight of two of your holes being filled by his fingers. Your eyes are hooded, half-open but you keep your eyes on him the whole time.

“God, just like that,” his praise is mellow and smooth close to your ears, and it only eggs you on further. Jude slips a third finger into your cunt, and you break. “So fucking wet. So fucking tight. Wish it was my cock instead.”

He releases his fingers from your mouth and swiftly returns them to your throat. “Fuck, ah, right there, please.” You can’t think straight, a writhing mess solely from the work of his hands.

“Shit, like that?” he coos, and he finds the spot that has your back arching into him.

“Yes!” you whine, feeling lightheaded. Jude only goes harder, smirk doubling as your thighs start to shake around him. His palm rubs over your clit each time he fucks into you, sending slick gushing down the inside of your thighs and on his wrist.

You grab a hold of Jude’s wrist, locking him in place and meeting his movements. Your nails dig deep into his arm in doing so, causing him to hiss at the pain. He catches on the way your walls pulse and flutter around him, breathing getting more sporadic.

“I’m close,” you manage to squeak out in between ah’s, feeling the knot growing tigher in your lower abdomen. Jude tuts, pulling out of you and you almost collapse on the table if it wasn’t for his hands on your waist.

You’re confused, not quite thinking clearly yet when he does. It’s embarassing how fucked out you are, how you’ve turned into a mess below him.

Jude turns you around and hoists you up on the table, making you squeal in the process. Your hands naturally plant themselves on his shoulder as he stands between your thighs, using his knee to push them farther apart.

Jude slowly pulls your (now destroyed) panties down your legs, and you almost miss how he pockets them to keep for himself. One by one, Jude takes your legs and spreads them as wide as you’ll allow it. His hand goes to cup your cheek, gentle as he touches it, and you melt into his palm, sighing in relief.

Your face is flushed, your chest heaving and sweat trickling down your temple. Jude swipes his thumb against your cheek, his other hand squeezing your waist as he looks on with an adoring gaze, completely different from a few moments ago. You wonder if this is the same Jude.

“Hi,” you say, trying to get a response out of him. Jude giggles, letting go of your face and pressing his forehead into yours.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and he’s kissing you. You sigh at the feeling of his pillowy lips molding against yours, the same lips you’ve fantasized about many times before. Jude tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you allow him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer.

Jude bucks his clothed bulge onto your bare pussy, knocking a moan out of you. For a second you’d almost forgotten what got you into this position in the first place.

“Jude,” you beg, pulling away to brush your lips against his ear. “Need to cum.”

“Yeah? Think you earned it?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, humming in response.

You press your forehead into him again, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. “I need it, Jude.” You take his hand and guide him to where you need him the most, where you’re dripping and throbbing.

Jude gawks at you, and you can tell he doesn’t want to stop hearing your voice tell him the filthiest of words. “Need you to fuck me with your fingers, please.”

“You’ll be the death of me, I swear.” Jude covers your mouth with his, and he slams into you.

You moan into his mouth, Jude slipping his tongue into yours. The burning feeling in your abdomen is back and stronger than ever, reignited as Jude pumps at an unforgiving pace. The room is filled with the sounds of your slick between your thighs and your lips on Jude’s, and you hope with all you have that Marcus is far enough away from the basement so he can’t hear.

Jude rocks harder with his fingers, using his other hand to bunch up your skirt and lift it over your waist. He breaks away the kiss, looking down to admire your soaked hole being abused by his fingers.

You throw your head back, biting your bottom lip and Jude is quick to leave a trail of kisses on your throat, your neck, down to the swell of your chest. Your hands find solace on the back of his neck, nails digging into the flesh as Jude sucks on your skin harder.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, and Jude brushes his nose against yours. He releases your skirt and uses your other hand to rub circles on your clit, causing the pleasure to increase tenfold.

Your breathing is erratic, thighs shaking as you hold on to the table for dear life. “There it is,” Jude sounds. “Fuck, give it to me, wanna feel you cum around my fingers.”

“Jude!” you half-scream, and Jude is quick to silence you with his lips. You attempt to kiss back, finding it increasingly difficult as you teeter so close to the edge.

“Come on, you’ve been so good for me,” he praises. “Let go for me, cum for me, baby.”

The endearing term is all you needed to let go, cumming with a muffled cry. Fire courses through your veins as the knot comes undone, sending your release gushing around Jude’s wrist as he fucks you through it. He keeps his fingers inside you, buried knuckle-deep into your hole as you ride out the last few aftershocks.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, looking at your fucked out state. “Talk to me,” Jude urges.

You nod, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face before Jude finishes the job for you. “That was amazing,” you murmur, causing Jude to chuckle.

He slowly pulls out of you, laving over your release with his tongue as you watch on. Jude softly moans at your heavenly taste and finishes with a clean pop. You’re quick to pull him back in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The kiss is slow, dragged out. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull you as close as humanely possible, and Jude engulfs you in his arms so that your chests are touching. You never want this to end, never want to forget how his lips feel moulding on yours, lazily making out for some time— but a loud beep resonating from Jude’s back pocket pulls you to reality.

Jude groans in frustration, reading the name on the screen and his eyes almost pop out of their sockets. He flips over to show you— it’s Marcus.

You’re panicking, eyes alternating between looking at Jude and at the screen. With a reassuring squeeze on your hip, Jude calms you down and shushes you.

He accepts the call, putting it on speaker for both of you to hear. Your palm goes to cover your mouth, scared of making a single sound.

“Hey,” Jude greets, hoping, praying, Marcus isn’t calling for what he thinks.

“Sorry for dipping. Again, new manager,” Marcus teases. There’s no hostility in his voice and no signs of suspicion— you’re safe.

“Uh, yeah, no, it’s fine.”

“Anyway, I’m in an emergency Zoom call for whatever reason, and I think it could last for a few hours, so you don’t have to wait for me. You can go to bed if you want.”

“Is everything alright?” Jude asks, trying to mask his initial terror between bated breaths.

“Yeah, just an issue with, wait— why are you panting so much?” You go wide-eyed again, and Jude has a smirk playing across his face, leaning closer to you.

“Oh, nothing. Just a… really intense game of pool.”

It’s Jude’s final day before he leaves for Madrid, and he wants to throw himself off the second-floor balcony.

It’s been two days since the pool table incident. After the phone call with Marcus ended, he walked you to your door, feeling déjà vu from a few nights prior. You linger at your open doorway, looking up at him for a few seconds before you bid him goodbye.

You’re an idiot, Jude insults himself as he replays the moment over and over in his head. He should’ve walked inside, pinning you against the wall as he did. He should’ve grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to his room instead, feeling all of you on his bed. Instead, he had to finish himself off in the shower.

When he woke up the next morning, Jude had to take a second to process if last night was a dream or not. When he went downstairs, he almost thought it was— you were silently eating your pancakes and even said a soft hi when he entered as well. You didn’t spare him another word, locking yourself in your bedroom.

Marcus invited him for a second round of pool, but when Jude stepped into the basement, the first thing he saw when he looked at the pool table was the image of you bent over it. He wasn’t thinking straight, losing to Marcus every round to the point where he had to ask him if his arm was injured.

Jude knows he has to see you, and has to feel you before he leaves. He doesn’t know how to initiate it. What was he supposed to do, knock at your door and say, hey, remember when I fingerfucked you the other day, do you think maybe I can get something in return? Absolutely not.

So he waits, waits for the opportunity to arise. He spends more time in the living room, in the kitchen, in the basement— hoping you’d ‘accidentally’ stumble into him and he can have a word with you. But you don’t show up every time.

Jude’s given up all hope. In just a few weeks, he’ll be in the States making his official debut as a Real Madrid player, and you’ll be a distant memory. He’s grown, he’s had his fair share of summer flings and every single one of them end up the same. Forgotten.

Something tells him he’s wrong this time, though.

It’s a quiet evening as Jude is deep into Martin Scorsese’s filmography, rewatching The Wolf of Wall Street for (what he thinks is) the fifth time. It’s been his favorite pastime, one that doesn’t involve human interaction— from you, or your brother.

He’s so immersed in his iPad that he doesn’t hear the repeated knocking on his door until it gets so loud it blasts through Matthew McConaughey’s peculiar monologue to DiCaprio.

Jude runs to the door, swinging it in a rush. A pair of familiar eyes stare back at him.

“Y/N!” he gasps, taken off guard. The same can’t quite be said for you.

“Hi, Jude.” There’s a slight gap between your words as you fiddled with your bracelet, looking at him the same way you did the other night.

“What… what did you need?” Jude speaks like he just ran a half-marathon, though your mere presence is more than enough to conjure a similar heart rate.

“My book. I want to bring it back with me.” The Secret History. Jude looks back to see it untouched, collecting dust on a shelf. He hasn’t dared to even look at it considering what happened before you handed it to him.

“I mean, I can find like a free version online if you still want to read it for yourself,” you suggest, noticing the expression on Jude’s face— like he has so much he wants to say, but can’t.

“No, I’ll just… buy a copy for myself. Or an audiobook…” Jude trails off as he goes to collect the book, handing it back to you. Once it’s in your grip, you can somehow tell he hasn’t opened it once.

You examine the book in your hands, chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a bad habit, one Jude hopes you’ll stop. He looks at the flesh between your teeth and glances at Marcus’ door. Jude feels like a ticking time bomb.

“Is that all?” Jude asks, already taking a preliminary step backward to anticipate closing the door. You’re still deep in thought, and it has nothing to do with the paperback in your grip, it’s about the boy standing a meter before you.

You’ve had enough of him. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary that can accurately represent the cocktail of absolute anger, confusion, yearning, love, and hate that you have for Jude. You’ve made it crystal clear you want nothing more than him. Why can’t he do the same for you?

“Why do you hate me?” The sentence is almost forced from your mouth. Even you don’t realize it until you look up at him, seeing his eyes nervously dart across your face.

“I don’t hate you,” Jude scoffs, shaking his head.

“Then why are you treating me like this?” Another sentence, forced.

“Treating you like what?” Jude’s beginning to wonder what your true intentions for showing up in front of his door is.

“Oh, don’t play this game with me, Jude. You get all close to me, closer than I’ll allow most people, get me on a fucking table of all places and you push me away like it never happened,” you protest, and Jude turns around to step into the room. You follow after, shutting the door behind you.

Jude’s speechless, his hands are on his hips, and he’s pacing in circles. It just infuriates you further.

“What is it? What are you so afraid of? Did I do something wrong?” you ask, voice laced with desperation.

“No! No, not you…” Jude rubs his eyebrows in frustration, a million words trapped on the way up and out of his throat.

“Tell me if I did.” You don’t hear him the first time.

“Fucking hell, it’s not about you, okay?” Jude releases his head from his hands, jutting them out in front of him.

“Then tell me,” you demand.

Jude takes a long, deep breath. He opens his mouth to say something, and you eagerly anticipate his response. Instead, he snaps it shut, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Jude?” You’re worried you might’ve taken it too far. Jude is at his breaking point— but you’re not willing to give up just yet.

Slowly, you step closer to him, until you’re standing directly in front of him. Jude hears the soft ruffling of the carpet as you do, letting go of his head to regain his vision.

Every time you two are in a closed room, alone, it never ends well.

Your palms find solace on Jude’s broad shoulders, and he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the contact. Your hands travel upwards, testing the waters until your right palm is on his cheek, moving your thumb back and forth.

Jude holds on to your waist, afraid that you’ll let go, afraid that you’ll leave. His eyes trail up your figure, drinks it in, embeds it into his memory. You’re dressed similarly to the night on the couch: a bralette, shorts, and a zip-up. All he can think of is how perfect you look even in the simplest of clothes, and how he wants to recreate that night— and then some.

Jude keeps his eyes on yours as his hands slide to the back of your thighs, one by one setting them beside him so you’re straddling him, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin at his touch.

It feels like you can’t breathe with your heart ramming against your ribcage, and it might as well be ripped out from you as Jude nudges his face slightly closer, just enough to press your foreheads together. You wanted an explanation. Instead, you ended up on his lap.

“Jude…” Your voice calls out to Jude like a siren tempting him from ice-cold waters below a ship deck as he holds on for dear life. Does he take the plunge?

“Don’t push me away,” you whisper, a desperate final attempt— and he lets the freezing waves consume him as he jumps.

All it takes is Jude sitting up straight for him to close the gap, knocking the air clean from your lungs. The feeling of his lips on yours is better than you remember it. His palm cups the back of your head, preventing you from pulling away as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

Your hands free his cheek, resorting to run down his hoodie-clad torso, occasionally dipping down under the hem before sliding back out, and then running your thumb over the band of his Calvins. When your thumbs dip dangerously into undergarments, you feel Jude’s breath hitch.

Jude finally breaks the kiss and is quick to pepper featherlight kisses down the side of your jaw, causing your neck to tilt to one side to give him more access. He finds the spot that draws a shaken whimper out of you, but just as he does, you push him away by the shoulders.

You admire Jude below you, lips puffy and eyes blown out, confused. “Tell me you want me.”

“How about I just show you.” Jude grinds upward, letting you feel just how much he wants you. “Hm?”

The pressure on your clothed core has you humming in content, but you stand your ground. “I need to hear it from you, Jude.”

Jude’s mouth opens slightly and snaps close, taking a pause. You worry he’ll leave you hanging for a third time.

To your surprise, he gently flicks a stray strand of hair away from your face. His knuckles trail down your cheeks, feeling the heat that had risen before it goes further down, unzipping your jacket.

“I want this.” He zips it all the way down, and you help him in discarding the piece of clothing.

“I want you,” Jude grunts, resuming his assault on your neck, hands gripping your waist rougher. His lips ghost over the shape of your collarbone, dipping to the valley between your breasts. You’re sure he’ll leave a purple mark with the way he’s sucking, but at least he left it in a spot where only he can see.

Jude’s back to kissing you, laving his tongue over yours until you give in, letting him explore your mouth. His hands smooth over your back, resting on the curve of your ass as he molds the flesh in his palms.

He pulls your shorts down along with your panties, now ruined and soaked. The cold air hitting your exposed cunt makes you hiss. You need Jude to do something about it.

“Aren’t you gonna show me as well now?” you coo in his ear, dragging your core on his sweats, spreading your slick on his clothed thigh.

“I’m a man of my word.” With a strong grip on your waist, Jude lies flat on the bed, pulling you on top of him. His hold on you never loosens, only beckoning you higher up his body— and it’s clear what he wants you to do.

You inch higher and higher up his torso, breathing increasingly heavier until you’re hovering right above his face. Nothing has looked more glorious than Jude Bellingham below you, between your thighs.

Jude curses at the sight of you, dripping and bare above him. His eyes don’t leave your pussy, taking his finger and spreading your folds, planting a light kiss on it.

“Fuck.” Your knees buckle at the first contact, hands reaching to steady yourself on the headboard.

“This all for me, baby?” The endearing term doesn’t help with your clouded thoughts.

“Mhm.” You hum in anticipation. “Just for you, Jude.”

Jude’s lips ghost over your core, close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over it. “You’re gonna have to be quiet for me, yeah? Think you can do that?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, wanting nothing more than for him to taste you.

You feel Jude smirk beneath you. “Good girl.”

Jude licks one long stripe up your folds, causing you to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself moan. He starts eating you out like a starved man, the tip of his tongue dipping occasionally inside you before retracting.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning and whimpering into your palm, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jude moves to wrap his arms around your thighs, locking you down on him.

He lays his tongue flat over your sopping cunt before moving to encircle your clit with the tip, drunk on how heavenly you taste. You’re a writhing mess above him, hesitant for more in fear or hurting Jude below— but his hold on your thighs push you down further, giving you the green light.

Jude laps your juices, pushing his tongue in and out of you and a steady rhythm the way his fingers the other night. He fucks in and out of you, eyes closed, taking it nothing but your taste and your muffled moans as you comply with his request.

His nose nudges your clit each time he pushes impossibly deeper into you, his palms rough as it travels around your lower body. You hold on with so much restraint, so much self control to keep quiet, but the flames roaring in your abdomen grow larger as Jude only picks up the pace, devouring your pussy.

“Fuck—” Your palm drops from your hand, landing on his head, overwhelmed with pressure. You’re close, Jude knows it. “Jude, I’m close,” you spit through bated breaths.

“Let go for me, babe,” Jude sounds against your folds. “You’ve been so good for me, so fucking good.” His praise is low and soft, and your palm is back on your mouth to bite back the scream as you cum around his tongue.

Jude rocks his head slowly, helping you ride out your high as you regain composure, collapsing against the headboard. He taps your thigh twice, in awe of you panting and undone above him.

“I’ve got you. You alright?” You could only nod, Jude chuckling in response. He leaves one final chaste kiss to your inner thigh, gently dragging you down his body so your face hovers above his.

Jude’s chin is glistening with your juices, spread over his cheeks. You lean in to taste yourself on his tongue, settling comfortable on his torso until you slide down onto his bulge, prominent through his pants. Jude groans into your mouth, shifting below you for more friction.

You trail kisses down his neck, palms dipping below his hoodie to trace his defined abs. “Off,” you demand, and Jude’s quick to pull it up and over him, discarding it carelessly. Jude feels shivers shoot up and down his spine as you run your nails across his toned chest, down to his abs, grazing the skin, a testament to his hard work in the gym.

Your hands dip lower until you palm him through his pants, mouth latching onto the crook of his neck. Jude hisses, shutting his eyes, involuntarily bucking his hips up to meet your palm.

“Let me return the favor.” Your lips ghost over his earlobe, tugging it slightly as you pull away. Your hands make quick work of pulling down the clothing, with Jude standing up off the bed to ease the process, joining his hoodie in some corner of the room.

Getting on your knees on the bed, his hard on is just inches away from your face, imprinted on his Calvins. Jude can sense your hesitation, reaching down to stroke your chin adoringly, slightly jutting it up so you can meet his eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Such a gentleman. You lean forward, pressing your cheek against his crotch, nodding with an amorous glance. Jude lets a stray shit slip from his mouth as you suckle on the tip of his thumb, giving him further assurance.

Your fingers dig into the waistband, pulling Jude’s last piece of clothing down before he’s stood completely bare before you— his cock springing from the restraint and slapping against his belly. He’s big, a size you’re not used to encountering in the past.

You spit onto your palm, still slightly wet from earlier, and begin pumping him in your hands, eyes never leaving Jude’s face. His lips are already caught between his teeth at the stimulation, working to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail to help you out.

Your press a delicate kiss on his tip, laving your tongue over the slit. Jude feels his jaw start to go slack, fully falling agape when you lick a long stripe up his shaft, repeating the motions. He swallows hard, throwing his head back when you start to let him in your mouth.

You start slow, breathing through your nose before pulling away with a clean pop, jerking him off as you recollect your breath. When your mouth is around him again, you begin to bob your head up and down his length, hands taking care what your mouth doesn’t fit.

You hollow your cheeks, laying your tongue flat below his cock, focused on nothing more than giving Jude the best head he’ll ever get in his life. Jude’s restrained groans morph to low moans, tickling your ears with every sound spilling from his throat.

“You take me so well,” he praises, and his words go straight to your core. You rub your thighs together for some sort of relief and Jude curses at the sight. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Jude’s hips start to stutter out of his control, causing you to gag around him, tears building in the corners of your eyes. You hold on to his thighs for support, not needing to move your head as he slowly starts fucking into your mouth. Your other hand is cupping his balls, massaging the flesh.

You feel Jude’s fingers run trace down your neck, landing on the straps of your bralette. He slides them down your shoulders one by one, letting them drape loosely over your arms.

Jude’s movements turn erratic, breathing heavily as he starts to thrust into your mouth with more force that you can feel him in the back of your throat. Just before you couldn’t take more, Jude pulls out, roughly stroking himself, leaving you time to catch your breath.

“Need to be inside you, now.” You smirk devilishly at his wishes, sliding backwards on the bed. Spreading your legs wide, you tease your fingers over your folds. Jude moans at the sight before him, his hand only speeding up.

“How do you want it, baby?” You echo his endearing nickname, and Jude sits against the headboard, patting his thigh, beckoning you over.

“Come ride me.”

You’re back to straddling Jude as he pulls your top off, latching onto your breasts instantly. You throw your head back, grabbing the back of his neck. He swirls his tongue across your hardened bud, tugging it with his teeth before diving back in, working the other with his hand. He licks over the valley of your chest, giving your other the same attention.

Jude’s hands are tough on your waist, lightly pushing you down— and you feel the tip of his cock swipe against your pussy. A stray moan escapes your throat and Jude is quick to silence you with another passionate kiss.

“There’s people in the other room,” Jude warns in between kisses. When he means ‘people’, he means your brother, his best friend.

“I know. I’ll be quiet,” you promise. “Now fuck me, Jude, please.”

“So needy.” Jude lowers you on his cock, letting you warm up to the stretch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting back the filthy sounds threatening to escape. Jude peppers your temple with light kisses, moving you lower until he’s buried deep inside you.

The feeling of Jude inside you sends waves of pure ecstasy rushing through you, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Jude smashes his lips into yours, feeling your ass flush onto his thighs, adjusting to his size.

You plant your palms on his shoulders, lifting off of him completely, encircling your waist so the tip of his length rubs against your clit. With one swift move, you sink back onto him, throwing your head back in pleasure. Jude has to stop himself from finishing then and there, feeling your walls suck him back in and your folds flutter around him.

You start to find a steady pace, moving up and down his cock. Jude’s eyes are struggling to stay open, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, addicted to how you look on top of him— tits bouncing in his face, chest decorated with blusih purple marks, eyebrows furrowed as you focused on getting yourself off on him.

“Jude,” you moan silently.

“Shh,” Jude hushes, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip, plunging it onto your mouth. He watches as you stifle your desperate cries around it. “Doing so well for me, pretty girl.”

Jude’s grip on your waist has almost entirely loosened, giving you freedom to move at your own pace. You slam down harder on him with every move, driving silent groans from Jude, until you begin to bounce mercilessly on his cock.

Your thighs start to burn with the rapid movements, and you’re not sure if you can hold out for much longer. Jude senses your fatigue, wrapping his arms around your torso, hovering his mouth in front of yours.

“Need help? Hm?” You nod ferverently, panting into his mouth, begging with your eyes. You’re so close, yet so far.

Jude gently leaves a kiss on your lips, accepting the offer. His hands are back on your waist, halting your movements.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

And so you do, hissing when you pull Jude out, leaving you empty. For a second, you’re staring at the sight of his cock, throbbing and glassy with your slick coating it, dripping down onto his balls. He doesn’t miss where your eyes trail, chuckling when he realizes.

“Look at the mess you made,” he taunts, stroking himself, but nothing could compare with the feeling of your walls around him. Jude juts his head, snapping you out of your trance as you turn around and sit against his cock.

You feel him stroke himself against you, feel him smear your wetness against your cheeks before he roughly takes them in his hands, kneading and spreading the flesh. You arch further into him, rubbing your thighs in anticipation. Jude lands a harsh slap against your ass in response, eliciting a choked gasp out of you.

His palms land roughly against your skin, a second, third, fourth time, pushing you further and further down on the mattress until your face is smuthered against the sheets, ass lifted in the air.

You helplessly squirm under him, only growing wetter at the impact, feeling it pool between your thighs. Jude’s hand lock you in place, the other tapping the head of his cock against your entrance, sending your juices dripping down onto the sheets.

“So fucking wet.” You claw at the sheets, bracing yourself when you feel him press against you. “All ruined for me.” The air is knocked clean out of your lungs when he slams into you, forcing you to bury your face into the sheets.

Incoherent, muffled noises flood from your throat, prompting Jude to only ram into you harder. The sight of you, snappy and brainy, fucked out and wrecked below him is nothing short of a masterpiece to him.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this to happen,” Jude grunts through gritted teeth, “Walking around in those fucking skirts all week.” Another helpless whine out from you, silenced by the mattress.

“And with your brother around, too.” Your head snaps up to the door directly in front of you. Marcus. He’s in his room, doing god knows what, utterly oblivious to what his sister was up to a few doors down. Suddenly, the possibility of him barging in at any given moment becomes very real, but you forget about it immediately when Jude pulls you against his chest by your neck.

“What would Marcus think if he saw you like this? Hm?” he goads.

“You said it was wrong,” you spit back. “Fucking your best friend’s sister.”

“But you can’t get enough, can’t you?” You nod, but Jude’s not giving in. His free hand snakes around your waist, finding your clit and drawing figure-eights on the swollen bud.

“Come on. Use your words.” You can’t think clearly, dizzy at the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, his fingers on your clit, his hand on your throat. You lost all your fight.

“Mhm. I need more, Jude. Please, harder,” you beg, and Jude pushes you back into the mattress, freeing himself of any restraints he had earlier. Your eyes crack open at a particularly rough trust, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“And if he walks in? Sees you bent over for his best friend.”

“Jude.” He feels slick gush around him, coating his cock.

“Taking it so well, too.” Jude angles his hips to fuck deeper into you, hitting the spot that has you seeing stars, knees buckling below him. He’s hooked on your pretty face, sweaty and ruined, trembling with every thrust.

Jude feels your walls spasm around him. “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine between low ah’s and curses under your breath. He twitches inside you and knows he’s not far from finishing either. His thrusts get more sporadic, shallower with every move of his hips.

“Can I? Please?” You look up at Jude with demure eyes, and he knows he can’t say no.

“Make a mess all over my cock, baby.” You collapse on the bed as you finish around him, pressing your face into the sheets to stop the cries leaving your throat, milking his cock dry.

Jude doesn’t slow down, chasing his own high. With whatever energy you have left, you reach around him and hold him in place. He’s confused at first, wondering if it’s too much for you, blinking quickly.

“Cum inside me,” you plead and Jude’s vision goes white, hips sputtering as he feels warm ropes of white shoot deep into you. He fucks his cum into you, and you take the overstimulation for him, feeling so full— full of Jude.

You flip over, basking Jude in all of his glory, sweat trickling down his upper body. Your eyes travel down to where you’re two connected, where Jude is still buried in, seeing the faintest outline of his girth in your abdomen.

Jude collapses onto you and you’re quick to rub his back, letting him catch his breath. “Hey, you okay?” You hear him release a soft grunt in response. It’s usually him checking up on you— how the tables have turned.

Your chests rise and fall in unison, worn out and exhausted. You run your nails up and down Jude’s back, the other hand scratching the back of his neck, where his face is buried into your shoulders. He’s trembling above you.

“I’ve got you, breathe,” you reassure him, planting a kiss on his temple and wrapping your legs around his waist. Jude holds your wrist, interlocking your hands together, setting it beside you.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” he murmurs.

“Or we could just…” You pause, feeling your brain return from its clouded state. “...stay here. Like this. For a while.”

Jude slowly nods, lifting his face to meet yours. He looks at you with wide eyes, warmth filling his chest as your eyes gaze right back at his, heart beating in unison. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“I’d love that.” Stroking his face, you smile in response. You hold Jude in your arms as you drift off, scared that you’ll never be in the same position once you both leave for the airport tomorrow.

“JUDE BELLINGHAM!”

You choke on your tea, sputtering the liquid out of the cup at the commentator’s roaring voice. It dribbles down your arm, and you set the drink down on the tray as you rush to turn down the volume on your phone. You never realized how passionate American commentators could get for a sport that is so looked down on in their country.

“What! A! Goal!” Then, you see him, all 6 feet of him with tan glowing skin, sculpted muscles, running around the pitch, swarmed by his new teammates.

“Jude Bellingham with an amazing goal assisted by Rüdiger gives Real Madrid a comfortable lead against Manchester United tonight in Houston! The 21 year old scores his first ever goal for the reigning Copa del Rey champs, proving people who may have had second thoughts about his transfer to the Spanish club wrong,” chimes in another commentator.

You can’t help yourself from smiling as the video replays the goal in slow motion, taking a bite of your strawberry shortcake. Looking outside, you spot NRG Stadium twinkling faintly in the dark of the night. It’s been several hours since the match, and you’re back in your hotel room, still in the Number 5 jersey from earlier.

You don’t realize you’ve ingested the morsel of cake, leaving yourself to chew on the fork as you admire how Jude looks doing the one thing he loves the most— playing football. He’s full of fight, full of passion as he gives his all and more on the pitch, a burning desire in his chest to win.

A loud knocking on your door, followed by a bell resonating through the room pulls you to reality. You set down the plate, walking to greet whoever was waiting for you behind at the entrance.

You swing the door open, and who else, if not Jude? His eyes take in the sight of you in his kit, the way it hugs your frame and hangs loosely over your body, being several sizes bigger.

“Look who finally learned how to knock,” you joke, taking him by the hand and pulling him inside.

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