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distantdarlings · 2 years ago

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RAGE AGAINST ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After unfairly losing your first Quidditch match of the year, you're fighting to restrain the rage that's filling you. When Theo realizes how upset you truly are, he gets the idea to allow you to take all of your frustration out on him. (Smut)

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Dom!reader, Sub!Theo, piv - no protection, biting, choking, bondage, one slap, fem reader, mommy kink, praise, language, brief description of Quidditch injury at beginning, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

---

The icy wind bit against your skin, stinging your cheeks and splitting your lips. Your eyes quickly followed the constant movement on the field through your goggles.

Despite the raging winter storm around the pitch, the game of Quidditch pressed on, as violent as usual. One hand gripped your broom while the other stayed shoved in your jersey, allowing the warmth from your body to provide some feeling back to your fingers.

The score was even at nothing to nothing. Few Quaffles shot by any witch or wizard in Hogwarts were going to get by you, save for extreme luck. You were the best Keeper in a decade. The headmaster himself had said so.

And that fact rang through the entirety of this game up until one point. One point that had shot the most severe anger you’d ever felt through your whole body. And that moment was playing through your head on repeat.

As you had been following the Gryffindor chaser, watching her zoom through her teammates in an attempt to get to you, you had tightened your whole body against your broom. You prepared yourself to smack the ball away from the goals.

As she made the shot, the Quaffle flew past your Chaser and headed right toward you. You were ready. In the blurred motions on the outskirts of your focus on the Quaffle, you noticed the Chaser raise her hand and shout.

Before you could react to the Quaffle or the Chaser, a raging bullet slammed into your hip. The force of the Bludger pushed you over the edge of your broom. A yelp left your lips as you just barely caught yourself on your broom, still suspended in the air. Your hands gripped the handle, but the numbness in your fingers and the slickness of the wood had you sliding more and more.

Cheers erupted around you as the Quaffle flew through the goalpost.

“Fuck!” you shouted, disappointed that the Gryffindors had scored points. Your grip on the broom was becoming less and less sturdy. Every urge to get yourself back on the broom was met by another slip.

Your name was shouted near you. You glanced around until you found Theo speeding toward you full force. He circled around you, lowering himself to become even with you. One hand reached down to grip the back of your chest guard. He began to lift, helping you back onto the broom.

Soft grunts left you as you pulled the length of your chest over the handle. Nearly there, you thought just as another force slammed into your side, shoving the breath out of you. Theo’s hand was jerked away from your chest guard, and your loosened grip on your broom was ruined.

There was no time for you to scream as you slipped right between the two things keeping you in the air. Your stomach dropped as you fell, almost as if in slow motion. As your fingers slipped through open air, hoping to grip onto something, your hearing shot from your ears, rendering the world in silence. You could just barely see Theo’s screaming face as he sped down toward you as fast as he could. You hoped to Merlin he’d catch you before you were out for the rest of the season with two broken legs—or worse.

Just before you could hit the ground, you felt your body lift into suspension as if it had suddenly been caught by an invisible force. The air was pushed from your body once again in a quick motion. You glanced around, quickly spotting Headmaster Dumbledore in the staff spectator booth. He stood at attention with a pointed hand raised in the air. As he lost focus, you fell the last foot to the ground, yelping on impact.

“Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker, has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins by 160 points!”

Deafening applause roared around you, practically rattling the goalposts beneath the weather and sound. Your head fell back in defeat, an annoyed groan pouring from your lips. This was your first loss of the year. Fuck! You punched the sandy ground, the half-frozen surface burning through your gloves. You got to your feet and stomped off the pitch, anger coursing through your veins. From behind you, you could hear Theo Accio your broom to him as he descended through the air.

You pushed through the player’s entrance and got to work ripping your gear off, trying to restrain yourself from throwing any of it. You were so mad, you might cry. You couldn’t believe they didn’t call a foul on the Gryffindor chaser and beaters. They would just call strategy on that shitty move, but as the adrenaline was fading, you realized that your injuries hurt like hell. There was no way those moves were just for strategy—they were meant to hurt.

Once your chest guard was off, you winced as you slowly rolled the side of your jersey up over your left ribcage. Though the blood hadn’t completely pooled behind the injury, you could see the reds and purple already starting to form. You did the same with your right hip, checking to see the damage. You were pretty sure nothing was broken or chipped—just bruised. Your jaw clenched.

“Hey,” Theo ran through the player’s entrance, breathless from the run. You ignored him. You didn’t want to say anything you’d regret. You weren’t mad at him, but you had a bit of a temper.

“Baby,” he sighed, walking over to you. He set your broom against the lockers and attempted to press his hands to your cheeks. You gently brushed him away, shaking your head. “Please, it’s not your fault. That should have been a foul.”

“I know,” you spoke through gritted teeth, making rough work of shoving your gear back into your locker, purposefully ignoring the ache in your bones.

“Don’t worry about it—no one is upset with you,” he reassured. You nodded.

“Baby, look at me—”

“Theo! Please stop!” you interrupted, finally turning to face him. “I’m sorry, but I’m very angry. I don’t care if the team is angry with me. I’m angry with myself! I just want to be left alone for a minute.”

He looked taken aback by your sudden hostility, and a flash of guilt ran through you. This is why you’d hoped he would just ignore you. You had a tendency to be mean when you were angry. You didn’t mean to—it just kind of happened. You sighed and pressed your thumb and forefinger to the bridge of your nose.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” you sighed, “I’ll see you back in the common room, okay?”

You didn’t let him reply before making your way to the exit. You wished you hadn’t lashed out in the way you had, but you couldn’t help it. If there was any chance you were going to be even slightly successful in the Quidditch world, you had to at least stay on your fucking broom. You were so annoyed with yourself you could hardly see straight.

You stomped across the courtyard, wanting nothing more than to just collapse onto your bed. It was a Friday, which meant the Quidditch games happened before dinner. You were starving, but the way you saw it, you had only two options. You could go to sleep and wait until breakfast or face your shame head-on. You chose to sleep.

Once you’d finally reached the Slytherin common room, you’d ignored all of your various housemates who wanted to check in on you. You were extremely grateful for them and would tell them that later, but you needed to be alone right now.

You climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitories and wrestled with your own pride all the way to your dorm. When you appeared before its door, you prayed that no one would be inside. Hopefully, everyone was down at dinner or heading there. You pushed through the door with a held breath.

No one was there. You released your breath in relief and shut the door behind you, refraining from slamming it. The bed at the far end of the room was waiting with open arms. All you wanted was to go to bed and forget that match ever happened. You were beyond embarrassed and would likely mull over all of your mistakes for the rest of your life. Something told you that you’d randomly remember glimpses of this match until you were elderly and cringe every time.

A groan left you as you collapsed against the soft mattress, not bothering to take off your underclothes despite the sweat that had dried over them. You’d wash your sheets tomorrow. You made yourself comfortable beneath the covers before shutting your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. Fucking finally.

A knock on the door had your eyes shooting back open. You shook your head and silently refused to get up. If someone wanted in that badly, they’d break open the door. Wasn’t your problem…

The sound of your name being called permeated the heavy wooden entrance. Your eyes opened once more. You knew well enough the face that belonged to the voice outside, but even he couldn’t convince you to get out of bed at this point. The violent mixture of shame, bruised pride, and embarrassment circling through your head had pinned you to your mattress.

“Baby, please,” he said, a low sigh leaving him. He sounded upset. You were not getting up.

“Please, I need to talk to you.” Damn it. You sighed and got to your feet. Maybe it was something important, entirely unrelated to the match. He could be hurt or upset about something else. Maybe he wanted to ask you on a date or something. You pulled the dorm door open. The look on his face told you that he definitely did not want to go on a date.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his fingers fidgeting against themselves by his sides. With a defeated sigh, you nodded and let him walk through the door.

Once inside, he tore his scarf off, letting it fall to the floor next to your bed. He let his jacket fall from his arms and to the other item of clothing already on the floor. You watched in confusion as he seemed to be shedding every article of fabric he had on himself. His fingers fumbled his belt buckle open, the leather splitting and hanging open over the front of his jeans. He pulled the gray sweater over his head, the static from the material crackling against his slowly revealed flesh. The toned, darkened skin beneath glowed pale from the cold weather outside. Before long, he stood in nothing but his jeans and half-undone belt.

“Theo, what the fuck?”

“Use me.”

Your head flickered against the words, double-taking at the expression pulled across his face. One of genuine concern; his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw ticked. You searched that expression, desperate to find some answers to his odd behavior. Yet, no matter how hard you looked, none came.

“What—?” you started.

“Use me,” he repeated, his voice serious and unwavering. You had no words. What the fuck was he talking about? Did he want you to hit him or something? He said he had a bad habit of wanting to punch something when he was angry—maybe that’s what this was. You took a gander.

“What? Like hit you or something?” you tried. He sighed and rolled his eyes a bit.

“No, not necessarily,” he groaned, “I want you to do what you want to me.”

“What? Theo, I’m just not in the mood right now—I thought that much was obvious—”

“No, shut up,” he demanded. “Hear me out…if you still don’t want to after I explain myself, that’s totally fine, but let me try and discuss it.” A few moments passed before you finally let out a sigh and nodded. Surely, he didn’t actually expect you to be horny right now.

“I know that you’re angry, and for good reason, and I also know you don’t want to talk about it,” he started, eyes never leaving yours. “But I want you to try and…you know, get your frustrations out another way. I want you to do whatever you want to me…fuck me, hit me, bite me, kick me—I don’t care. Just get it out, okay?”

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get any words to exit your lips. You really had no idea what to say in response to his proposition. You felt like your obvious answer should be no. None of your anger should be taken out on him in any way. Theo wasn’t really your boyfriend—at least, he’d never formally asked you out—but you didn’t want to hurt him in any way, even if he was asking you to.

“Theo, no…I don’t want to hurt you, that’s—”

“Please, I’m asking you to,” he interrupted once again. “You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

He crossed the remaining space of floor between the two of you, stopping only right in front of you. He gently reached down to grab one of your hands from your side. He raised it between the two of you, his fingers tightened firmly around your wrist. At his proximity, the rate of your breath increased.

“Do whatever you want to me. I can take it,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Your lips parted at the tone of his voice. His eyes watched yours so intently, the pupils blown wide against the salt spray color. You swallowed thickly.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” he smiled, nodding. You nodded, as well. His fingers came up to gently pinch your chin between them. His eyes were bright and encouraging. He didn’t let go of you. “Where do you want me, love?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” you giggled nervously. Your stomach was aching with anxiety like the first time the two of you had ever done anything. You felt like you were completely inexperienced again. Your hands shook against you.

“How about I lay down?” he asks gently, still smiling. He lay down against the headboard of your bed, beckoning you slowly with his darkened eyes. It felt as though he had just been smiling with sweet, reassuring eyes, but his expression had entirely changed. His eyes were dark and lidded, his cheeks barely blushed, his lips parted, and his jaw tight. It took your breath away.

“Come here,” he whispered. You walked toward him, allowing him to help you onto the bed and over his lap. The rough material of his jeans chafed against the insides of your bare thighs. His hands rubbed up and down the top of your legs, pushing the material of your undershorts higher against your hipbone.

“What do you want to do to me?” he rasps.

“I…,” you breathed, your confidence wavering. You knew exactly what you wanted to do now but were unsure if you could say it. His eyebrows raised, his head nodding you on.

“I want to fuck you the way I want,” you whispered. With every second, your confidence built, illuminating the heat within your abdomen. More ideas flew through your head. The thought of being able to do whatever you wanted was a powerful feeling. Was that bad? You weren’t sure.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Incarcerous,” you whispered. Wandlessly, you watched as thick, black cords tightened themselves around Theo’s wrists. They wound themselves around the gaps in the headboard, securing him against the wooden material. Your intention behind the spell was not to harm him, and your magic knew what you wanted. His breathing was deep but controlled as he let everything happen to him. You asked if what you were doing was okay. He nodded emphatically.

His core, which rested between your thighs, swelled rapidly. A smirk fell over your face as you dragged your nails down his bare chest. A gasp left his lips, and his eyes clenched shut at the sensation. His hips rolled slowly against you, trying to elicit some contact against himself.

“Theo, if I do something wrong, will you tell me?” you asked. “Say ‘Quidditch’ if it’s too much, okay?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be making you forget about that very thing?” he chuckled breathlessly. You rolled your eyes in response. You weren’t concerned with what word he used as long as the two of you were on the same page.

Once you had confirmed that he wouldn’t let you go too far, you wasted no time getting to work. You had needs that had sprung up rather instantly at the thought of being able to use Theo however you wanted, and you were going to satiate them.

You placed your lips to his quickly, reveling in the feeling of his tongue on yours. Already, he found himself tugging at the cords restraining his hands. He groaned at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands in your hair. You moved your lips away from his and trailed long, open-mouthed kisses down his abdomen. Small noises exited his lips every time you bared your teeth down against his flawless flesh.

Your fingers found his partially undone belt and set to work removing it from its loops. You gripped the leather material in your hands, making a point to gently trace its rough surface down his marked-up stomach.

You unbuttoned his jeans and roughly dragged them down his legs with little to no help from him. With the fire and confidence blaring through your muscles, you didn’t need any help. You only needed him and his body.

You slid your fingers beneath the band of his briefs, glimpsing the warmth beneath them. You pressed a bruising kiss to both hipbones, feeling the way he jolted beneath your lips at the sensation. Every time you glanced up, his eyes were clenched, and his lips were parted. You adored how reactive he was, no matter what you were doing.

When you slid his briefs down to his ankles, you let the pool of saliva built up in your mouth slip between your lips. As it made contact with his core, you rolled your hand over him, lathering him in it. A very audible groan left his lips at the motion, and it seemed he couldn’t refrain from bucking his hips against your hand, trying to pleasure himself to his end.

“Please, please,” he whispered as you continued to work him up. There was no way in hell you were letting him finish this way, but it was still fun to watch his reactions. Any time he got close to his end, his thighs would tense up, and his eyes would clench harder, and you knew to stop. That’s how he’d always been. You kept that in mind, and just as you began to see those signs, you stopped touching him.

“Ah, fuck, please,” he practically whined as the tension in his body faded away at his ruined high. You ignored him as you tugged your shorts off of your body, with your bottoms quickly following them. You only had one thing in mind at the moment.

A long, deep moan left his lips as you sank down onto him. The built-up arousal and spit around his core made him slip into you with ease. Your lips parted at the feeling, loving the way he filled you so perfectly. Theo had always been perfect for you as if he had been created specifically to please you. He hit every spot he needed to and coaxed more heat from your body every time you lifted your hips, only to sit back down onto him.

“Baby, please!” he moaned aloud. “I’m gonna…fuck, if you keep going like that, I’m—” You laid a slap to his face. His face jerked to one side at the force. His eyes found you in shock, his wrists yanking at the cords. You couldn’t tell if that had been a mistake or not, but you wanted him to stop talking and let you do what he’d asked you to.

“Stop talking, or I’ll make you,” you spoke through gritted teeth. He nodded immediately and shut his mouth. His hips rolled into yours roughly, fucking himself deeper into you. Your eyes rolled back at the motion. When you didn’t respond with your own movement, he continued to do the same thing.

“Good boy,” you moaned, allowing him to push you toward your end.

“Want more,” he groaned out, his hips still pushing into you.

“Theo, what did I say about talking?” you said, your eyes now open and angry.

“I’m sorry, baby, it’s just that—” Wandlessly, you directed another cord from your previous spell to slide its way across his pretty neck. He whined in shock, the feeling surprising him. His lips pressed shut as the cord applied just enough pressure to keep him quiet.

“No more talking,” you warned. He nodded pathetically, forcing his hips back against yours. Fuck what he was saying, if he continued like this, you were going to come prematurely. Even with you controlling the majority of the situation, he managed to make you come close to finishing quickly.

“Fuck, baby, keep doing that,” you whispered. You were closer than you thought.

With what little bodily control he had at the moment, Theo still managed to roughly and accurately fuck his hips up into you at a perfect pace. Every thrust hit something special within you, forcing you closer and closer to your end. Drops of sweat slid down his built chest, coaxing your tongue toward them. You wanted to taste his salty skin, to have his earthy scent engrained in your flesh. You wanted to feel him within you for the rest of your life, never allowing him to pull himself from you. You were utterly obsessed with the boy beneath you and his eagerness to please you. Affection overwhelmed you.

“Yeah, baby? You’re such a good boy?” you cooed, dragging your thumb down his swollen lips. “Such a good boy for me, for mommy?”

At the change in pronoun, Theo’s eyes rolled back, and a muffled groan left his clenched mouth. You could feel his chest shuddering at the onset of his pleasure. His orgasm rolled through him like a wave of electricity, coaxing every last drop of ecstasy from his body. His legs shook beneath you as he released his spend into you, the feeling of which forced you over your own edge. You came hard around him, allowing the proof of your desire to spill around his own.

Once you’d come to the end of your finish, you silently waved your spell and watched as Theo took a deep breath and let his hands fall back down to the bed. He looked content and pleased. His flushed cheeks and sweaty hair plastered to his forehead sent a blush through your stomach. He looked absolutely gorgeous.

“How was that? Was that okay?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“I think I learned a few things about myself, but it was alright,” he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. The two of you giggled silently, falling into each other beneath the covers. Without the warmth of your sex, the wintry weather outside penetrated the windows, laying a cold blanket over the two of you. You shivered giddily.

“I was thinking, if you call yourself that, maybe I should take you on a date…,” he said.

“Oh…you don’t have to. I was just, you know, trying something out,” you laughed.

“Did you like it?”

“It was alright,” you shrugged. “It definitely seemed like you liked it, though.” He rolled your eyes at your teasing tone. “You like it when I treat you like that?”

He said nothing, his words choked beneath the force of his flushed cheeks. You could tell everything you had done had set off some kind of fire within him, whether or not he wanted to admit it. If he didn’t want you to do any of those things again, he’d let you know, but the way he seemed to already be hardening again at the thought of your behavior moments ago had you convinced he’d been a fan of all of it.

*Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @angelfrombeneth (if you want to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, send me a dm, or message in my inbox. Thanks!)*

#fanfiction #creative writing #writing #reader insert #fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #request #requests are open #fem reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #quidditch

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emjayewrites · 7 months ago

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ghost in the machine • jobe bellingham - part i

SYNOPSIS: What started off as something casual, Jobe now finds himself developing feelings that he is unable to shake.

PAIRINGS: Jobe Bellingham x Justine Campbell (fc: @/themiaamoore)

WARNINGS: cursing, falling in love type stuff, depictions/mentions of sex, jealous!jobe (18+ only) MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @judesvirtual, @judesprincess, @yeea-nah, @leilaxaliel, @f1-football-fiend @bbgkoo @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @henneseyhoe @judes-hoe @judebellenthusiast @imjustheretomanifest @greedyjudge2 @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Another one for Jobey….this is set in the Football Baes Universe. Read Hey There, Delilah to catch up. Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the taglist. Gif by @jobesbabe

It’s been almost two weeks since he last seen Justine in person due to their crazy schedules, but they speak to one another frequently through text, calls, and their ever growing meme thread. However, the Snapchat notifications were slowly killing him. Every time Jobe opened the app, there was Justine – and more often than not, Keyon somewhere in the frame. Study sessions, coffee runs, group dinners that somehow always ended up being just the two of them in the final snaps. Each post twisted something in Jobe's gut, making him grip his phone a little tighter and cause a scowl to form on his face.

Birmingham felt different during this brief break. Usually coming home meant peace, but now the streets held the possibility of running into her. Which is exactly what happened at Venetta's Caribbean Kitchen, where Justine was helping her mother during the lunch rush.

Jobe had frozen in the doorway, his mum beside him. Justine looked up from wiping down a table, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment before he deliberately turned away, guiding his mum to a different section.

"That was rude, Jobey," his mum had said quietly, but Jobe just shrugged, studying the menu like he hadn't been eating here since he could walk.

Later, back at his house, Jobe's phone buzzed with a text: Real mature, ignoring me like that earlier.

He didn't respond, but the message burned in his pocket through dinner with his parents. The food on Jobe's plate might as well have been cardboard. He pushed the chicken around listlessly, his mind replaying the moment at Venetta's over and over. The way Justine's face had fallen when he'd ignored her, how her hand had tightened on the cloth she was holding.

"You've barely touched your food," his mum observed.

"May I be excused?" Jobe asked, already half-rising from his chair. "Just… not feeling well."

His parents exchanged a look he pretended not to see. "Go on then," his dad said softly.

His phone buzzed again as he climbed the stairs to his room: So you're not gonna say anything?

Lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, a FaceTime request lit up his screen. Justine's name made his heart jump, but he waited three rings before accepting.

"You're being a proper dickhead, you know that?" Her accent was thickened with anger and some Jamaican patois flavored her words. "Who you think you are, walking past me like I'm invisible?"

Jobe couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. Angry Justine was always a sight – her eyes flashing, curls seeming to crackle with electricity.

"Wipe dat smirk off yuh face before mi dweet fi yuh," she snapped. ("Wipe that smirk off your face before mi do it for you).

"How you gonna do that through the phone?"

"Bombaclaat!" The curse exploded from her. "You're such an asshole." The call ended abruptly, leaving Jobe staring at his blank screen.

His attempts to call back went straight to voicemail. His texts remained unread. Frustrated, he grabbed his headset, turned on his PS5, and opened COD, finding Jude already online from his home in Madrid.

"You sound stressed," Jude's voice came through crystal clear in the headset.

"It's nothing."

"Right. Nothing to do with Justine?"

Jobe's character died spectacularly as he lost focus. "How's Lila?"

"Coming tomorrow. And don't change the subject." Jude's voice carried that older-brother wisdom Jobe usually tried to ignore. "What'd you do this time?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because I know you."

They played in silence for a moment, then Jobe sighed. "Saw her at Venetta's. Ignored her."

"Mature."

"She's been hanging out with this guy from her teaching program."

"Ah." Jude's knowing tone was irritating. "And you're jealous."

"I'm not—"

"Stop playing COD and go see her."

Jobe hated it when Jude was right. After saying goodbye, he turned off the game and headed downstairs to the entryway closet to fish out his Adidas slides and slipped his sock-covered feet into them. He grabbed his keys and turned around just in time to catch his parents making out on the sectional like teenagers.

"Ugh, can you guys do that in your room or something?"

His parents just laughed, breaking apart. "Where you off to?" his mum asked.

"Out."

"To see Justine?" His dad's knowing smile was insufferable. "Tell her we say hi."

"Yeah, yeah..." Rolling his eyes, Jobe escaped to his car. The drive to Justine's was muscle memory at this point, and for a bit, a SZA song played through his speakers. It was some sappy song about love that hit too close to home, so he quickly switched to his Stormzy playlist, the beat helping clear his head.

When he arrived, he walked up the short path and knocked. Mr. Winston Campbell, Justine's father, answered the door. Despite being nearly a head shorter than Jobe, the man had a way of making him feel small. Jobe shoved his hands in his pockets, partly from nerves, partly from the cold.

"Kind of late, isn't it?" her father said, fixing him with that look all dads seemed to perfect.

"Yes, sir. Sorry. Is Justine home?"

After what felt like an eternity of fatherly intimidation, Justine appeared. Even in sweats and a messy ponytail, no makeup, she was the most beautiful thing Jobe had ever seen. Her natural curls were pulled back, revealing the face he'd found himself thinking about more and more lately.

"What are you doing here?" Justine asked, her arms crossed.

"Taking you out."

She rolled her eyes but grabbed her keys anyway, telling her parents she'd be back later. Mr. Campbell's stern "Not too late" followed them out the door.

The night air bit at their skin as they drove through Birmingham's streets. Jobe kept sneaking glances at Justine, the way the streetlights caught her profile, how she absently moved to the Stormzy track still playing. Every little thing she did lately seemed to catch his attention – the way she chewed her lip when thinking, how her nose scrunched when she was upset.

They stopped at their usual corner shop for snacks. Justine loaded up on Haribo and chocolate buttons, the same thing she'd done that first time months ago when this thing between them started. Back then, he hadn't known how she'd get under his skin, how her laugh would become his favorite sound.

The park where everyone their age hung out was empty this late. They sat on the hood of his car despite the cold, Justine already tearing into her sweets.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "For being a dickhead."

Justine cut him a look of disbelief. "Mmhmm."

"I'm serious, Jus."

She unwrapped a chocolate button, popping it in her mouth. The familiar gesture made his heart do something stupid in his chest. "Why'd you ignore me today?"

Jobe watched her lick chocolate from her thumb, trying to organize thoughts that had been jumbled since Halloween. "Been seeing you with Keyon. On Snapchat."

"Ah." Her smile was knowing. "You've been jealous."

"Can we... can we be exclusive?"

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What?"

"Not like... dating exactly. Just... exclusive. No fucking other people."

Justine's laugh echoed through the empty park. "Oh my days, you really have been jealous."

"Jus..."

"Keyon's just a friend," she said, sobering. "I'm not interested in him like that."

Relief flooded through him. "So...?"

"So what?"

"Exclusive?"

She studied him for a long moment. "You mean you want all the benefits of dating without actually dating?"

"Did you have to say it like that? At least until we figure things out, yeah? My schedule's mad, and you've got teaching..."

"But we won’t be seeing anyone else."

"Right."

She popped another chocolate in her mouth, considering. "And should I agree to this?"

Jobe turned to face her fully, taking in the sight of her – ponytail, oversized sweats, chocolate-stained fingers. "Come to Sunderland next weekend. I'll make it worth your while."

"That's a long drive..."

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "I'll make it very worth your while."

Her smile was slow, dangerous, and tempting. "Yeah?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her. She tasted like chocolate and possibility, her mouth warm despite the cold air. When they broke apart, her eyes were slightly glazed.

"Is that a yes?"

"To Sunderland or being exclusive?"

"Both."

She pretended to think about it, but her smile gave her away. "Fine. But you better make it worth the drive."

"Trust me," he said, pulling her closer. "I will."

They stayed at the park until the cold became unbearable, sharing sweets and kisses. Justine tucked herself under his arm as they walked to the passenger side of the car, fitting against him perfectly before Jobe helped her slip inside. The drive home was quiet and comfortable, Stormzy replaced by something softer.

Pulling up to her house, Jobe killed the engine but made no move to get out. "Text me when you're inside?"

"Such a softie," she teased, but her eyes were fond.

He watched her walk to her door, Mr. Campbell's shadow visible through the front window. As she disappeared inside, his phone buzzed: Inside safe. Thanks for tonight x

Driving home, Jobe couldn't stop smiling. It wasn't exactly what he wanted – not yet – but it was a start. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough for now.

His parents were still up when he got in, curled together watching TV. "Good night?" his mum asked, knowing glint in her eye.

"Yeah," Jobe said, unable to hide his smile. "Really good."

The coffee shop near campus buzzed with its usual mid-afternoon energy as Justine settled into her favorite corner spot. Her laptop was open to a half-finished lesson plan, but her mind kept drifting to the texts from Jobe lighting up her phone.

"The usual?" Keyon appeared with two steaming cups, sliding her oat milk latte across the table.

"Thanks." She took a sip, appreciating how he always remembered her order perfectly. Their coffee meetups had become routine – a break between classes where they'd complain about their teaching placements and swap horror stories about particularly difficult students.

Today though, something felt different in the way Keyon watched her. He seemed nervous, fidgeting with his cup sleeve.

"So," he started, clearing his throat. "I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinner sometime? Like, not just coffee."

Justine's stomach dropped. She'd been afraid of this, had noticed the way their friendship seemed to be shifting lately. "Key…"

"I know, I know. You've got that thing with the footballer."

"It's not just that." Though Jobe's face flashed in her mind – his smirk when she'd agreed to be exclusive, how he'd kissed her in that park like he was trying to prove something. "I'm not looking for anything serious right now," she said finally. "Got too much going on with school and work."

And there was Jobe. Whatever they were doing wasn't serious – couldn't be, with his schedule and her life in Leeds. But it was… something. Something that made her drive two hours to Sunderland on weekends, something that had her checking her phone between classes for his texts.

Keyon nodded, understanding but clearly disappointed. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

The rest of their time passed normally, talk turning to their upcoming assessments and placement reviews. But Justine's mind kept wandering to the weekend ahead, to the apartment in Sunderland where she'd be spending it.

Later, walking across campus to her next class, Justine's phone buzzed. Made it worth the drive yet? Jobe's text read. Jus: Considering I haven't left Leeds yet, no. Jobe: Soon though. Jus: Cocky. Jobe: You love it.

She did, and that was the problem. He could make her smile with just a text, and he seemed to know exactly what buttons to push. It wasn't supposed to be like this—they were just supposed to be having fun, getting their rocks off between his matches and her teaching rounds.

But somewhere between late-night drives and morning-after breakfasts, something had shifted. Not that she'd admit it, especially not to him.

That night came faster than expected. The drive to Sunderland was familiar now, her playlist full of songs that reminded her of Jobe. She'd done this twice before, but this time felt different. Maybe because of them being exclusive or how he'd kissed her that night in Birmingham.

His apartment building came into view – modern, sleek, the kind of place young footballers gravitated toward. She punched in the code he'd given her ages ago, took the elevator to his floor.

The door opened before she could knock. Jobe stood there in joggers and a t-shirt, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just finished training.

"You cleaned," she noted, stepping inside. The usual chaos of his bachelor pad was notably absent.

"Don't get excited," he smirked. "Ordered dinner too."

"And here I thought you were trying to impress me."

His hands found her hips, pulling her close. "Don't need to try anymore, do I?"

She should have had a witty comeback ready. Should have pushed him away, maintained some distance. Instead, she let him kiss her, melting into it like she always did.

His lips were soft but demanding, knowing exactly how to make her forget why this was complicated. One hand tangled in her hair while the other pressed against her lower back, holding her close.

When they broke apart, his eyes were dark with want. "Dinner first," he said, voice rough. "Then I'll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine could only nod, already anticipating the night ahead. This thing with Jobe might not have been what she planned, might complicate everything from her studies to her family dynamics.

But as they settled on his couch with takeaway containers, his thigh pressed against hers, she couldn't bring herself to care. Some things were worth the complication.

Even if she wasn't ready to admit exactly why.

After dinner, the air between them grew charged, thick with anticipation. Justine followed Jobe to his bedroom, her heart racing as he closed the door behind them. He shot her a smirk as he crossed the room, pulling her close without a word, and slanted his lips against hers.

She let out a small gasp as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, and that allowed his tongue to slip inside her mouth. When they finally broke apart, his gaze was dark with intent.

"Dinner’s done," he murmured, his voice thick and rough. "Now I’ll show you exactly how worth it this drive was."

Justine felt her breath hitch, anticipation building as he pushed her towards the bed. He paused to turn and open the bedside drawer, fishing out a condom. Removing his joggers, t-shirt, then boxers, Jobe tore the foil packet open and slipped it on, his eyes rarely ever leaving hers, the hint of a smirk still on his lips.

"Your turn," he said, his tone laced with mischief.

Rolling her eyes, Justine shimmied out of her clothing and as soon as she was naked, his hands guided her to turn onto her stomach — face-down, ass-up. Jobe bent her slightly forward and she moaned as she felt him press against her from behind. When he leaned in close, she could feel his breath hot against her neck.

"You think you can handle what’s coming?" His voice was low, teasing, a dare wrapped in a whisper. One hand slid along her waist, holding her steady, while the other traced its way up her back, finally tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back gently, just enough to make her pulse quicken, reminding her of exactly how much he liked things rough.

Justine's witty comebacks disappeared the moment he entered her, the world narrowing down to nothing but the rhythm they set together. He moved with a purpose, each thrust deep and steady, making her toes curl. His grip on her hair tightened just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain, and she couldn’t help but let out a whimper, fingers clinging to the sheets as he set a relentless pace.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured, voice husky as he leaned over her, pressing his chest against her back. "Act all tough, but you melt the second I get you like this."

She let out a breathy laugh, managing just enough wit to shoot back, "Don’t flatter yourself, Jobe."

"Flatter myself?" His hand pulled her closer by the hair, his voice in her ear like a dark promise. "You’re the one begging for it."

His words only fueled her, making her clench around him as he drove into her harder, the intensity building. She gripped the sheets, her mind blurring with each thrust. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her body surrendering entirely as he held her firmly, guiding her movements.

"Fuck....Jobe!"

"I know, I know," he said smugly as his thrusts became erratic. With both of his hands in her hair and his manic movements, Justine felt like she would explode from the sheer pleasure of it all; and she did, her orgasm erupting from the deep within her and causing her to tremble like a leaf. Jobe's orgasm hit soon after and he collapsed on top of her, his body glistening with sweat before pulling out and discarding the condom.

Afterglow looked good on Jobe. The usual cockiness in his expression had softened to something almost vulnerable as he traced patterns on her skin, pressing gentle kisses to the marks he'd left on the base of her neck. Their breathing slowly returned to normal, the intensity of earlier giving way to this quieter intimacy that always caught Justine off guard.

"So…" He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with that boyish grin that did dangerous things to her heart. "Worth the drive?"

"Mm. Solid seven out of ten."

The indignation that flashed across his face made her bite back a laugh. "Seven? Now you're just chatting shit."

"What can I say?" She stretched languidly, hiding her smile at how his eyes tracked the movement. "I've had better."

"Nah, you're moving mad right now." His hand slid down her side, making her shiver. "The sounds you were making five minutes ago tell a different story."

"Maybe I was faking it."

His laugh was low, knowing. "Justine."

"Jobe."

"You're a terrible liar."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling as he pulled her closer. "And you're annoying."

"Yet here you are."

"Unfortunately."

His response was to kiss her again, slow and deep, like they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did, just for tonight.

The weekend had passed in a blur of tangled sheets and takeaway containers. Now, watching Justine pack her bag for the drive back to Leeds, Jobe felt something twist in his chest. She moved around his flat with familiar ease, finding her scattered belongings – a textbook on his coffee table, her charger by his bed, one of her hair ties on his bathroom counter.

"Don't forget to eat something proper," she said, zipping up her bag. "Not just those protein bars."

"Yes, mum."

She flipped him off, but kissed him goodbye anyway. The flat felt too quiet after she left.

Monday's training session was intense, preparation for the upcoming Millwall match in full swing. Between drills, Jobe's mind kept wandering to the family section of the stadium, imagining Justine there in his jersey. He shook the thought away – she wasn't his girlfriend, just because they were exclusive didn't mean...

"Come on, Jobe!" His coach's shout brought him back to reality.

His phone lit up with his dad's contact photo as he left training. Strange – his old man calling for a second time today? Around lunchtime, his dad shared the news that he'd been called up for England U21s to face Spain and The Netherlands, which was a huge opportunity for him and for his career.

Surely everything is figured out... "Yeah?"

"Can't a father call his son?" Mark Bellingham's voice carried that tone Jobe knew too well.

"Again though? What's up, Dad?"

"I forgot to ask about Justine. How is she?"

There it was. Jobe sighed, adjusting his grip on his gym bag. "She's good. Teaching placement's going well."

"Good, good." His dad cleared his throat. "And you two are being safe, yeah?"

"Dad."

"I'm serious! You're young, sexually active—"

"Can we not?"

"Just making sure." A pause. "So... is she your girlfriend now? Because your mum has been talking about Christmas in Norway, and if she's officially your girl..."

Jobe's stomach flipped at the image of Justine bundled up in the snow, wearing one of his jumpers. "It's complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Just is." He reached his car. "Look, need to get groceries. Talk later."

"Use protection!"

Jobe hung up before his dad could embarrass him further.

The grocery store's fluorescent lights made everything look harsh. His cart filled quickly with the basics – frozen pizzas, energy drinks, protein bars, cereal. He was debating between Frosted Shreddies and Cookie Crisps when a laugh made him turn.

"Let me guess – living alone?"

The girl was exactly the type who usually caught his attention before Justine. Tall, blonde, expertly applied makeup, outfit designed to turn heads. She had that look he recognized – the one that said she knew exactly who he was.

"Uh, yeah."

She stepped closer, perfectly manicured hand resting on his cart. "I could help you pick out some real food. Maybe cook for you sometime?"

"Sorry, I've got someone."

The words tumbled out before he could think about them. The girl's smile faltered, a quick "Oh" before she walked away.

What the fuck did I mean by that? Jobe thought, staring at his sad collection of frozen meals. Sure, they were exclusive now, but "got someone" sounded... serious. Like something you'd say about a girlfriend.

Back home, after shoving most things in the freezer, he FaceTimed Justine. She answered surrounded by textbooks, hair piled messily on her head, glasses perched on her nose.

"Productive day?" he asked, settling onto his couch.

"If you could say that. This lesson planning is killing me." She glanced up, smirking. "Nice shopping trip?"

"How'd you—"

"Your freezer door is still open. Look at all those pizzas. You're such a child."

"Oi, those are quality meals," he quipped as he got and slammed the freezer door completely shut.

"Sure, babe."

The casual endearment made his chest warm. Before he could examine that feeling, Justine's attention shifted.

"Oh! Love Island USA's starting. Watch party?"

They settled into their virtual date night routine, Justine occasionally scribbling notes while Jobe provided commentary as he watched from his living room.

"JaNa is literally perfect," Justine sighed as the camera panned across the villa.

"Kordell's moving mad though."

"Right? And Aaron's such a dick."

"Serena could get it though."

Justine threw him a look through the phone screen. "Could she now?"

"You know what I mean."

They watched until Justine's yawns became too frequent to ignore. "Get some sleep," Jobe said softly. "Early class tomorrow, yeah?"

"Mm. Night, J."

After they hung up, Jobe turned off the TV to go lay in bed and stared up at his ceiling as memories of the weekend played through his mind. Justine in his t-shirt making coffee, curled against him while they watched match replays, kissing him awake in the morning.

His dad's questions echoed in his head. Maybe "complicated" was just another word for scared – of wanting more, of admitting this thing had grown past their original arrangement. The England callup would mean a week and a half without seeing her, and the thought bothered him more than it should.

His phone buzzed: Night Night. Missing you already x

Jobe smiled at the screen. Maybe complicated wasn't so bad after all.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

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