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boyfriend!sae who absolutely loves listening to you speak Spanish, even when he doesn't understand half of what you're saying. he'll just watch you with that little amused look on his face and ask you to say it again.
boyfriend!sae who eventually learns a handful of phrases just because he knows they'll make you smile. he acts like it's nothing when he uses them correctly, but the tiny look of satisfaction gives him away immediately.
boyfriend!sae who gets very used to your family being more openly affectionate than he's accustomed to. the first time someone greets him with a huge hug, he freezes for approximately three seconds before awkwardly returning it.
boyfriend!sae who genuinely likes being around your family despite pretending otherwise. he'll sit quietly at gatherings, listening to everyone talk while occasionally answering questions, eventually becoming comfortable enough to participate without being dragged into conversations.
boyfriend!sae who has absolutely no chance of escaping your mother's cooking. he'll politely say he's full, only for another plate to somehow appear in front of him five minutes later.
boyfriend!sae who initially has no idea what to do when you start excitedly explaining a family tradition to him. he listens anyway, asks questions, then remembers every detail later because it matters to you.
boyfriend!sae who starts associating certain foods, songs, and little traditions with you without even realizing it. suddenly he'll hear something familiar and immediately think of sitting beside you.
boyfriend!sae who secretly loves when you get excited and start talking faster in spanish. he may not understand every word, but watching your expressions change while you talk is enough to keep him interested.
boyfriend!sae who absolutely notices when you switch languages depending on who you're talking to. he'll find it strangely attractive when you're completely comfortable speaking another language around him.
boyfriend!sae who gets teased by you for having a terrible accent whenever he tries speaking spanish. he'll roll his eyes and insist he's perfectly capable, then immediately ask you how to pronounce the same word again.
boyfriend!sae who becomes surprisingly competitive whenever you teach him something. if he mispronounces a word once, he'll practice it until he gets it right purely because he refuses to let you laugh at him twice.
boyfriend!sae who gets used to your more expressive way of showing affection. he'll act mildly inconvenienced whenever you're clinging to his arm, kissing his cheek, or bothering him for attention, yet never actually moves away.
boyfriend!sae who eventually becomes the person your relatives expect to see at every family gathering. he'll complain under his breath about being invited again while already checking his schedule to make sure he's free.
a/n why is he ignoring meh tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!
I requested a smau a few months ago. I very kindly reminded f9lix over and over again to please work on it, she denied it and kept ignoring me to finish her other work.
It’s not like i don’t respect her work, I do, but I think that f9lix should respect their requests and fans more. Especially considering the amount of time she had.
The end product will most likely satisfy the costumer, but the time in between is just not justifiable.
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Your life in Paris is an anxious, boring mess. But when your coworkers drag you out for happy hour, you were a drunkyard making a fool of yourself
Suddenly, you're aggressively pinching the cheek of a gorgeous, red-haired stranger with impossibly long lashes, wailing about your life.
You think he’s a pretty hallucination. What your drunk brain doesn't realize is that he is Vivian Hugo—an elite, untouchable global football star. He's notoriously terrifying on the pitch, but your chaotic breakdown just got him completely whipped. And since you've passed out cold against his shirt without an address, he has no choice but to carry you home.
Notes : Anxious Reader ??? Oh we go crazy when we go drunk, i tried my best to he ambiguous as possible! rom-com plot written out of pure boredom, we are twenty-year-olds in this cliché plot. Heavy swearing and an accidental kidnapping trope where a character takes the protagonist home. characterization is not canon-accurate to Vivian—I tried. Whipped Vivian who is heavily infatuated, this is not proofread and half of the french dialogue is google translate :p
“Sorry, mom… I’m a boring person.”
You sat deeply in the red velvet seat of the cinema. It felt cold, swallowing you into the dark of the half-empty theater.
Outside, Paris was very much alive, teeming with people rushing to vibrant destinations. Yet here you were, staring up at a wide silver screen, watching a grainy, black-and-white 1960s Nouvelle Vague film.
Your brain immediately took that contrast and ran a marathon with it.
Seriously, why? Why choose to be a “boring”person? Why not go out on dates, to lively parties, or even just basic group hangouts with your colleagues?
Normal people with a real adult paycheck in Paris would be sipping wine at a trendy bar right now or was just like you—really…staying in their own comfort.
Sure, you could sit in a café for three hours straight, but you weren't really doing anything with your life.
Why be so lonely all the time? You actually had a perfectly good outfit on—the boots were great, the skirt was a bold choice, and the turtleneck was a classic piece to tie it all together. You could’ve been at-least going on a date, but you hated going to meet up people, they were so…you don’t mean to be picky…but you felt being so uncomfortable going on dates, they are either that or they would completely stood you up or the third reason was just to have a one night stand.
The more you thought about these things, you shuffled on your seat and clothes were getting was rubbing against the frayed theater seat. You hated the itchy feeling of the fabric.
Ugghhhhh. You hated deprecating yourself like this, caught in a vicious cycle of your own thoughts because it always went like this…
1. You stayed in because you were tired from your job and, which only made you feel lonely for staying in.
2. Whenever you actually tried to be yourself around others, the room went quiet….(not true maybe…you were probably overthinking it..)
3. When you spoke French, you felt shy by your own foreign accent—but how could you ever get better without speaking?
4. You always ended up right back where you started which is…being trapped inside your own head! #yey…
5. The only times you were out there would be : grocery shop, shopping, walking by yourself, going to the park by yourself, eating out, and hanging out by yourself…
Your mom loved to tell you that you made too many excuses for yourself. Usually, that thought just irritated you.
But God, looking around the empty theater, you hated admitting that maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a bit too stubborn to try. “Sorry mom…that your daughter ended up being a boring person.”
It wasn’t like you tried to be a hermit, but you were definitely the main culprit behind your own predicament.
You had exactly zero friends in this city. No work best friends, no casual text buddies—literally no one….yet? Hopefully you won’t be this way for long.
No because…seriously, your life was a highly predictable, seven-step loop: work, shower, eat, sleep, shop, watch a movie, take a lonely walk, and then—just in case you forgot your purpose—work, work, work again.
You had been brooding so loudly in your own mind that you forgot you were even supposed to be paying attention to the movie.
Suddenly, your eyes snapped back to the screen. A man with a cigarette dangling from his lip stared desperately at a woman with sharp, dramatic eyeliner.
“Je t'aime, Anna,” the man said. His voice echoed through the vintage speakers, heavy with a tragic longing.
The woman turned her head away, her expression cold yet deeply wounded. “Non,” she replied sharply. “Jean, je ne sais pas ce que je ressens pour toi... ne dis pas ces choses.”
When the two-hour film finally ended, the house lights flickered on with an unprompted, harsh brightness that made you wince.
You stood up, adjusting your coat, and left the screening room alongside a few middle-aged patrons and two elderly couples. But among them were three people who looked to be right around your age. They were just standing near the lobby exit, but they carried an effortless, magnetic energy that felt completely out of your league.
You couldn’t take your eyes off them. You looked down at your own clothes, suddenly feeling plain, and then looked back up in absolute awe. Everything about their style and how they wore it had so much confidence and charm. You were completely mesmerized by how they dressed and carried their own self.
As you kept staring, the shift happened. One of them tilted their head, sensing your gaze, and locked eyes straight with you.
Panic flared hot in your chest, rushing straight to your face. Fearing you had been caught being incredibly rude, you snapped your head away. Moving instantly, you lowered your head, glued your eyes to the floor, and quickly pushed through the heavy glass doors to exit the lobby.
The reality of the cold, loud Paris street hit you all at once. As you hurried away, the neon sign of the cinema blurred into the distance behind you. Motorbikes roared past, bicyclists rang their bells, and crowds of laughing groups spilled out from under the heated awnings of nearby cafés.
Tires splashed through slick rain puddles, sending a chill through the air. You pulled your coat tighter around your frame, smoothing out the wrinkles, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of that sudden eye contact.
Your knee-high boots clicked rhythmically against the wet pavement, against the bustling sounds of the city life.
Beneath your heavy coat, your short mini skirt and turtleneck combo was your absolute staple for chilly days.
At least, it felt like a staple until a particularly vicious gust of wind appeared ; cutted straight through your tights. You shivered violently, your hands stuffed so deep into your pockets you thought you might tear the lining.
Why didn’t I just wear pants? you lamented, cursing your life choices.
Then, reality hit you with a dull thud. You paused, your fingers nervously fidgeting with a loose thread inside your pocket as you remembered the mess that was currently your apartment.
Right. You hadn’t done laundry in a solid two weeks. Your place was a chaotic sea of clothes spread across every surface.
How many days in a row did I wear those last jeans? Three? Four? Six? Let’s pray to the gods of denim that it wasn't six….
"Stupid, stupid," you muttered under your breath, puffing out a cloud of white condensation. A passing businessman gave you a sideways glance, and your words instantly vanished into the ambient noise.
You lowered your head and kept walking aimlessly, weaving through the thick crowd of strangers.
Naturally, because your brain refused to ever give you peace, your bad habit of talking to yourself always appears whenever you aren’t occupied.
First, you pondered your job. Then, your eyes drifted to a pair of lovers huddled under an umbrella, laughing softly. That, of course, triggered a massive mental tangent about fairy tales.
Honestly, what the hell happened to old-school love at first sight? Where or when was your meet-cute?
Where was the devastatingly handsome stranger who accidentally bumps into you on a rainy street corner, drops his book, looks into your eyes, and instantly falls in love with you?
Nowhere, they don’t exist. you thought bittersweets, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. Because you never actually go anywhere….
You were just so utterly done with the modern swipe-culture. You hated being expected to market yourself like a piece of livestock just to get a text back.
It was always the same mind games. You had to wait exactly forty-seven minutes to reply so you didn’t seem "desperate," only for them to send a dry, one-word response three days later. It was pathetic…
Honestly, it annoyed you to your very core because you would a million times rather just stay locked in your apartment, cooped up under a heavy blanket, sleeping, or reading fanfics
(Fanfics It weren’t just a phase, either. )
You had discovered fics at the tender age of ten, and here you were, well into your twenties, still reading them.
Of course, you were way too shy to ever admit that to anyone. Even if the internet made it seem more mainstream now, you could never openly confess that you preferred staying in to read about, fictional people who would never be real.
You could daydream for literal eternity about those impossible scenarios, totally stuck in your own head and completely content with your own company.
Besides, you knew exactly how a real-world "meet-cute" would play out for you. If a handsome stranger bumped into you right now, you wouldn’t have a movie moment. You’d probably just squeak out a panicked, incredibly high-pitched "Sorry!" in an embarrassing, accented voice. And you’d stand there like a frozen statue, awkwardly staring at him until he got uncomfortable. Or, worse, he wouldn't even care.
He’d just shove past you with a frustrated scoff, leaving you to obsess over the interaction at three o'clock in the morning, drowning in a sea of toxic guilt and self-loathing.
In those old movies, people longed for each other. They wrote letters. You know when you can see that love in their eyes, but this generation? You were just staring at a glowing rectangle, praying a guy didn't leave you on "read" or send you a low-effort, midnight text that just said "u up?"
The local dating pool was an absolute tragedy—an endless parade of men whose bios proudly boasted about wanting "one-night stands, no strings attached," or guys who looked like they judged your entire personality based on your looks or of you were too “free”.
What the Fuck does that even mean, free…?
You scoffed out loud, your grip tightening on your coat. It was always the same type of guy—the self-important, ego-driven pseudo-intellectuals who used backhanded compliments to mask their own insecurities.
But you knew your worth. you worked hard for your own money, you eanted to he educated and get a job and most certainly you didn't have time to be a doormat board for some insecure man's fragile ego.
Whenever those self-absorbed men started running their mouths on dates, you didn't even waste your energy arguing with them. You would simply go completely silent, freeze them out with a blank stare, and walk the hell out.
You had even desperately tried one of those fast-paced speed-dating events last month, but it was just a disaster. They kept drilling you with rapid-fire questions, and your brain completely short-circuited. You didn't have time to process, let alone answer quickly, leaving you looking like a confused deer in headlights.
"Why do I even bothe—" you muttered to yourself, cutting off your own thought. Your fingers tightly gripped the collar of your coat as you abruptly stopped in front of a brightly lit boutique window.
Inside, showcased on a light brown wooden pedestal like a relic, an it was a genuinely gorgeous pair of shoes.
They were deep, rich brown leather boots that went all the way up to the knee, featuring the most magnificent, sturdy, chunky heel.
They were so pretty it actually hurt to look at them. You stared for a solid, unblinking two minutes, your chest aching with pure want and need.
Thanks to your adult paycheck, you could totally afford them. It wouldn't even bounce your card.
But then, a wave of practicality washed over you. You looked down at the black knee-high boots currently clicking against the pavement.
Do I really need two pairs of knee-high boots? you argued with yourself. I just bought three tops, two bottoms and a pair of heels last month... do I really need this many clothes?
Then again, you looked closer at the black pair you were currently wearing. They were three years old. You clicked your heels against the ground again, listening to the worn-out sound.
Letting out a heavy, dragged-out sigh that felt like it came from your very toes, you finally tore your eyes away from the glass. You turned on your heel and just walked away, pouting like a petulant child who didn't get their favorite doll.
You kept walking for half a block, your fingers anxiously twisting and fidgeting with the hem of your coat. But your mind stayed locked onto that boutique window.
It was a good shoe. A really, really good shoe. And now it was gone forever, destined to be bought by someone else.
Your pace slowed. The cold wind bit at your bare thighs again.
Wait. You stopped dead in your tracks, right in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. A teenager on a bicycle had to swerve violently to miss you, ringing his bell angrily, and shouted at you. Though in that moment you didn't even care…you were busy being stuck in your head.
Your fingers stopped fidgeting. You looked back over your shoulder.
Why am I punishing myself? you thought, a sudden spark of defiance flaring to life. You had no friends in this city. You had no dates. You had a giant pile of mess waiting for you at home, and your job was exhausting.
If you were going to be single, lonely, and trapped in your own head in the middle of Paris, you were damn well going to buy things since you basically had nothing else to spend your extra money on.
You could afford rent, you could afford food, and right now, absolutely no one was stopping you. You deserved this. It wasn't like you splurged on yourself all the time anyway.
"Screw it," you muttered.
You spun around, completely abandoning your aimless walk, and marched right back down the pavement toward the boutique—a woman on an absolute mission.
“We are buying that shoe!” And then another person scoffed at you when they bump into you, making your confidence a few seconds ago, go away.
“Who even says that!”
Snap !
The sharp sound of a plastic lid popping onto a paper cup echoed through the room.You were standing in the bleak, fluorescent-lit breakroom of your corporate office.
You were right back in your cubicle world, staring down at the pool of dark liquid swirling inside your cup and the steam rising from it.
Honestly, the sad office machine made the espresso taste surprisingly good, which was about the only highlight of your morning. You sighed softly, adjusting the sleeves of your work cardigan, just as you were about to turn around and head back to your desk to face an inbox with sixty unread emails and a mountain of group projects.
You took a slow sip, preparing for the worst, when Camille stepped up to the coffee station.
God, you admired Camille. She was so beautiful and always carried herself with the kind of firm, effortless confidence you could only dream of possessing.
Every single day, her outfits were flawlessly styled, her bright eyes practically radiated warmth, and you were low-key obsessed with how she effortlessly styled her hair. Beyond her looks, she was just an incredible leader—you liked the sound of her voice too it was soothing. Camille was holding her own mug, she looked at you, her smile turning the bleak breakroom a little brighter.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the counter with easy grace. "A bunch of us are going to grab drinks at that place down the street after we wrap up today. Do you wanna go?"
Your brain immediately panicked and froze up completely. You stood there like a deer in headlights, staring at her with a totally blank expression while your mind frantically tried to think acceptable response. Go out? To a bar? Me out?
Noticing your sudden catatonic state, Camille chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Alors, t'es en plein burnout review already, or are you just daydreaming about your next congé?" she joked, nudging your shoulder playfully to snap you out of it. "Don't worry, c'est pas la mer à boire! It's just a casual happy hour. No pressure."
Her friendly voice softened the panic slightly, but your mind was still racing. If you said no, you’d just go home to your messy apartment and stay up to yourself for not going out..But if you said yes...then..then..
Scared of your own thoughts and terrified of letting the awkward silence stretch a single second longer, you completely fumbled your words.
"Uhm—y-yeah, sure!" you stuttered out, the words flying out of your mouth a bit too fast, your voice a little higher than normal.
Camille’s smile widened, completely unfazed by your absolute panic. She gave a reassuring nod that instantly made you feel less like a total weirdo. "Awesome! On se voit là-bas around six or seven, then!" she said, tapping the side of her mug before turning on her heel and heading back toward the cubicles.
You stood completely alone by the coffee machine, your heart hammering against your ribs, wondering what the hell you had just agreed to.
You stood alone by the coffee machine, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
Oh god. Who says and stutters that way like who even says that! Who even stutters and says 'y-yeah' dammit..." you muttered to yourself
You actually said yes. Your palms were already sweating, leaving damp, tragic little prints on the side of your paper cup. You took a long, shaky breath that did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves, wiped your hands down your sides, and forced your legs to carry you back to your cubicle.
you immediately began to adjust your work attire to look at-least decent you hoped you looked well in-front of Camille and wasn’t an incompetent fool. You smoothed down your long maxi skirt, meticulously straightened the white lace overlayer of your top, and gave the edges of your cardigan a frantic tug.
Pulling a small compact mirror from your desk drawer, you checked your reflection. You lightly dabbed on some powder, praying it would hide the sweat—which, logically, you knew was a terrible idea that would probably just create a cakey paste, but you wanted to look decent….
you stared at your reflection and let out a heavy, sigh.
Snap!
Just as you clicked the compact shut, Amélie from the marketing team paused right outside your cubicle wall. She glanced down at your outfit, her face lighting up with a genuinely warm smile.
"Ah, j’adore ta jupe ! C'est vraiment très joli," she said, her accent smooth and melodic.
The unexpected compliment caught you completely off guard.
Your cheeks felt hot when you heard someone caught you off guard and complimented you. You forced a nice, genuine smile onto your face. "Oh, merci beaucoup," you replied.
Your voice only cracked a tiny bit on the beaucoup.
Before you could spiral back into your thoughts or overanalyze that one syllable, a clear voice floated over from the main aisle. Camille was walking back to her desk, casual and commanding as always, announcing the post-work plans to the rest of the floor.
"Hey, by the way, she's actually coming with us for drinks tonight!" Camille called out, gesturing toward your cubicle.
Suddenly, a wave of enthusiastic voices chimed in from the surrounding desks, and you found yourself showered in an unexpected avalanche of praise.
"Wait, really? Oh, génial !" a guy’s voice called out from the back row.
"Finally! You're always working so hard, you definitely deserve a break," another colleague added, leaning directly over their divider to beam at you.
"Finally having fun?, I was getting concerned about you taking all those files home and cooping yourself up with work," a senior manager joined in, rolling his chair into view with a chuckle.
You sat frozen in your ergonomic office chair, your cheeks went 10x hotter and your throat felt blocked .
You smiled awkwardly, your fingers tightly gripping your desk. "Oui, Je... Je suis très reconnaissant," you stuttered out, your English slipping through in your panic. "Sorry for not talking much... I thought..."
"Ah, t'inquiète pas ! Don't apologize," Camille interrupted with a warm wave of her hand, completely brushing off your awkward stutter. "
"Ah, merci... c'est gentil," you managed to say , your voice soft but deeply genuine as you looked around at their smiling faces. "Je... I am looking forward to it!"
"Super !" Amélie cheered, clapping her hands together. "Ce soir, on va fêter ça !"
The guy from the back row—Lucas, you remembered his name was Lucas—leaned back in his rolling chair, laughing softly at your wide-eyed, frozen expression.
"Regardez-la, on dirait qu'on vient de lui annoncer une terrible nouvelle !" Lucas joked, his voice full of warmth as he teased you in French.
(Look at her, it looks like we just broke terrible news to her!)
The people chuckled at your sheer panic. Before you could even open your mouth to try and stutter out a defense, Lucas let out another laugh, giving you a playful, reassuring smile.
"t'es coincée avec nous maintenant ! he teased, his grin widening.,
( you're stuck with us now!)
You fidgeted with your fingers, but as you looked around at them laughing and lightheartedly joking about your obvious awkwardness,
You let out a small, breathless laugh of your own, your shoulders finally dropping an inch. You gave them a shy but genuine smile, adjusting your cardigan one last time and sat back down, As they all went back to typing, a strange, nervous warmth settled in your chest.
“I don’t remember anything…hahaha..get me out of here.”
The meeting hour wasn't right after work. Leaving the office around 6:45 PM pushed the party meetup back to around 7:30 or 8:00 PM. it gave you time to head back to your apartment to rest, change, and mentally prepare for the party.
"I'll eat, then shower, and get ready," you mumbled to yourself like a chant as your knee-high boots clicked against the pavement.
You unlocked the heavy door to your apartment building, exhaling a massive breath of relief. On the way up the stairs, you ran into the sweet old lady from next door.
She was genuinely a darling and treated you practically like her own daughter, always checking up on your hermit lifestyle and sliding you generous containers of home-cooked food whenever she made too much. You greeted her politely in your absolute best and gratefully took the little container of food whenever she offered, and finally slipped inside your own apartment.
To be completely honest, your apartment was tiny—just a single small room with barely enough space to swing a cat, let alone house a two functioning adult.
Exhausted ,you slumped onto your couch, closed your eyes, and figured a quick, innocent ten-minute nap wouldn't hurt.
You lazily looked around at the absolute explosion of a mess surrounding you—clothes draped everywhere, shoes scattered—and sighed.
Closing your eyes was your first major mistake.
When your eyes snapped open, you glanced at the clock. It was past seven o'clock. To be exact, it was way past seven.
"Oh, shit, shit, fuck!, shit!" you screamed into the quiet room.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur of pure, unadulterated chaos. You kept up a steady stream of cussing, aggressively calling yourself stupid for sleeping. You scrambled across the tiny room, tripping over your own feet while frantically ripping random clothes out of your closet.
"Are you kidding me? Of all the days to nap, you did this?!" you yelled at yourself, sprinting headfirst into the bathroom. You threw yourself into the shower stall.
"Fuck! The water is freezing—fuck it, doesn't matter, we are running out of time! Who am I even talking to?!" you screamed to the empty tiles, your eyes wide with panic. "Why am I like this? Seriously, why?!"
You hopped out a minute later, shivering violently like a drowned alley cat and cursing under your breath as your wet hair dripped mercilessly onto the hardwood floor.
Tippy-toeing around the trail of water, and you realized you didn't even have time for a proper blowout. You just frantically began searching for a stylish outfit to save whatever sliver of dignity you had left.
"Where are those damn boots? Shit, where did I put them? If I am late to the one social event I actually agreed to after five whole months, fuck my life!" you muttered, aggressively throwing a mountain of unwashed laundry out of the way.
"Boots or heels? Boots or heels?!" you frantically muttered, spinning around in the middle of your tiny apartment like a malfunctioning compass. "Shit! Definitely boots."
You dove toward the closet, practically throwing your entire torso into the clothes racks. You needed a top. A skirt. Pants. Anything that didn't look like you had spent the last several hours drooling into a couch cushion.
"Where is the black skirt? Not that one—too corporate. Shit! Where is the silk one?" You started melting down. "The white lace top, where is it?!"
Your hands were shaking so hard you nearly broke the plastic hanger as you yanked the top free. Clothes were now draped over the bed, shoes were across the entryway, and your makeup bag looked like it had exploded all over the bathroom counter.
"Makeup, makeup, makeup!" you gasped, sprinting back to the sink. You grabbed your eyeliner, your hands trembling so violently you almost stabbed yourself directly in the iris. You dragged the marker across your lid. "God, merde, shit, fuck, why is the left side thicker?!"
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Yielding to defeat, you slapped on some lipstick, threw your compact back onto the counter, and ran back to the bedroom area. You still needed earrings.
You frantically rummaged through a tiny ceramic dish, cursing loudly when a pair of studs slipped from your fingers and rolled directly under the bed frame.
"Are you kidding me right now?!" you screamed at the floorboards. "I do not have time for hide-and-seek!"
Abandoning the lost jewelry, you grabbed another pair of simple studs, shoved them into your ears, and simultaneously began a blind search for your purse. Your keys, your wallet, your phone—where was the damn bag? You finally found it buried under a depressing pile of junk mail on the kitchen counter.
"Shit!" you exclaimed, checking the time on your screen. Your hair was still damp, your room looked like a natural disaster area, but you had no choice. You snatched your keys, stuffed your phone into your bag, and rushed toward the door, praying you didn't look as completely unhinged as you felt.
You flew out of your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you, and sprinted straight for the stairs. Your boots clicking down the narrow staircase was incredibly, deafeningly loud. To make matters worse, the stairs wasn't empty. You rounded the first corner only to find a bunch of neighborhood kids hanging out on the steps, forcing you to perform a high-speed slalom around them in your heavy boots.
And right behind them, of course, was the sweet old grandma from next door.
Seeing you fly down the steps like a woman possessed, the old lady let out a loud, highly disapproving click of her tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," she tutted, shaking her head. "Ne cours pas comme ça, ma petite ! Tu vas te casser la jambe !"
(Don't run like that, my little one! You're going to break your leg!)
Before you could even stammer out a frantic, breathless apology for being a disturbance , her expression suddenly softened. She looked you up and down, taking in your rushed makeup, the white lace top, and the high boots. "Mais regarde-toi... tu es tellement jolie ce soir. Amuse-toi bien !"
(But look at you... you're so pretty tonight. Have fun!)
"Merci! Merci beaucoup!" you gasped out, your voice a breathless squeak as you kept your momentum, practically flying down the final flights of stairs and out the door.
The moment you burst onto the sidewalk, you whipped out your phone with trembling fingers to check the group chat. Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. They were probably already at the venue, a few were already there as they photos of colorful cocktails and laughing emojis. Should you run to the nearest Métro station, or risk walking?
Metro. I am not risking the walking…
You sprinted straight toward the green neon Métro sign, deciding the underground transit was your best shot at beating the clock. As you hustled down the tiled stairs, you whipped out your phone with sweaty fingers and fired off a frantic, text to the office group chat:
“So sorry guys, ran completely late. I’m on my way”
You stood anxiously on the platform, your heart hammering as you checked your reflection in the glass of a poster. Your left eyeliner wing was still definitely twice as thick as the right, but at this point, you just had to own it.
Bzzzt. Your phone buzzed in your hand.
You looked down, bracing yourself for a string of passive-aggressive, responses about punctuality. Instead, Camille replied instantly,
“Pas de soucis !! Honestly, take your time, a few of us are literally stuck in a traffic jam right now. We haven’t even made it to the bar yet :( !!”
You stared at the screen, letting out a loud, disbelief-filled laugh. The heavy iron Métro train finally roared into the station, screeching to a halt.
As you stepped through the sliding doors, a new wave of panic locked your chest. In your rush, you hadn't checked if your monthly transit pass renewal actually went through properly. You looked around the tiled station, suddenly terrified of the notorious French ticket inspectors.
Please God, do not let them inspect my ticket tonight, you prayed, squeezing your purse tightly against your ribcage. I cannot get fined by the French government. I just can't. Can’t do this right now.
You approached the turnstiles and—of course—your transit pass decided this was the exact moment to go on strike. You aggressively tapped it against the sensor. Red light. Error beep. You tapped it again, harder this time, feeling the judgmental eyes of the line forming behind you.
"Don’t do this to me now," you muttered under your breath. You violently shoved your entire wallet against the glass reader. Green light. You slammed through the turnstile, catching the edge of your stylish skirt on the metal barrier. You ripped it free, praying you didn't just ruin the fabric, and bolted for the platform.
You shoved your way into the crowded car and managed to snag a plastic seat as the train doors slammed shut. To your left, a guy was blasting a techno remix of classic Édith Piaf songs at maximum volume. Directly across from you, a group of teens dressed entirely in rave outfits were loudly arguing. Next to them, a man in a suit was fast asleep, completely unfazed. And a family, with three kids and the husband and mom are trying to calm them down.
When the train finally screeched to a halt at your station, you practically flew through the opening doors. You darted up the tiled stairs, your knee-high boots hitting the pavement just as a cool night breeze swept across your face. Ahead of you, the lights of the bar glowed warmly against the slick, rain-soaked sidewalk.
As you smoothed down your skirt and took one last deep breath to shed the chaotic transit energy, a taxi pulled up right to the curb. The doors popped open, and out stepped your coworkers, groaning loudly about the absolute nightmare of Paris traffic.
"Ah, you made it!" Camille called out, spotting you under the awning.
Amélie from marketing, who had loved your skirt earlier, naturally linked her arm through yours as you all headed toward the entrance. "See? We told you pas de soucis. You look gorgeous, by the way!"
“Oh…thanks—uhm—you too!” You replied back, hoping she took it as genuine and not forced.
Inside, the bar was warm, trendy, and buzzing with late-night energy. As the hostess led your group to a plush velvet booth,
Once inside the bar, the corporate boundaries dissolved completely. The sheer relief of surviving your panic-stricken evening caught up to you, and your colleagues immediately began ordering rounds of drinks to celebrate you finally joining the team. One cocktail turned into two, then three, and because you were drinking on a relatively empty stomach, the alcohol hit you quick.
You loosened up completely. To everyone’s absolute shock, you were actually funny…really funny…
With your social anxiety thoroughly drowned in alcohol, you started cracking jokes and joking around everyone in the room.
Your coworkers were absolutely loving it, howling with laughter and raising their glasses to you.
Before long, you transitioned from delightfully tipsy to blissfully, beautifully drunk.
An uncontrollable case of the giggles took over. You sat back in the velvet booth, completely lost in your own happy world, quietly giggling to yourself at absolutely nothing. Everything was suddenly hilarious—the low amber lights, the loud chatter of the bar, the fact that you were a vibrating mess of giggles.
Through the hazy, spinning room, your wandering gaze suddenly locked onto the end of the table.
Sitting right next to your coworker was a man you hadn't noticed before. He had striking, vibrant red hair that stood out effortlessly under the lounge lights, but what really caught your attention were his eyes—specifically, his impossibly long, thick eyelashes and pretty eyes, that brushed against his cheekbones whenever he blinked.
Blame it on the alcohol, but your brain's filter was entirely gone. You didn't just look at him; you stared. You leaned slightly forward, resting your chin heavily in your hands, your eyes wide as you openly and shamelessly tracked every movement of his face. He was gorgeous, straight out of one the world.
Obviously, your staring didn't go unnoticed.
The red-haired man paused mid-conversation, sensing the intense, unblinking weight of your gaze. He turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours through the dim amber lounge lighting. Instead of looking annoyed by your absolute lack of boundary, a faint, highly amused smile tugged at his pale-red lips.
He slid smoothly across the velvet booth toward your end of the table. Up close, his impossibly long, thick eyelashes fluttered as he tilted his head with genuine curiosity. When he spoke, his voice was a smooth, clear baritone that cut right through your giggling fit.
"Hey," he murmured, "Comment vous appelez-vous ?"
Your voice completely dissolved into another helpless burst of giggles. The drinks had utterly disassembled your brain’s filter, leaving you sitting there grinning like an absolute fool.
"Je... Je m'appelle..." you slurred. You tried your absolute best to offer a polite introduction, but your tongue felt five sizes too big for your mouth. You managed to trip over your own name, completely butchering the pronunciation before just giving up entirely and laughing out loud.
Why is this beautiful museum statue of a person looking at me? Look at those eyelashes. Awhh he is so cute! He’s not real. He’s a hallucination. Hahaha, he is so pretty….
The gorgeous red-haired man didn't look offended at all with your staring and was simply interested in you..he let out a soft, amused chuckle, nodding along to your drunken rambling with perfect composure.
"Enchanté," he said smoothly. He leaned across the sticky bar table and extended a hand, his fingers wrapping around yours in a surprisingly firm, polite handshake. "I'm Vivian. Vivian Hugo."
As he released your hand, Vivian subtly cast a knowing, highly amused glance over his shoulder toward his friend sitting slightly behind him in the booth. "Ahem, Julian..." he muttered.
You casually blinked through your blurry, alcohol-induced haze at the guy named Julian—who was literally Julian Loki. You just sat there giggling, your brain completely empty of any useful thoughts.
You had absolutely zero idea that the pretty guy currently holding your hand was a global football celebrity
You didn't know Vivian Hugo was a member of the New Generation World XI
You didn't know he was a literal god on the pitch for Arsenal, or that he and Loki were basically the most popular, untouchable athletes in all of France To your, drunken mind, he was just a spectacularly pretty French guy with spectacular lashes.
"Tu es tellement... pretty," you giggled, your filter completely shattered as you leaned way too close across the table. "Like, realllly pretty. How are your eyelashes even real?"
You beamed a wide, goofy smile, entirely unbothered by the fact that the literal Julian Loki was currently hiding a massive laugh behind his hand. Before your brain could register the sheer social audacity of what you were doing, you fully extended your arm across the table. Your fingers moved forward, and you firmly, aggressively pinched Vivian Hugo's cheek.
The entire table of coworkers went dead silent. Camille's drink froze halfway to her mouth.
Vivian was completely froze. For a guy who was notoriously terrifying and precise on the football field, he never saw this coming. His eyes widened slightly, momentarily blanking out into pure shock.
His skin was incredibly soft under your fingertips, and as you let go with another loud giggle, a small, genuine, and unusually soft smile pulled at his lips.
He didn't pull away. He just adjusted his posture, his eyes locking onto yours with a completely new, intense kind of curiosity.
"You are a very bold stranger," Vivian murmured.
With the alcohol entirely running the show, you didn't even notice how closely he was looking at you. Instead, you just started talking.
You joked about your life with a, self-deprecating humor, slurring through the absolute tragedy of your boring life. You complained loudly about your mom calling you an excuse-maker, how you tripped that one time in the middle of the Parisian streets, and that time you fell asleep for an entire day because you stayed up way too long.
"I know I’m pretty…i thinkl!" you pouted, gesturing vaguely to your white lace top and the three-year-old knee-high boots hiding under the table. "But I never even go out! And it's me. It's me, it's my fault!" you cried to him, your lower lip trembling.
Through all of it, Vivian Hugo just listened. He didn't interrupt your rambling for a single second. His gaze remained entirely watching the way your hands moved and your face looked.
To a guy like Vivian—who was deeply obsessed with concepts of destiny, fate, and "suitable destinies"—seeing you in this state was completely fascinating
. You were being a total fool, but he found himself utterly charmed by your wit, even through the slurred words.
Yeah, to vivian probably he saw you as part of his destiny life.
"Don't be like that, hm?" Vivian softly echoed, his voice laced with a gentle affection that went entirely over your drunk head. He reached out, his thumb incredibly soft as he gently wiped away an eyelash.
But you were so deep into the alcohol that the bar might as well have been spinning on an axis. Before Vivian could even finish his sentence, you leaned entirely across the booth, grabbed him firmly by his broad shoulders, and gave him an aggressive, unprompted shake.
"You don't understand, Vivian!" you wailed.
Before he could reply, you immediately collapsed forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck in a massive, clumsy, drunken hug.
Vivian froze yet again. His arms hovered in the air for a fraction of a second, his brain completely short-circuiting from the sudden blast of your warmth and the sweet scent of your perfume.
But as your fingers tangled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, a soft, utterly helpless expression took over his handsome face. He wrapped one large, secure hand around your waist, holding you firmly against him so you wouldn't slide off the velvet booth.
Behind him, Julian Loki just covered his mouth, his shoulders actively shaking with silent, hysterical laughter at the sight of the untouchable Vivian Hugo being turned into a literal teddy bear.
You didn't care. You buried your face straight into his shoulder and just kept complaining, pouring your heart out right into his collarbone. "I'm just so scared, you know? Like, what am I doing with my life? I'm in my twenties and I'm just... cooped up! I'm a stupid houseplant!"
You sniffled loudly against his expensive shirt. "And people... my friends back home are like... I don't know, I'm invited to like three weddings! Hahaha! And all my friends are with people, and like... look at me!" you cried, your voice muffled against his neck. "I have no one. No one likes me!"
Then, midway through your dramatic crying, you abruptly snapped backward and started laughing out loud at your own misery.
You pulled back, your face mere inches from his. Your lower lip trembled into a ridiculous, dramatic pout. You didn't even notice how Vivian's breath hitched at the sudden proximity, or how his dark eyes dipped down to your lips for a split second before locking back onto your messy eyeliner.
Vivian’s eyes never left you. Not for a single second. The rest of the table was chatting and drinking, but his world had shrunk entirely to the girl clinging to his clothes.
He was completely, utterly whipped.
Vician was currently using every ounce of his concentration just to track the way you sighed, the way your lips formed a pout, and the stories you were telling him.
He leaned in even closer, his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his palm as he listened to your next unhinged rant with absolute, undivided intent.
He loved every single messy, anxious word coming out of your mouth.
You kept on wailing and complaining to him and Vivian—well—he listened to your ramblings and he was really focused and looking at you while you talked. "And then!" you gasped, slamming your hands onto your own knees as you pivoted in the booth to face him completely.
Across the table, Camille and Amélie paused mid-sip, their eyes darting from your gestures straight to the elite athlete who was currently listening to your endless ramblings
Camille leaned back against the plush velvet, a massive, knowing grin spreading across her face. She nudged Amélie’s elbow, gesturing with her cocktail glass toward your side of the booth.
"Regarde-moi ça," Camille chuckled softly, her voice dripping with amusement. "Our quiet little cubicle mouse gets drunk, makes us all laugh and we just left her for a minute and now she’s with vivian.”
Amélie let out a, giggling snort, resting her chin in her hand as she watched you aggressively point a finger at Vivian's chest to emphasize your point.
"Elle est trop drôle," Amélie whispered back, completely charmed by your sudden lack of a filter. "Who knew she was this sweet and cute, honestly was always scared and afraid of talking to her, thought she might get freaked out by a single small talk."
Camille laughed quietly, taking another sip of her drink. "I knew I liked her for a reason…."
You, of course, were entirely oblivious to your coworkers' commentary. You were far too busy leaning back into Vivian’s space, your face a mere inch from his.
Amélie whispered back, to camille. "Look at how he's staring at her. He has gone completely soft. Looking totally whipped boyfriend already, and i don’t even think she knows who he even is."
Suddenly, Lucas popped up from the other side of the table, he slumped down next to the girls, holding up his glowing phone screen to show off a freshly snapped selfie of himself grinning like an idiot next to a highly amused, peace-sign-flashing Julian Loki.
"Look!!" Lucas crowed, practically shoving the phone into Camille's face. "I just got a picture with my number one. My life is complete!!!"
He then cut his eyes over to you, watching as you threw your head back in another helpless, giggling fit.
"And that’s what happened!" you said to him while you sat there looking vivian. Then your laughter suddenly died down, replacing your humor with a wave of drunken vulnerability. You slumped against the plush velvet seat, your lower lip trembling as you looked down at your hands.
"I feel so horrible about how I look right now," you muttered softly, pouting as you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "My hair is still half-damp, my clothes are a rushed mess, and my eyeliner..."
Vivian’s expression immediately softened. The, amused look vanished from his face, replaced by a deep, intense sincerity
He reached out, gently catching your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look directly into his dark, mesmerizing eyes.
"You could never look horrible," Vivian murmured,
“yada—yada, yap-yap-yap”
You couldn’t even make sense of what he was talking about, all you couldn’t understand was the sincerity in his voice with his words.
Your eyes welled up with big, drunk tears, and before he could even blink, and continue his monologue, you let out a soft sob, lunged forward, and wrapped your arms around his neck in an absolute death grip.
"Thank you, Vivian!" you wailed into his shoulder, completely weeping now. "You are literally the nicest, most gorgeous statue ever!"
Still clinging to his neck, you pulled back just enough to aggressively shake his broad shoulders again, your tears spilling over your cheeks. "No, seriously! You don't understand how much I needed to hear that!"
Vivian sat completely shocked. His breath hitched, his eyes widening in pure surprise at how incredibly bold you were being.
A complete 180 to what he assumed how his day was supposed to be. Usually he was more blunt and straightforward, vivian is a chill person but this was awfully funny .
But as your hands squeezed his shoulders, a soft, helpless expression melted across his face. He leaned into the embrace, wrapping his long arms securely around you, pulling your back close against his chest to steady your swaying body.
As he held you, he took a breath and immediately winced slightly. You were absolutely reeking of alcohol. It smelled like you had practically bathed in whatever drinks your colleagues had been buying you all night.
A amused chuckle vibrated through his chest against yours. He pulled back just a fraction, looking down at your tear-stained, messy face with a teasing, flirtatious glint in his dark eyes.
"Are you secretly an alcoholic, ma petite?" he joked
"No!" You threw your head back and letting out another loud, sudden burst of giggles. "I'm not an alcoholic!
You laughed and laughed, wiping a tear from your cheek, though if anyone asked you what was so funny, you genuinely had no idea either. Your brain was entirely fried….
1. For one, you had spent the last twenty minutes talking entirely to yourself inside your own head while a gorgeous French celebrity just watched you…that you didn’t know at the time.
2. Two, you were actively embarrassing yourself loudly!
3. And three... honestly, you didn't even know anymore. The numbers didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that you were hella drunk and being a mess and you regretted being that way because you were a different person when you are drunk.
Across the table, Julian Loki finally lost his composure completely, slamming a hand on the table as he roared with laughter at Vivian's utterly stunned, face. But his friend still decided to go along with your antics.
Vivian just watched you laugh, a soft, incredibly fond smile breaking across his face. His thumb gently reached up to catch the fresh tear tracks on your cheek. He was so incredibly whipped, at this point…there was no turning back.
Your head suddenly felt five times heavier than it did a second ago. The frantic laughter faded into a long, dramatic yawn, and your eyelids felt like lead. The liquid courage was finally wearing off, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion. Without a shred of hesitation, your head dropped right onto Vivian’s broad shoulder, your face burying into the warm crook of his neck as your body went completely limp.
Vivian caught you effortlessly, his arms tightening around your waist as you instantly drifted off to sleep against his collarbone. He looked across the table at Julian and looking for your coworkers, his expression shifting into something intensely protective.
"I think you need to go home," Vivian murmured softly, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your sleeping face.
Your head suddenly felt five times heavier than it did a second ago. The frantic laughter faded into a long, dramatic yawn, and your eyelids felt like lead. Without a shred of social hesitation, your head dropped right onto Vivian’s broad shoulder, your face burying into the warm crook of his neck as your body went completely limp.
He cleared his throat, a light flush creeping onto his pale cheeks, and gave your arm a gentle, desperate little shake to try and wake you up.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice cracking a tiny bit in sheer panic. "You cannot sleep here. Wake up."
You didn't wake up. Instead, you just dozed off further into his expensive shirt, letting out a soft, hazy giggle against his skin. "Mmm... pretty man," you slurred into his shoulder, completely unbothered. "So pretty... long lashes..."
When you passed out, Vivian had absolutely no idea what to do. He stared down at your sleeping form, entirely panicked.
He looked around the bar, desperately searching for your coworkers, but Camille and the others were completely lost somewhere in the thick crowd on the other side of the venue. He didn't have your keys, he didn't know your address, and he couldn't exactly leave a vulnerable, sleeping girl on a sticky booth cushion.
Right on cue, Julian Loki walked back up to the table, holding a fresh drink. He took one look at vivian, anxiously cradling a sleeping girl like she was a fragile piece of glass, and he burst out laughing.
"Oh, I didn't know you would score tonight," Loki wheezed, covering his mouth as his shoulders shook with silent, helpless laughter at the entire absurd sight.
"Please be quiet Julian," and Carefully adjusting your weight, Vivian slipped one arm under your knees and the other securely behind your back, “where you taking her?” Julian asked.
“To my apartment, i’ll text you tomorrow morning.” Julian just nodded in response.
Vivian lifted you up into his arms with effortless athletic strength. Your head lolled heavy against his chest, your three-year-old knee-high boots dangling in the air as he held you close.
Since he couldn't leave you and had absolutely no way of knowing where your tiny apartment was, Vivian had no choice. He was bringing you back to his place.
He wouldn't do anything, of course—he was a gentleman, albeit an incredibly whipped one—but as he carried you out of the loud bar by using the back exit and Vivian walked carrying you bridal style into the cool, damp Paris night air.
The rain had cleared, leaving the streets slick and mirroring the bright neon signs of the boulevards
As he stepped onto the sidewalk, you let out a tiny, sleepy sigh. Your body shifted closer against him, and you shoved your face right into the center of his chest, seeking his warmth. Your hair brushed against his jawline.
Vivian’s throat went dry. He paused on the pavement, his chest locking tightly as he swallowed hard, a visible gulp moving down his throat.
He walked over to his sleek, luxury car parked by the curb. Balancing your weight with one arm, he unlocked the door, opened it, and carefully lowered you onto the leather passenger seat.
Vivian leaned into the car to pull the strap across you, but you weren’t making it easy. Even in your deep, alcohol-induced sleep, you kept moving, squirming against the leather seat, and letting out quiet, breathless giggles. You were still talking to yourself, your lips moving as you muttered completely nonsensical fragments of your earlier rants.
Vivian didn’t mind at all. In fact, a soft, incredibly amused chuckle escaped his lips. Catching your stray hand before it could swat him again.
Vivian closed the passenger door gently and walked around to the driver's side. Instead of starting the engine immediately, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight through the windshield into the quiet street.
Vivian began contemplating his life choices. Is this even a good idea? He was Vivian Hugo, He was taking an incredibly drunk, completely unconscious girl back to his private apartment. If a single paparazzi caught a glimpse of this, the French sports tabloids would have an absolute field day by morning.
Beyond the media risk, it was just entirely outside his comfort zone h e rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long, heavy exhale. He glanced over at you, watching the soft rise and fall of your shoulders A small, defeated, and completely whipped smile broke across his face.
When the car finally pulled over to his apartment , He carried you into his spacious bedroom and carefully laid you down on the center of his massive, comfortable bed. He leaned down, gently gripping your knee-high boots, and slid them off one by one so you could actually rest comfortably, setting them neatly by the closet
As he pulled the heavy duvet up over your shoulders, covering youyour lips parted again. You mumbled a few more sleepy, incoherent words to him, shifting your face deep into his expensive pillows.
Vivian just stood by the edge of the bed, staring down at you with an intensely soft, completely whipped expression. He knew he was sleeping on the couch tonight, but honestly? He didn't care.
Before turning away, Vivian leaned over the bed one last time, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His dark eyes softened as he watched your peaceful, sleeping face.
"Dors bien, ma belle," he murmured, his voice incredibly low, sweet, and thick with an affection.
With that, he quietly left the room, shutting the door gently to let you sleep in absolute peace.
The next morning, your eyes snapped open, and the immediate sensation was a thumping headache directly inside your skull. Your vision was completely blurry and groggy. You blinked once. You blinked two, three times, trying to clear the haze, expecting to see the cracked plaster ceiling of your apartment.
Instead, your eyes focused on massive, floor-to-ceiling windows showing a sweeping view of Paris.
Wait. This wasn't your room. Heck, this wasn't even a room you could afford if you saved your salary for the next ten years.
"Oh my god," you muttered, the horrific realization hitting your brain. A pure spike of panic shot straight through your hangover. You felt like throwing up; you felt lightheaded.
You gasped and let out a sharp scream, instantly ripping the heavy duvet open to check yourself under the sheets.
You frantically patted down your clothes—okay, you still had your bra on, your top and your skirt were still completely on, though your knee-high boots were gone.
You lightly pressed to check that your underwear was still on and that nothing bad had happened. Then you looked around, your hands trembling.
Who am I with? Did I get kidnapped? Am I a missing person? What happened?! WHO BROUGHT ME HERE???
Hearing the commotion, and your loud frantic screaming the bedroom door flew open in a rush. bounded into the room, looking completely alert, panicked, and worried.
But your blurry, hungover eyes didn't register who he was. You just saw a tall, incredibly muscular stranger invading your room—well the room.
And Your brain instantly assumed the absolute worst-case scenario.
"STAY BACK!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. You screamed again in front of him, making him freeze.
In a frantic, blind panic, you grabbed the nearest down pillow and hurled it directly at his head with surprisingly good aim. Vivian didn't even flinch; his reflexes kicked in, and he casually swiped the pillow out of the air with one hand, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Get away from me!" you panicked, scrambling like a chaotic crab to the edge of the mattress, desperate to get out of the bed and run for your life.
But you underestimated how high the bed was, how tangled you were in the sheets, and just how violently the room would spin the moment you moved.
Your feet hit the floor, your knees immediately buckled like noodle strings, and you just plopped right back down onto the hardwood floor in a messy, uncoordinated heap with a loud thud!
"Ow, fuck!" you whined weakly from the floor, clutching the head that you bumped, which was already suffering from a hangover.
Vivian’s tough, unreadable demeanor completely melted. He seemed amused yet rushed to the side of the bed, dropping to his knees right in front of you, his hands hovering over your shoulders with pure, genuine concern.
This was too much for you to bare….
"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Vivian asked, his voice urgent but incredibly gentle as he looked down at your groggy, terrified face. "Don't move so fast. You had far too much to drink last night."
You blinked up at him, your vision finally focusing on his incredibly long, thick eyelashes and those dark, mesmerizing eyes.
The memories of the bar started flashing back in painful, embarrassing fragments: you joking with your coworkers, laughing and shouting at the top of your lungs, you pinching his cheeks, you hugging his neck, you crying into his shirt about your life... you clinging onto him.
Your eyes widened in pure horror as you remembered everything. You remembered staring shamelessly at him and aggressively shaking his broad shoulders.
You froze completely, turning into a literal statue on the edge of his bed. Your jaw dropped, your breath hitching in your throat.
Oh my god. I did that. I did all of that to a man I barely know.
Vivian stood right in front of you, dropping his hands from your shoulders but remaining close. He tilted his head, his dark, almond-shaped eyes locking onto your frozen expression.
"So," Vivian murmured, his voice smooth and low. "Do you remember or no?"
You looked up at him, your gaze traveling from his messy hair down to his strikingly handsome features. And then, the final, most catastrophic realization hit you.
Vivi...
Vivian...
Hugo….
Vivian Hugo…..
VIVIAN HUGO!
Your brain finally connected the dots. And you stared at him , this wasn't just a random, pretty French guy from the office. NO, he wasn’t even from the office.
This was the prodigy midfielder for Arsenal and part of the France national team and a a literal member of the New Generation World XI. He was a global sports icon, a millionaire celebrity, and someone whose face was plastered on billboards across Europe. You’ve seen him before, you’ve seen him model for brands and be the front cover of multiple magazines.
And you had treated him like a giant, fluffy teddy bear, wept on his shoulder, slapped his hand and pinched his face.
You sat back down at the edge of the bed , staring at one of the most popular athlete in France, completely speechless as the sheer absurdity of your life.
You just sat there, the sheer, suffocating weight of your own embarrassment crashed down on you like a tidal wave.
You let out a sudden, hysterical laugh. It wasn't a cute, giggly laugh drunk laugh—it was the unhinged cackle of a woman who had officially reached the end of her life and had officially lost it.
In the middle of your laughing fit, your mom’s voice echoed in your head with
“If you keep drinking like that, you are going to ruin your life. Don’t end up like those old drunkards. Always be polite and mindful and never drink because you’re always a mess.”
"You were right, Mom," you choked out, laughing so hard a tear leaked from your eye. "You were so right. I ruined it. I ruined everything!”
Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and you began to completely tweak out.
You grabbed chunks of your own hair, pulling at it frantically as you rocked back and forth on the mattress.
You were muttering to yourself in a mix of French and English, your eyes wide and staring blankly into space.
Vivian eyes widened, his pupils losing their sharp focus as he watched you completely unravel right in front of him.
He actually took a step backward, his hands raising slightly in self-defense as if he were trying to placate a wild animal.
To say at-least you were probably concerning him from his point of view for acting a tad bit—no—for acting deranged.
"Hey," Vivian said, his voice dropping its smooth tone, replaced by a very real, very concerned panic.
You just looked up at him, your hair completely disheveled, your white lace top slightly wrinkled, and your face flushed bright red from pure embarrassment.
You couldn’t stop. Your brain had completely exited the atmosphere, leaving you in a state of pure, unadulterated panic.
"I can't believe it," you whispered hysterically, your fingers still violently tangled in your own hair. "I actually cannot believe this is happening. This is a simulation. I am in a fever dream.Nothing is real. We are all living in a simulation,…you are not real ” You muttered to yourself.
Fuck me. Fuck me and my fucking life, and my fucking self, and my fucking stupid, dumbass self," you swallowed hard.
You swallowed hard for a couple of reasons.
One, you were embarrassing yourself while dealing with a big-ass migraine, and two, you had this guy standing right in front of you... and this was just so awkward.
Then snapped your head up and looked directly at him. You stared at Vivian Hugo—the guy whose face was literally on the sports banners you walked past every day—standing in his own bedroom, looking at you with concer.
"You're…Vivian …Hugo," you pointed trailing off with pointing an accusing, trembling finger at his chest, your voice rising to a frantic squeak. "And I... I... I touched your face! I hugged you! I complained to you about my life!"
Vivian swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he tracked your chaotic movements. Vivian nodded and then you stood up, patted your self down and neatly fixed your hair and tried to make a run for it.
He grabbed you gently by the shoulders, grounding you before you could escape into the hallway.
"Where exactly do you think you are going, hmm?" Vivian asked, his voice a mix of sheer disbelief and muffled amusement.
"I—I have to leave!" you insisted, trying to squirm out of his grip, but his hands on your shoulders were solid. You looked up at him, your face burning a violent shade of pink. "I'm so, so , so sorry. For being like that yesterday, please forget about me.” You looked at his face.
"No," Vivian said flatly, looking expressionless.
You stopped your tracks, “why no..?”
"No."
"I am not letting you leave like this."
"I like you," Vivian corrected flatly, with the absolute, confidence. He leaned a bit closer, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.
He was so blunt and his face had barely any expression going on and that scared you…because you can’t tell what’s going on.
He was too close. Waayyy too close. Too close that you could almost fill your lips brushing with him.
Your heart was beating like a bass drum. This is it, you thought with certainty. What do people hear when they are about to die? Because right now,you were hearing every single lecture my mother has ever given me.
You swallowed hard, You could practically see the pearly gates opening up right through Vivian’s expensive ceiling.
You were entirely convinced that a choir of angels are going to take your soul away.
In your mind's eye, you pictured your ancestors gathered in a semi-circle, waiting for you on the other side. They were probably looking at you with a collective mix of disappointment and profound confusion. On how you died and live your life
Honestly, at this rate, you weren't even sure if your ancestors would accept you into heaven, or if there was such a thing as paradise.
You were completely stunned—too many things were happening at once (who even wrote this scenario?) and you were completely embarrassed and humiliating yourself, if anyone was in this situation they would probably act normal..
In a desperate, knee-jerk reaction to protect your remaining sanity, you extended a single, trembling index finger, pressed it right against the center of his forehead, and firmly pushed his face away from yours.
Vivian blinked, completely caught off guard as his head tilted back from your finger.
The confident, smooth smirk vanished from his elegant features, instantly replaced by a genuinely sad, puppy-dog expression.
"You don't like me?"
His shoulders slumped, and his dark eyes looked up at you through those ridiculously long lashes with an almost wounded pout.
"If my presence is too overwhelming for you right now," he murmured, his voice laced with a sudden, soft earnestness, "let me take you out. Properly. Date me."
Your brain completely stalled. Date him? A world-class football player? And you...you…
You looked at his handsome, slightly desperate face. And glanced back
Really? Was this actually happening? He wasn’t weirded out…? You don’t mind….I mean….like…shit…you would definitely want to go out with him…who wouldn’t?
"Uhm... three dates," you stammered out, lifting three fingers while trying to maintain whatever dignity you had left. "Give me three dates, and I’ll think about it...!"
Vivian’s sad expression vanished in a split second. A bright, victorious, and completely whipped smile broke across his face.
He smiled, a soft, victorious hum vibrating in his chest as he accepted your counter-offer.
"Three dates," he repeated smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, melted tone that sent an immediate shiver straight down your spine. "Comme tu veux, ma chérie."
You just sat there on the edge of the mattress, completely motionless, as Vivian stood in front of you.
He stared down at your frozen figure,
"You are very quiet now, ma chérie," Vivian He took a slow step closer, leaning down just enough to look directly into your wide eyes.
"Where did all that loud energy go? Last night, you were not quiet at all. In fact, you were clinging onto me You wouldn't let go of my neck, no matter how many times I told you we had arrived."
Hearing the vivid reminder of your shameless behavior, a bolt of electricity shot straight through your spine.
You jolted upward, your hands flying out instinctively to clap over his mouth and shut him up before he could utter another humiliating detail.
"Stop talking! Do not say another word!" you gasped, your voice a frantic squeak.
But the moment your palms made contact with his jawline, you realized exactly how you were acting.
You were touching his face , Again.
Catching yourself, you instantly pulled your hands back. You sat back down on the bed in a hurried, embarrassed heap, tucking your chin into your chest.
Then all the sudden he traced the pad of his thumb slowly across the curve of your cheek. His touch was warm, heavy, and completely mesmerizing.
You nervously leaned your head back, tilting your face away from his touch to break the contact. Vivian’s thumb hovered in the empty air for a bit.
He blinked, staring at his empty hand, and then looked back up at you. You scrambled backward on the mattress, creating as much physical distance between you and him , as humanly possible.
You aren’t going to give in that easily.
Your bare feet tangled slightly in the duvet again, but you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, your chest heaving as you frantically searched your brain for an excuse because this was already akward enough, you would want to date him but at the same time you were scared to date him.
"Paparazzi!" you suddenly blurted out, the word flying from your mouth like a bullet. You pointed a trembling hand toward the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the sweeping view of Paris.
"Oh my god, the paparazzi! Vivian, we can’t go or be together y’know! There are photographers everywhere in this city. What if someone saw me come in here last night? What if they took a picture of me staggering out of your car? My face will be all over the tabloids by noon! I'll be labeled as your girl, and my face is going to be ruined across Europe and people—“
You were practically hyperventilating, the terrifying vision of your messy, hungover face plastered on the front page of French sports magazines flashing before your eyes.
Vivian remained on his knees by the edge of the bed, watching your crisis unfold. Completely unfazed.
"Ah, the media," Vivian said smoothly, his voice laced with a heavy, deeply unbothered amusement. "Yes, about that. You do not have to worry about them finding out from a sneaky photograph."
You blinked, your frantic breathing pausing for a fraction of a second. "What do you mean?"
"Because I already told them."
"You... what?" you whispered, your heart stopping completely.
"I told the media about it," he repeated flatly, the utter nonchalance in his tone contrasting violently with the bomb he had just dropped. He tilted his head, "When I was carrying you out of the bar last night, a few reporters from were waiting near my car. You were very busy at the time."
"Busy doing what?!" you gasped, gripping the sheets tightly.
"Well," Vivian chuckled, leaning forward slightly to thoroughly enjoy your escalating horror. "You had both of your hands securely wrapped around my neck. And right as the flashes went off, you looked directly at the cameras and shouted, 'I love my life!' at the top of your lungs. Then I tried to calm you down but you just told me to shut up”
Your jaw dropped so low you thought it might unhinge and fall onto the floor. A high-pitched, strangled noise escaped your throat. "No. No, you are lying. You have to be lying…."
"I am," Vivian admitted his face still not changing " I was joking, sorry. We did not get caught by the paparazzi last night, ma chérie. I tool you to the back exit. The press does not know a single thing."
You let out a massive, ragged sigh of relief, collapsing back onto the pillows. "You are an evil, horrible man,"
"I’m not evil, but I did call my manager and my PR team this morning," Vivian continued smoothly, dropping his hands from his chest and leaning his forearms against the mattress, trapping you with his sheer size. "I told them everything."
You instantly peeked through your fingers, your eyes wide with fresh terror. "So…what did tou tell them?!"
"Hmm," Vivian murmured, and straight forwardly said "I told them that I like a girl. I told them that I am going to ask her out, and that absolutely nobody is going to stop me. Not management, not the club,."
"Vivian, are you insane?!" you squeaked, your voice cracking. "You can't just tell people that! I didn’t even say yes nor have we even done anything to be officially together”
" you don’t have to worry" Vivian interrupted flatly, his eyes locking onto yours. He reached out, gently pulling your hands away from your face so you had no choice but to look at him.
"If you want to keep us a secret we can keep it a secret. I do not care about the press. I only care about the fact that I like you. And I respect any decision you will make, if you want to walk out then walk out i just joe you know that I like you and if destiny is true then we will end up going."
He leaned a bit closer, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.
"So," he whispered, a faint, breathless smile touching his lips. "Do not worry. Do you still want to go out?"
“Well…yes..” then He leaned down a bit to your lips but then Suddenly, the heavy silence of the bedroom was violently shattered by the loud, aggressive buzzing of your phone.
You both froze. Vivian reached over to his bedside table and smoothly handed you the device. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the caller ID flashing on the screen.
It was your boss.
Your thumb trembled as you swiped to answer, pressing the phone to your ear. Before you could even mutter a hungover greeting, a sharp, furious voice boomed through the speaker, so loud that even Vivian could hear it.
"Où diable es-tu ?!" your boss exploded, completely skipping any polite pleasantries. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Half of the international office staff didn't show up this morning! Apparently, everyone who went out drinking last night is completely incapacitated!
"Je—je suis vraiment désolé, Monsieur—" you started, your voice cracking trying to mask up your own stress right now.
"Save it!" your boss cut you off, sounding completely at the end of his rope. "Here are your options, this will either be marked as an immediate unpaid leave on your record, or you drag yourself into the office right now and make up for the missing staff. So make a decision now."
While you were desperately trying to process this nightmare, Vivian decided this was the perfect moment to strike. Seeing you completely distracted and vulnerable, he leaned forward, wrapped his long, muscular arms securely around your waist, and buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, clinging to you like a giant koala.
The sudden warmth of his broad chest pressing against your back and his messy hair tickling your skin sent your brain into a total meltdown.
"Uhm... Monsieur..." you stammered into the phone, your voice rising to a breathless squeak as you tried to maintain your composure.
You frantically brought your free hand down, pressing your palms against Vivian’s broad, unyielding shoulders, desperately trying to push his massive frame away from you. You wriggled and squirmed against his grip, but trying to move him was like trying to push your closet. He only tightened his embrace, letting out a soft, amused hum against your neck that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
"I need an answer right now!" your boss snapped through the line, completely oblivious to the fact that you were currently wrestling someone right now
"I... I will come in!" you gasped out, struggling to speak properly as you kept pushing against Vivian’s chest. "I will be there... in thirty minutes, Monsieur! I am so sorry!"
You quickly slammed the end-call button before your boss could hear anything suspicious. The moment the line went dead, you turned your full, glaring attention to the man currently anchoring you to the bed.
Vivian!" you hissed, your voice a frantic, breathless squeak as you slammed your phone face-down onto the mattress. "What are you doing?! Off! Laisse-moi partir !”
You used every ounce of your remaining strength to push against his broad, muscular chest. He finally relented unlocking his arms from your waist and sitting back on his heels.
The sudden lack of his warmth left you shivering, but there was absolutely no time to process the romantic tension. You were officially in emergency mode.
"Es-tu fou ?!" you scolded him, your hands flying up in a wild gesture of pure panic. "That was my boss! My career was hanging by a single thread, and you were clinging to me! I just promised him I would be at the office in thirty minutes!"
Your eyes darted around the massive,bedroom and remembered this wasn’t your home.
"Oh my god, I am not in my apartment," you stammered, your words tripping over each other as you scrambled out of the heavy duvet.
"I don't have my makeup. I don't have my toothbrush. Look at me! I am wearing a wrinkled white lace top and a maxi skirt from last night! This is completely inappropriate for the office!
You stood up from the bed, your knees wobbling slightly from the lingering migraine, but the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you upright. You were completely frantic, spinning in a circle as you searched for any sign of your belongings.
Vivian sat on the edge of the bed, watching your absolute meltdown with a calm, steady gaze. "Chérie, calm down. you cannot go to work like this, you are still vibrating."
"Yes! Yes, I can! I have to!" you stammered defensively, pointing a trembling finger toward the hallway. "I said yes to my boss, and I am going to show up!
Before he could block you again, you bolted. You broke out of the bedroom, your bare feet slapping rapidly against his expensive, polished hardwood floors as you made a literal run for it.
You sprinted down his long, hallway like a track star, desperate to reach the front door, grab your boots, and escape into the streets of Paris before your life could complicate itself any further.
You almost made it. Your hand was practically reaching for the brass handle of his grand front door when a sudden, violent wave of nausea hit you right in the gut.
The world spun on its axis. The adrenaline that had been powering your frantic sprint evaporated in a split second, leaving behind only the cold, hard reality of a hangover.
Why did you have to drink so much…
You froze in the middle of the hallway, your face instantly losing what little color it had left. You looked completely haggard, your shoulders slumping as you clutched your stomach.
"Oh, no," you whimpered, your eyes widening in shee horror. "No, no, no—"
Before you could even scan the corridor for a trash can or locate your knee-high boots, your body betrayed you. You couldn't help it. You were about to puke.
In a flash Vivian was there; didn't even hesitate to pull you before you could make a mess on his pristine, hardwood floors, his large hands gripped your waist and smoothly hoisted you off your feet. Carrying you straight to the restroom.
He dropped to his knees right alongside you, easing you down in front of the porcelain bowl just in time.
Vivian reached out to you , his hand, rubbing slow, soothing circles across your back.
"I've got you," Vivian murmured, his voice dropping its melodic purr and replacing it with an incredibly gentle, steady calmness. "Just let it out, ma chérie. Breathe."
You groaned weakly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you rested your forehead against your arm, feeling utterly defeated, gross, and completely exposed in front of him. You looked absolutely wrecked.
Then the loud, aggressive buzzing of your phone echoed from the hallway, cutting through the quiet hum of the bathroom fan. You slumped against the cold tile floor, feeling utterly hollow and exhausted. Vivian smoothly reached out, retrieved the phone from the corridor, and handed it to you with a quiet, sympathetic look.
You unlocked the screen with a trembling thumb, only to find a paragraph of text from your boss. It was a furious, fast-typed message,
“Votre comportement est absolument inacceptable ! Je ne vais pas vous licencier aujourd’hui car nous manquons cruellement de personnel, mais cela va laisser une très tache noire sur votre dossier. Ne venez plus aujourd'hui. Restez chez vous.”
“Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable! I am not going to fire you today because we are sorely lacking in staff, but this will leave a very black spot on your file. Don't come today. Stay at home.”
He wasn't firing you, but you reputation was completely in tatters. It was a terrible look for your career.
The absolute, crushing weight of the last twelve hours finally broke you—it was just too much.
A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, until you were officially sobbing, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook.
"Hey, hey..." Vivian murmured.
Seeing your tears, He shifted closer on the bathroom floor, wrapping his long, muscular arms around you and pulling your weak, trembling body directly against his broad chest.
He didn't care that you looked haggard or that you had just been sick; he just held you securely, while rubbing your back to soothe you.
"Don't cry, ma chérie," Vivian whispered, his voice incredibly soft and warm. "You didn’t get fired and You did not kill anyone."
"My... my career is over," you choked out between miserable, unhinged sobs, your voice muffled against his shirt. "My dossier has a black mark on it. I am a failure."
You sniffled, staring up at him, You're not even my boyfriend," you sniffled, your voice cracking as you tried to pull your hand back from his chest. "I don't... I don't even know you."
The reality of your situation crashed down on you again, fresh tears welling up in your eyes and spilling over your flushed cheeks. Your emotions were completely unregulated, a raw, exhausting mix of a pounding migraine, a volatile stomach, and absolute panic.
"Look at me," you cried, gesturing weakly to your wrinkled clothes, your wild hair, and the bathroom floor. "I am a total mess. My job is going to fail, my record is ruined, and I'm sitting here crying in front of a stranger. I am a complete mess of a person."
"Hey, non, look at me. You are going to be fine," Vivian assured you, his voice dropping into a deep, steady cadence. He reached out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his touch incredibly gentle. "A black mark on a dossier is nothing. I promise you, your life is not over."
"No!" you argued, your voice rising in a desperate, emotional sob. "You don't get to say that! You don't even know me, Vivian! You don't know anything about my life or my job, so just... just stop trying to fix it!"
You covered your face again, sobbing completely unhinged because you felt so incredibly bad about yourself.
Vivian’s expression shifted, Seeing you completely broken down made him feel genuinely bad. He looked at you with a profound, quiet sadness in his eyes, realizing just how deeply the stress and the hangover were crushing you.
Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward and tried to wrap his arms around you for a hug.
Your heart jolted, and you flinched back slightly, a sudden wave of scared, defensive panic making you freeze. You were terrified of the intimacy, terrified of how fast everything was moving, and terrified of losing whatever control you had left.
Vivian froze instantly, keeping his hands hovering a few inches away from your shoulders, giving you space. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with absolute sincerity. "I've got you, ma chérie. Only if you want."
Needing comfort more than anything else in the world right now, you gave in. You leaned forward, burying your face directly back into the safe, warm crook of his neck, and kept crying.
Vivian didn't hesitate. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, locking his strong arms around you and rocking you slowly on the bathroom floor. He let you weep, whispering quiet, soothing words against your ear, completely unbothered by the mess, entirely content just to hold you until the storm in your mind finally passed.
“Bare with me now…!”
You smoothed down the fabric of your black polka-dot maxi skirt, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in your simple black ballet flats.
After the absolute emotional and crash out you had yesterday, you had spent Sunday hiding under your covers, praying that Monday would never come.
But here it was. You had painstakingly pieced yourself back together, choosing a familiar white lace top paired with a cozy black cardigan to look as presentable—and invisible—as possible.
You were standing by the office coffee machine, desperately waiting for the coffee machine to work , when Lucas sauntered up with a giant, knowing grin on his face.
"Well, well, look who survived," Lucas joked, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. "How did that hangover treat you, little mouse? I heard the boss was handing out black marks like candy on Friday morning."
Before you could scramble for an excuse, another coworker popped her head around the corner, holding a stack of papers.
"Oh, leave her alone, Lucas! Honestly, you were so much fun on Thursday night," she complimented, giving you a warm smile. "We were all shouting, but you were the life of the party."
You let out a weak, thoroughly awkward chuckle, "Yeah... haha. Fun times..!"
You took a desperate sip of your coffee, hoping to slip back to your desk unnoticed, when Amélie suddenly stepped into the breakroom.
"So," Amélie purred, leaning against the counter and lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. "Are you going to tell us, or do we have to guess? What exactly is the deal with you and the Vivian Hugo?"
Your brain completely stalled. The coffee in your throat almost went down the wrong pipe.
Vivian?" you squeaked, your voice jumping as you gripped your coffee cup. "Nothing... nothing much."
Amélie just stared at you, an eyebrow raised at your painfully awkward behavior, clearly not buying a single word. “Are you sure?”
"Yes!" you stammered, nodding furiously as you smoothed down your black polka-dot maxi skirt with your free hand. "He was just being a polite person…err—friend!"
Lucas let out a loud snort into his mug. "Right. Because when I think of a friend , I think of the most famous midfielder in Europe hanging out with me and looking smitten."
You shifted uncomfortably in your black ballet flats, wishing your cardigan could swallow you whole.
Amélie crossed her arms, a skeptical smirk playing on her lips. She clearly wasn't buying a single word of your painfully awkward cover story, but before she could press you for the real details, your phone buzzed violently in your cardigan pocket.
You pulled your phone out of your cardigan pocket, your fingers fumbling a bit as you tapped the screen. You saw the name Vivian Hugo lighting up your notification bar.
You unlocked it, your eyes widening as you read the message:
"Ma chérie, our date—do not forget it. I also saw a butterfly this morning. Did you know I adore butterflies?"
"What is that face?" Amélie asked instantly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to peer over your shoulder. "Who is texting you, hmmm?"
Before you could lock your phone or scramble for another excuse, the heavy glass door of the breakroom swung open with a sharp, intimidating click.
The atmosphere in the room froze instantly.
Your boss strode into the breakroom, looking like an absolute thundercloud. His sharp gaze swept over the counter, immediately locking onto the group of you standing idly by the coffee machine.
The collective panic was palpable. Lucas practically swallowed his coffee whole, and Amélie instantly straightened her posture, everyone scattering like a flock of startled birds toward the exits before a single word could even be spoken.
You tried to subtly slip your phone back into your cardigan pocket, but you weren't fast enough.
"You!" your boss snapped, his voice booming as he pointed a sharp finger directly at you, stopping you dead in your tracks "On your phone again? Is this what we are doing today?"
You froze, your shoulders tensing up as you slowly turned around to face him.
"Monsieur, I was just—"
"I do not want to hear it!" he cut you off,. "After the absolute disaster of Friday morning, you arrive today and the first thing you do is stand in the breakroom texting? Your department is already drowning in backlogged work from the weekend!"
"Yes, Monsieur. I am so sorry," you stammered out, your face burning a bright, violent shade of pink as you frantically shoved the phone deep into your pocket.
You didn't dare breathe another word. Clutching your coffee cup, you quickly scurried out of the breakroom, your mind completely racing between the terrifying wrath of your corporate manager and the lingering, melted tone of Vivian’s text message.
You slinked back to your desk, keeping your head low as you slid into your office chair. Your boss was still pacing the floor nearby, keeping a hawk-like eye on the department.
Waiting until his back was completely turned, you carefully slipped your phone out of your cardigan pocket and hid it beneath the edge of your desk, your thumbs flying across the screen in a flurry of pure panic.
"I am at work right now! My boss almost just murdered me because of you! I cannot be texting back. Bye!"
You hit send with a definitive tap, instantly locking the screen and shoving the phone deep into your bag before you could get caught again. You let out a shaky breath, pulled up the backlogged of reports on your monitor, and tried to force your brain to focus on instead of vivian.
Not even two minutes later, your bag gave a single, muted vibration against the floor.
You looked around cautiously. Your boss was currently across the room scolding Lucas about a spreadsheet error, giving you time. You reached down, zipped open your bag, and peeked at the preview on your screen.
"Okay. I am at practice now. Focus on your work, ma chérie."
A small, helpless huff of laughter escaped your lips before you could help it.
You wouldn’t mind him being your boyfriend..really…
You locked the phone for good this time, a tiny smile tucking into the corner of your mouth as you finally buried yourself in your paperwork, the countdown to the first of your three dates officially ticking away in the back of your mind.
Part Two : soon
Written by Jammy. Please do not copy and paste or feed my work into an AI. This was completely written by hand, thank you for stopping by and reading!
"good things come to those who wait longer," is what vivien hugo has been hearing since he was a child.
his mom would whisper that into his ear when he came home empty-handed after another football tournament, ruffling his hair as she assured him that the best victories simply took a little more time to achieve. his dad would repeat those same words with a knowing smile before gifting hugo something he'd been wanting for ages. sometimes his elder sister too would weaponize the saying when she monopolized the television, refusing to surrender the remote while a young hugo groaned dramatically because he was about to miss the latest episode of his favorite show.
it was a message deeply fixed in his brain, reminding him to stay patient when everyone else rushed ahead—to trust that delayed gratification always led to something greater. it allowed fate to arrange everything exactly the way it was meant to be.
and it resonated with hugo—it was perfect for his die hard belief in destiny and that everything happens for a reason.
it meant he never had to force anything, because what belonged to him would always find its way to him.
so then why were you standing at the altar? why were you dressed in the richest shade of white imaginable, the delicate fabric cascading around you like clouds spun from moonlight, making you somehow look even more ethereal than you already did? why were you staring at a different man with sparkles in your eyes that spoke deeper messages than you've ever uttered?
your lips curled into the same smile that hugo always longed for except this one was different. you were in love with someone else—you were smiling because of someone else.
the guests erupted into gentle applause as the officiant continued speaking, but hugo could not hear a single word. every voice around him blurred into meaningless noise, muffled beneath the violent pounding of his own heartbeat.
that man knew nothing about you.
he didn't know you the way hugo knew you since you both were young and kicking a worn out ball to each other under the blazing summer sun. he didn't know what books you've liked since childhood and he didn't know that you would read them all to hugo despite the endless complaints about normal books being "boring."
did he actually know anything about you?
or maybe hugo was the one who didn't actually know you.
but as he watched the other man reach for your hands with a tenderness he knew too well, hugo put all his faith in fate. you two were meant to be, and even if it took forever, he'd wait for you.
this wedding and this heartbreak was simply just another obstacle, another test which required all of his patience.
after all, good things come to those who wait longer.
so hugo waited and waited and waited.
he waited until months turned into decades. the colourful wedding bouquet you once held during your most special day was replaced by tiny hands clinging to yours. hugo watched your children grow taller each year from a distance. he observed how your beautiful hair gradually became streaked with grey and he observed how the years carve soft lines around your eyes.
you looked happy, undeniably happy.
sometimes, when your paths crossed by chance, you'd greet him with that same warm smile you'd always given him.
"vivien! it's been forever," you'd brightly exclaim as though forever wasn't xactly the amount of time he'd spent waiting for you.
after asking him curious questions about his life, you'd hug him goodbye, and he'd stand there long after you'd disappeared, convincing himself that the ache in his chest was merely another reminder that patience was a virtue.
one day, surely one day, you'd be his.
that one day never came.
instead, hugo found himself standing beneath a black umbrella on one rainy afternoon staring at a polished headstone, a bouquet of fresh lilies resting atop of it. your name was carved neatly into the stone. hugo stared at it for a very, very long time.
his umbrella slipped from numb fingers, rain soaking through his clothes almost instantly. hugo began weeping, his tears melting into the relentless downpour, impossible to distinguish from the rain that streamed down his face. years of quiet hope and unwavering faith poured out of him all at once.
waiting long enough had never been enough. it was already too late and you were gone.
fate was never going to confess for him. destiny was never going to reach for your hand in his place. instead of spending all those years trusting the universe to do the work for him, he could've simply made an effort.
hugo could've told you; he could've fought for you.
standing there in the rain, soaked to his skin and shattered beyond repair, hugo realized that fate never rewards those who wait. it rewarded those who made an effort for the things — and the people — they truly wanted before it was too late.
Bad Porn plots with Haikyuu Characters: Doktorspiele
pairing: Timeskip!Shirabu x Patient!reader
warnings: reader is ill (illness not clarified), power imbalance, sub!reader, praise, dacryphilia, dub-con elements, sensual stuff, mutual masturbation, interruption, yandere themes, humiliation kink (?)
“Come on, I know you can do it,” Shirabu’s soft voice makes you look up. You stare blankly at the box filled with different colored pills and capsules.
You hate taking them. You absolutely despise it. But you’re mature enough to understand that they’re important for you, so you could get out of the clinic as soon as possible. You take one of the pills in your mouth, take a sip of cold water and swallow.
The always repeating feeling of the capsule going down your pipe is something you’re used to by now, you don’t even have the energy to complain anymore.
The medicine is supposed to help you, but you haven’t made any progress in weeks, no matter how much you force yourself to do everything the doctors tell you.
Shirabu’s hand gently pats your head, “Well done. You’re always doing so well, Y/n.”
You look up at him. He’s just a couple years older than you, but obviously a very good doctor. And well…his face helps liking him as well.
“Thank you, Sir.”
His hands glide down your throat, gently rubbing over your neck and chest, checking for lymph nodes. It’s your monthly checkup.
“Looks good. How are you feeling today?”
“Better than yesterday,” your gaze follows his hands as they stay way longer on your skin than necessary.
Shirabu nods softly, “Is it okay if I check your chest as well? Just a routine thing.”
Sure. A routine thing that Shirabu needs to check every month, even though he never found anything suspicious.
You nod again, “Of course, Sir.”
Shirabu’s hands glide over your neck towards your breasts, gently kneading them, apparently looking for knots.
You press your lips together in a thin line, trying not to let out a sound. He’s extremely close, his lower body between your legs and you feel a slight blush grow on your cheeks.
His fingers gently roll your nipple between his fingers, making a shiver run through your groin and straight to your soaked pussy.
“D-doctor…,” you sigh softly, “Is that…part of the checkup?”
Shirabu smiles softly, “Of course it is, sweetheart. I’m a professional.”
He backs off slightly and pulls off his gloves. “Well, Y/n-san, I think you suffer under the stress this environment gives you. Maybe you could show me what…relieves this stress the best?”
10 minutes later, your legs are spread wide apart in front of Shirabu, your middle and ring finger plunging in and out of your hole over and over again.
Your back arches under his gaze, his boner pressing against your legs.
“S-Sir-”
Shirabu interrupts you, “Call me Kenjiro, please.”
You nod obediently, feeling uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. “Kenjiro! I…I need to cum so badly!” You moan loudly, your fingers pressing against your favorite spots inside you.
“I think you can last a little longer, sweetie. You’re doing so good though.”
The praise makes you shiver comfortably, making you want to make him even more proud.
Wet sounds come from your cunt, filling the quiet room, “Kenjiro, please! ‘Need you so bad…!”
His hand grips his boner firmly, palming it through his scrub. “So sexy…such a sexy pussy from a sexy girl. Wanna be inside you so bad.”
You moan loudly at his dirty words, the knot in your stomach wanting to snap so fucking bad.
Soft tears run down your cheeks, the pressure and embarrassment too much for you to handle.
Kenjiro’s eyes widen at the sight of your tears, something deep inside of him snapping. That’s the moment Shirabu realized that he had a giant dacryphilia kink.
With a loud moan, he presses his cock to your body, everything in him wanting and needing to cum when suddenly—
his pager alarms (very loudly) that he needs to be somewhere now.
You shriek at the sound, your fingers freezing immediately. Shirabu groans frustrated, adjusting his boner before looking at the message.
“Shit. I need to go immediately,” he looks at you, “You’ve done well. We’re gonna continue this another time.”
You nod confused and wipe your tears away, before sitting up properly. “Okay…”
With a serious look on the face, Shirabu pulls out a camera from his pocket. “Here. Film yourself with this, next time you use the vibrator in your suitcase. I won’t have to watch you over the security cameras then.”
What the fuck?!
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a/n: English isn’t my first language, criticism is welcomed but please be nice. Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. Do not steal or copy my work.
n: I’m baaaack!
divider by @cursed-carmine // photos from pinterest
“Cause she a fashion killa and I’m a football player”| Julian Loki x Fem! Reader
You get asked alot about your personal relationship ship with one of the most youngest and bestest football players the world has ever known which was of course, Julian loki.
The internet almost imploded the day the world realized Julian Loki was off the market.
By the time he was seventeen years old, he played for the senior league and was in the world cup, julian who is the crown jewel of France's national team, heck, the future of French football.
The undisputed star of PXG, and a global icon for every kid kicking a soccer ball in a dusty alley or someone starting in an academy—he was someone that people looked up too and was popular enough to be known.
So of course, the internet which is a breeding ground for the most ridiculous theories and shipping culture. They didn’t know much about Loki which intrigued the public more and at that time you weren’t in a public relationship since you asked to be and Julian agreed with this also for your safety.
Because of this, There were constantly circulating rumors about Julian secretly dating some high-fashion runway model from Milan, or secretly seeing a famous pop star who had been spotted in the VIP lounge at one of his matches. Or that influencer that was a fan of his and all she wanted was a picture and respectfully left.
Every time a woman breathed in his general direction, a new tabloid article popped up claiming the teenage prodigy was "secretly dating" , he founded those people dumb and absolutely absurd.
“They write these things with so much confidence," Julian muttered, shaking his head as he scrolled through a sports gossip page on his phone. “ Ça me rend fou de voir à quel point ils sont stupides.”
You two were currently lounging in the backseat of his private car, watching the Parisian rain smear across the tinted windows. “Look at this one. It says I am 'secretly dating' a girl I met once for a One minute—Dior commercial shoot. I do not even remember her name.”
“Maybe you should call her up,” you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder. “The internet seems to think she’s your soulmate.”
You chuckled, pulling out your own phone and opening a social media app to scroll through your feed and opening the discussion on twitter about the quote on quote ‘look in his eyes’ to the model which made you laugh. While Julian kept on muttering beneath his breath.
As you scrolled, you hit a massive thread debating his love life.
@julian_loki_fan4real : Wait, does he actually have a girlfriend? I thought he was single?
↳ @vivanhugofan4ever : No, he’s definitely secretly dating that runway model. They were in the same city last week.
↳ @all_of_us_are_bums : Honestly, Loki is way too focused on football to have a girlfriend. He doesn't have time for a relationship.
You chuckled and faintly sighed and locked your phone slidding it into your pocket. Slowly, you tilted your head up, looking at Julian with a glint in your eyes.
Julian caught the shift in your posture, his gaze dropping from his phone to yours. The tense, annoyed lines on his face softened instantly.
“What is that look for?” he asked, a faint, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He let his phone drop onto his lap, completely forgetting about the sports gossip page.
“Ohhh, Just thinking about how much time you don't have for me,” you teased softly, shifting slightly so you could look at him better. “According to the all-knowing internet, you are far too focused on football to ever have a relationship. You're the godspeed, Julian. No time for love.”
Julian let out a soft huff and a genuine laugh finally breaking through his previous irritation. He reached over, his hand finding yours and wrapping his fingers securely around it. His thumb stroked the back of your hand
“L'homme égoïste s'adoucit pour sa petite amie” you playfully sighed and roll your eyes while keeping a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “How sweet and cute of you,” you said playfully cooing at him.
Julian’s thumb instantly stopped its soothing circles. His eyebrows shot up, a look of mock offense washing over his face.
“Ah, egoistical? Moi?” he huffed and, let go of your hand entirely. To be honest, Julian was kinda petty—no—really petty.
He gave your shoulder a petty, playful nudge, pushing you just far enough away so you were no longer leaning against him.
Julian crossed his arms over his chest, sliding over toward the opposite car door, looking out the window with a dramatic pout he could muster, which made you glance and side eye him, knowing he was kinda more sassy than you…to be fair from the amount of teasing you do, it was probably fair for him to act dramatic..
“I think I will keep my distance,” he muttered, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth completely gave away his act. “No more hand-holding for you.”
“Come on, Julian, pleaseee!” You came back and clung onto his arm, and poked his face. “My boyfriend loves me so dearly, right?”
Julian let out a soft huff, trying—and failing—to maintain his stern expression as your fingers poked his cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched higher, “maybe,” he sighed, though his tone was completely fond.
You continued to happily lean your weight right against him, sliding your hand down until your palm found his. You slotted your fingers between his, intertwining your hands securely.
Julian let out a defeated laugh, while he gave your hand a tight, reassuring squeeze.
“You really don't listen to a word I say, do you?” he murmured, while he looked at you. Your faces where incredibly near one another.
“You're incredibly spoiled, you know that? Who exactly taught you that you could get away with everything?”
“Ah, that's because I have such a loving boyfriend,” you chimed in, and gave his hand another playful tug, looking up at him with a thoroughly pleased grin.
Julian shook his head, though the sheer fondness in his eyes completely betrayed him. Hd smiled, and leaned down to press a kiss your cheek.
Soo how did the relationship between you and julian get leaked? Well….The secret broke out because of a single, grainy paparazzi picture. Internet sleuths instantly went to work piecing together the identity of the girl standing next to the global star and the press picked up on this…faster than Julian’s PR team.
You were dressed in a sleek trench coat and a pair of unmistakable Jimmy Choo heels. While having a pair of sunglasses and you walking next to Julian side by side.
While Julian, on the other hand, was captured wearing a casual Adidas tracksuit and a PXG jacket.
The media couldn’t tell if the two of you were even in a relationship or you were just random people who they assumed to be dating. But still really interesting because on the next shot, the both of you were holding hands…maybe…you couldn’t tell from the picture.
Unlike Julian, you had absolutely zero media training. You had no idea how to look past a flashing lens. You did not know how to give a perfectly neutral statement, or how to politely say “no comment” or pull off how sarcastic he was during interviews while keeping a straight face.
So it was really,really terrifying to see a bunch of people crowding the entrance of a shopping store waiting for you. You had no clue how they managed to find you, it creeped you out.
A small crowd of paparazzi and aggressive reporters waiting right by the entrance. You stood frozen, having absolutely no idea what the fuck this was about or who these people even were.
Coincidentally, your ass, who doesn’t like doing laundry wore the exact same trench coat from the picture.
The only difference today was that you had paired it with a simple top, a neat skirt, high boots, a big bag—that you oh so wished it was a birkin bag—and a pair of dark sunglasses—like Jane Birkin.
Jane Birkin was one of your absolute muses, to be honest. You didn’t like serge though…but thats another story.
You had moved to France entirely because of your job, and you had adapted to the lifestyle incredibly quickly…well you had too.
It was kinda hard at first since at the time you couldn’t talk to your colleagues and was a tad bit shy but you decided to put yourself out there and viola it worked out, you even took a few cooking classes to meet a group of people and talking to them helped you better in conversations and joking with peoplez
If you were being completely honest with yourself, it sounded a bit cringey, but your mindset from the very beginning had been simple, I want to be paid to live in France, nonetheless Paris, life tike opportunity right here guys..
And then, there was Julian Loki….You hadn't met through some cute meet-cute or a romantic way. Instead, you met through a disastrous way, that won’t be considered a “meet-cute”.
Instead of liking each other right away or experiencing love at first sight, it had been pure, mutual irritation.
Come to think of it, your entire relationship story felt exactly like one of those cheap, corny, cheesy Hallmark movies—a realization that made you deadpan right there on the sidewalk, when you remembered because of how it’s cliché.
You remembered cussing him out the very first time you met because he had carelessly bumped right into you, staining your shirt.
And Julian, being who he was, had completely lost his temper, entirely irritated that you were somehow “in his way and the one at fault.” Seriously the nerve of this guy wanted to make you crashout but you had to be emotionally regulated.
After that disastrous first encounter, fate apparently decided to play a cruel joke. You kept running into each other on so many occasions that it became ridiculous.
It made you loose your goddamn mind.
He was also, so deeply annoyed by the constant coincidences that he actually had the nerve to accuse you of stalking him.
At the time, you had absolutely no idea who this guy even was. You were completely appalled by his ego. Paris was a massive city, so how on earth did you keep seeing this exact same infuriating man?
“Are you following me?” he had snapped during your third accidental run-in at a quiet cafe, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at you.
“Because if you want an autograph, you could just ask instead of orchestrating these little run-ins.”
You had stared at him, deadpan and utterly unimpressed.
“An autograph? For what, being the most exhausting man in Paris?”
“Trust me, the last thing I want is to breathe the same air as you, let alone follow you.”
You fought constantly, trading insults every single time your paths crossed, until the tension finally broke.
One heated argument had shifted, entirely catching you both off guard. You didn't even know how you had managed to work it out—all you knew was that you had somehow tumbled headfirst into fan-fiction about an “enemies-to-lovers” trope.
It made you want to scream even more because you actually read about that shit in books, never expecting to live it. Even after that turning point, you had genuinely tried to call it quits.
You were completely convinced that a normal girl and a high-profile athlete could never work out. You did not want anything to do with the public eye. The mere thought of it lowkey stressed you out.
Also, dating wasn't exactly something you had been actively looking for; you were perfectly happy just working, living your life, and enjoying your peace with friends and family . Romance was supposed to be a fun little add-on, to your happy life.
And yet, some how it worked out and you were now here, the secret girlfriend of France's biggest football star.
“Kudos to myself,” you couldn't help but think with a smug little smile as you walked throughout the day, humming to yourself.
Because, duh, you were dating Julian Loki. Even if it was a secret relationship, your family knows…obviously but you told them to shut up about it, your friends doesn’t except the ones you really trusted. And for all the media chaos, you’ll get being with him the relationship definitely came with a lot of major pros.
Sure, he could be an absolute pain in the ass, and he would definitely still find petty ways to hate on you or tease you just to get a reaction. But honestly, that playful bickering was your thing. Like, it’s the whole reason why the both of you work…actually…because the both of you match each other.
On the flip side, the man absolutely loved you. He would happily cook meals for you after a long day, and he constantly spoiled you with gifts—especially shoes, clothes, and also food, since he knew exactly how much you loved fashion and eating.
“eating and fashion makes me happy,” you told him once and he took note of that.
Then your mind drifted back to your Jane Birkin-inspired outfit, and you let out a dramatic little sigh, internally.
You wondered if Julian would ever get you an actual Hermès Birkin bag. It wasn’t even a matter of money; you made your own paycheck and could comfortably buy one yourself.
The real issue was the notorious, agonizing Hermès waitlist. But Julian was a global superstar. If he walked into the boutique, the rules would magically bend.
They probably wouldn't make the star of France wait for months like a regular citizen. Maybe he could actually pull some strings...
Oh yeah, back to real life. Sorry, You had just been monologuing to yourself for a hot second while you froze up in-front of the cameras in-front of you.
So while you were trying to make sense of this whole dilemma the immediate reality crashed back in as you looked down at your clothes.
Coincidentally, you were wearing the exact same trench coat from the viral paparazzi picture they were showing you.
Paired with your skirt, high boots, your top a bag and dark sunglasses, the look was cool
( to be honest you rewore this outfit and haven’t washed a single one of them, so you didn’t know how people thought it was cool…since it was just an average fit…and haven’t cleaned them for weeks…but…they don’t need to know that tho)—to the media, it was the confirmation.
To them, right now, there was absolutely no doubt about it. You were the mystery girl.
“Est-ce que vous sortez avec Julian ?” a reporter barked in French, shoving a microphone toward your face. “Est-il vrai que vous vous voyez en secret ? Juste une déclaration !”
The lenses clicked furiously, capturing your initial confusion. You clutched your bag tighter, your mind racing “fuck you Julian” you internally said to yourself. But you had to get a grip on yourself.
The moment you started walking—trying—to ignore the people blocking your way the camera flashes started blinding you, and aggressive microphones were thrust into your space, completely cutting off your path.
“Excusez-moi ! Est-ce que c'est vous sur la photo avec Julian ?” A reporter shouted over the noise, shoving a smartphone screen toward your face. The screen displayed the grainy, zoomed-in paparazzi photo of you and Julian from weeks prior. “Êtes-vous la petite amie secrète de Julian Loki ?”
The main reporter kept pressing, thrusting his microphone even closer. “Alors ? C'est vous ou ce n'est pas vous ?”
You shrugged your shoulders elegantly, completely avoiding a direct confirmation. “Ah, pardon my French,” you said in English, offering an, unapologetic smile . “But I cannot speak French very well today. My vocabulary... it disappears when there are so many cameras in-front of my faces..” and gave a chuckle.
The interviewer didn't give up, quickly switching to English to keep the momentum going. “are you the girl in the photo, you have the same jacket, Are you dating the star of France?”
“Oh, that girl?” You chuckled, looking at the blurry photo on his screen with a critical eye, completely playing it down
“Paris is full of beautiful girls in nice trench coats. Besides, identifying me based on that blurry mess? It’s incredibly disturbing and disrespectful to my privacy, no? Not to mention, how you all completely came at me with your cameras” though it was a comment about how rude they were, you still smiled and act like you were brushing it off.
Before you could take a final step away, the reporter scrambled to throw out a completely different question to know more about you.
“Mademoiselle, je m'excuse, mais si vous n'êtes pas sa petite amie, quelle est votre opinion sur Julian Loki ? Vous devez bien avoir un avis sur le héros de la France !”
You stopped for a split second, tilting your head back with amusement. You let out a soft, laugh, casually adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.
“Honestly? I do not care about Julian Loki,” you said with a bright, teasing grin.
Before the reporter's jaw could completely hit the pavement, you smoothly switched to French, your tone being playful rather than having any malice.
“Qu'il coure après son ballon. I have no interest in the football world whatsoever.”
You chuckled at the sheer disbelief frozen on the interviewer's face, gave a final charming smile, and casually walked away, leaving them with a completely viral quote.
The internet completely lost its mind over the interview. Within hours, the clip of you dodging the paparazzi was trending worldwide. People were completely obsessed with how cool, sarcastic, nice , and unbothered you were.
TikTok was flooded with edits of you and social media users were universally praising the line “I do not care about Julian Loki.”
Naturally, the internet did what it does best—it tried to find you. The theories spread like wildfire across social media. Many users assumed you had to be an undercover influencer or a high-fashion model.
You seemed so entirely confident , fashionable and appeared so natural in front of the cameras that people figured you were used to the spotlight.
Thousands of amateur internet sleuths and football fan accounts launched a massive digital manhunt to uncover your identity.
They searched every single corner of the web, but they hit an absolute brick wall.The internet’s total failure to find any trace of you online only fueled the fire.
Since the public couldn't stalk an Instagram account or find your tiktok, it became an actual discussion topic.
Tens of thousands of users flooded threads, completely obsessed with you and your total lack of a digital footprint.
Okay, to be honest, you did have social media accounts. But you didn't post a single thing on them and used a fake name, no way you putting your real name out there.
You used to be chronically online but you had to detach just because it was getting to you and that turned you into someone who had zero desire to be active on any platform; you kept your profiles completely blank and private just to watch things or stay connected with actual friends.
You had the apps, but you weren't really there, you know?
The comments were along the lines of like this…
@bllk_season3_when : Honestly I don't even care if they are dating, I just have to say she is so cool.
@julia_loki_please: bro the way she carried herself? she’s so mamas i love her personality brah her fit is so cool like literally who is she 😭???
↳ @teddy_paddington : I’d say she’s probably a fashion girly.
↳ @sae_rin_pls_communicate : if they aren't together they need to be.
↳ @bllk_season3_when : NO REAL, also someone please write a fic like this… @kunigami_we_miss_you : If Julian saw that interview, he's probably falling to his knees trying to find her handle just like the rest of us. i swear he is used to everyone kissing his feet. ↳ @reo_nagi_are_at_it_again : Please football gods let them be together.
Of course, the viral clip didn't just stay on fans phones—it made it all the way to the PXG training grounds.
Julian had just finished a grueling training session and walked into the locker room, throwing his damp towel over his shoulder
Every single one of his teammates was staring at him, their faces locked in terrible, mischievous grins
Before Julian could even ask what was wrong, one of the players stood up on a bench, holding a smartphone high in the air.
“Honestly? I do not care about Julian Loki,” your voice echoed loudly through the locker room speakers, followed by your teasing chuckle.
“Qu'il coure après son ballon. I have no interest in the football world whatsoever.”
The locker room absolutely exploded into laughter by how you mocked him.
“Ah, Julian!” one of the midfielders yelled, throwing an arm around Julian's rigid shoulders, entirely copying your tone.
“Go run after your little ball, Julian! The lady has no interest!” Julian’s face went completely bright red. He tried to maintain his usual cool, demeanor, but a helpless, fond smile crept at his lips as he covered his face with his hands, groaning out loud."
“Mon dieu... she actually said that,” Julian muttered, his voice muffled by his palms. He wasn't mad at all. In fact, the sheer audacity of your response made a breathless laugh escape his chest.
His phone buzzed violently in his hand, cutting through the locker room chaos. It was his PR manager. Julian swiped to answer, bracing himself as he stepped away from his howling teammates.
“Julian!” his manager's voice barked frantically through the receiver. “Who is she? The internet is melting down! She completely dismissed you on national television, Is she actually your girlfriend? Do we need to issue a statement?!”
Julian replied back , “Yes, she's my girlfriend,” he murmured into the phone, completely unbothered by the public relations nightmare. “Just leave it be fore awhile”
Before Julian could even call, you were at home already, having successfully slipped away from the streets to safely lock yourself inside your apartment.
You threw your trench coat over the couch, kicked off your boots, and sank into the sofa, finally letting out a long breath.
Not even twenty minutes later, the sharp buzzer of your apartment door rang out.
You unlocked it to find Julian standing in the hallway. He was in disguise, of course—oversized glasses and a low cap.
Genuinely, you understood why he did it, but the other residents on your flat floor were mostly quiet, old people who didn't care about pop culture, so it was always a bit amusing. Him trying to disguise himself. Because one time the old couple say him and didn’t even realize he was the guy they always talked about during football matches, oh and also..they called you a cute couple and just left the both of you.
He stepped inside, kicked the door shut with his heel, and immediately leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So,” Julian began, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
“Qu'il coure après son ballon'? Really, chérie?”
You sighed, walked back over to the sofa, and completely laid down. “Oh well, had to do something, no?”
“You told the entire world I was just a boy running after a little ball,” he countered, letting out a breathless laugh.
He walked over, his footsteps muffled by the rug, and stopped right in front of the sofa where you lay.
“ My entire locker room was howling and they mocked me for a solid fifteen minutes, and now my manager is frantically asking if we should just go public with our relationship.”
“What did you say?” you asked, tilting your head up.
“I said yeah, and asked me if I wanted to make us, public” Julian replied, his voice softening. He leaned down, hovering just over you as his hands rested on the back of the sofa. “But next time you get interviewed,” he whispered against your skin, a playful glint returning to his eyes, “maybe please tell them I am at least a good football player before you tell them to go away.”
“Well, you brought this on yourself,” you teased, looking up at him through your lashes. “If you didn't look like a walking bum in that photo, I wouldn't have had to deny knowing you.”
Julian gasped, feigning a look of complete heartbreak. “A bum? Wow. Oh well, since you are being so mean, I guess I won't show you my gift...”
He reached behind his back, pulling out a sleek, oversized shopping bag with the unmistakable, iconic Hermès logo stamped across the front.
That he had been hiding it behind his back the entire time. With a soft thud, he dropped the luxurious orange bag right onto your lap.
You sat frozen on the sofa, your eyes darting from the bag and then to Julian's face. He was still pouting (faking pout) , muttering under his breath about how incredibly mean you were to him after he went through all this trouble.
It was an actual Hermès bag. He literally bought you a Birkin bag the one you always wanted…
Your fingers wrapped around the smooth handles, your heart doing a little flip. But before you could even slide the box out of the bag and finally smile, Julian suddenly smirked. And suddenly snatched the handles right out of your grip.
“On second thought,” Julian said, lifting the bag high out of your reach as he spun on his heel. He turned his back to you and pretended to walk straight back toward the front door
“Since I am just a 'walking bum' who runs after a little ball, I think this beautiful thing deserves to go back to the boutique. Clearly, my efforts are unappreciated by my girlfriend.”
You bolted off the sofa, launching yourself at his back and tackling him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.
Julian let out a startled, breathless laugh as your sudden impact stopped him right in his tracks. He lifted the Hermès bag even higher in one hand, making you reach for it.
“Oh, Julian, mon coeur, sweetness,” you cooed, your tone voice changed to an incredibly sweet, while you pressed your face against his back. Anything to get that Birkin..“ my beautiful, smart, talented, world-class athlete. The absolute hero of France. The most handsome man ever, oh how much I adore you!”
Julian scoffed, but a massive, grin was already breaking across his face. He tried to look over his shoulder at you, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Wow. Look at that. her appreciation for football and love for her boyfriend return when an orange box is involved. How loving."
“I am overflowing with appreciation,” you said, squeezing his waist tightly before stepping around to block his path, looking up at him with a thoroughly pleased. “Now give me the bag.”
Julian let out a loud, rumbly laugh that shook his entire chest. he lowered his arm and handed the sleek handles back into your grasp, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “You are terrible,” he murmured, leaning down to press a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of your head. “Go open your bag,”
You smiled and kissed him back and didn't waste another second. Slipping back onto the sofa, you eagerly pulled the box out of the bag and untied the ribbon. Julian watched you, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the armrest, a deeply satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
As you lifted the lid and parted the protective tissue, there it sat a flawless, pristine Hermès Birkin bag in a gorgeous shade that you always wanted.
Julian let out amused chuckle as he saw your face. He slid down onto the sofa beside you, leaning in to look at the bag in your lap, then at your glowing face. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that?”
“Your lost of dignity is much appreciated, and it looks great on my lap,” you teased, running your fingers over the smooth leather before wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Julian. I love it.” You looked at the Birkin bag, smiling, then turned to him. “And I suppose... I love you too.”
Julian’s smirk melted into a warm, genuinely helpless smile. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “Perhaps my girlfriend is only using me,” he whispered in your ear.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your smile widening before you leaned in and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. Julian melted into it instantly, his hands resting gently on your hips as the playful banter finally softened into a quiet, tender moment.
When you finally pulled away, he was looking down at you with nothing but pure, unadulterated fondness, his thumb lightly tracing your hip.
“Wait, so... are you going to publicize our relationship?” you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder as the thought suddenly crossed your mind.
Julian quieted down, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “If you want to, we can,” he murmured, his voice laced with complete sincerity. “Whatever makes you comfortable, chérie.”“
Mhm. Just tell the media to back off my life, though,” you added, looking up at him seriously. “I want to keep working. I like my job, and I like my peace.”“
“Yeah, of course,” Julian said softly, understanding completely. He leaned down and gave you a sweet, reassuring peck on the lips, sealing the promise. “No one is going to disrupt your life. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Though, if the paparazzi do catch us,” he added, “I'll just have to tell them you're only with me for the Birkin bags and the things I buy you, hm?”
You rolled your eyes, swatting his chest playfully, though you couldn't hide your smile. “Oh, like that would make me seem likable”
Julian chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours, then his hand slid from your cheek down to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling securely in your hair.
Julian leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, making you melt against him, dropping your hands from his chest to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him down as if you couldn't get close enough.
Julian groaned softly into the kiss,while you kept on tugging him making his grip tightening on your waist as he pulled you flush against his lap, the Birkin bag completely forgotten on the cushion beside you.
When he finally parted from your lips, it was only to trail a line of open-mouthed, breathless kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver in his arms. And carried you to the bedroom locked away from the rest of the world.
Thank goodness you had a day off…Julian can skip practice, maybe. Hopefully…so you can have more I guess…maybe?
A week later he had a post-match interview and now was im a press room that was suffocatingly hot, packed to maximum capacity with sports journalists, flashing lenses, and rolling cameras.
Julian sat at the center of the panel, his PXG training jacket zipped to his chin, casually spinning a bottle of water on the table.
He looked entirely unbothered by the fact that his game-winning goal—and his subsequent celebration—had just broken the sports side of the internet.
A French reporter raised his hand first, microphoned up and eager. “Julian, félicitations pour la victoire et ce but incroyable,” the reporter started, leaning forward with a smirk. “The whole world wants to know if you truly are with the girl who told you to just go run after your ball.”
Julian immediately let out a bright, boyish laugh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.
“Oui, c'est ma petite amie,” Julian said, his eyes lighting up with immense pride. “She wanted to hide it for her peace and safety, but yes, we are together.”
Once the laughter died down, an English journalist quickly grabbed the microphone to keep the momentum going. “Julian, if she wanted to hide it, how do you think she's going to react to you breaking the internet and confirming it right now?”
Julian chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a fond smirk. “To be honest, mon ami, she will probably hit me with a very petty comment the second I walk through the door,”
“She can never stay truly mad at me, unless I do wrong. Though, I did wear a tracksuit she hated recently, so...”
The room chuckled, and the journalist pressed further. “Would you say your girlfriend is sarcastic like you?”
Julian let out a sharp, dry laugh, his eyebrows shooting up in mock disbelief. “Sarcastic? No, no, she is an angel. She is completely sweet and never uses sarcasm,” Julian said, his tone dripping with so much heavy, obvious irony that the front row of reporters immediately started giggling.
He paused, flashing a bright, proud grin directly at the main camera lens. “But yes, she is actually much more petty than me. “
A reporter in the front row laughed, calling out, “why is she so discreet?”
“She has zero interest in the spotlight, and she has a real life to live. She likes her job, she likes her peace, and she doesn't want her world turned into a media circus. So respect that.”
The room was filled with hums of agreement, “Does that mean we won't see her in the VIP box at the next match?” A journalist pressed.
Julian smirked, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers against his water bottle.
“If she comes, she will probably sit in the regular stands pretending she doesn't know me. Especially if I play badly. She only claims me when I score goals or buy her shoes.”
The front row giggled, another reporter quickly asked “For someone who claims she doesn't care about the football world, she looked very proud to have you wrapped around her finger.”
“If she wants me to chase her, I am the fastest sprinter in France—I will always catch up.“
@vivian_hugo_ilysm : DID HE JUST CONFIRM IT?! 'Yes, she is my girlfriend' I AM SCREAMING HE LOOKS SO PROUD 😭 I LOVE THEM SM
@kunigami_we_missed_you : HE IS WHIPPED Y’ALL."
@reo_nagi_are_at_it_again : MAMA AND PAPA
@ alexis ness_is_da_goat : They definitely insult each other 24/7, I love them.
@sae_rin_pls_communicate : Julian saying 'If she wants me to chase her, I am the fastest sprinter in France—I will always catch up' is lowkey the most romantic and arrogant thing he has ever said….
@teddy_paddington : Istg i mever saw this man spend sm time during his interviews he is always sarcastic but the whole 20-minute post-match press conference was js him giggling and talking about his girlfriend…
@vivianhugo_and_julianloki : She only claims me when I score goals or buy her shoes’ LMAO she’s so real for that."
Once the interview session finally ended, it was only a few hours before you found yourself thoroughly bombarded by a very happy man.
“Julian, stop it,” you complained, though the words lacked any real bite. You tried to push his shoulders away, but it was like trying to move a solid brick wall.
He kept his hands locked securely on your hips, easily pulling your waist flush against his.He didn't listen to your protests at all. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss right against your cheek.
“Julian, I'm serious—”
Gave you another one on the other cheek.
“Get off me, you giant bum—”
This time right on your forehead, knocking your head back slightly.
“I mean it!” you laughed, your hands pressing hard against his chest as you desperately tried to push him away more, your deadpan facade completely shattering.
Finally he caught your lips with a final, lingering kiss that completely made you give in, your arms losing their strength as you melted against him.
Julian pulled back just an inch, his chest rumbly with a breathless, triumphant laugh as he looked down at your flushed face. His fingers dug into your hips affectionately, anchoring you to him.
“There she is,” he murmured, his eyes having absolute adoration looking at you.
“You are incredibly annoying,” you sighed, giving his chest one last, weak shove before resting your hands flat against his jersey. “And you're sweaty. Go shower before you ruin my clean couch.”
“I love you..” Julian said..kissing your temple’s but you ignored him making Julian scoff tilting his head back. You rolled your eyes, pointing a firm finger toward the hallway. “Go. Shower. Now.”
Julian nodded, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he began to back away toward the bathroom. “Alright, alright, I am going. See? I am completely obedient for you.”
“Say something again and I’m banning you. Go. Shower.”
But the second you let your guard down and lowered your hand, Julian leaned forward and stole one more loud, lingering kiss right on your lips, catching you completely off guard. You gasped into the kiss, your hands automatically coming up to shove his chest away, but he was already laughing into your mouth.
Julian pulled back instantly, dodging your swatting hand with a triumphant chuckle. And spun around and sprinted down the hallway toward the bathroom.
You shook your head, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, though the massive, happy smile on your face completely gave you away. Walking into the living room, you looked over at your gorgeous new Hermès Birkin bag sitting safely on the sofa, and then down at the grass-stained match ball resting on the hallway.
You let out a soft sigh, “Yeah, okay... I guess this is my life now,” you murmured to yourself…
Written by Jammy. Please do not copy and paste or feed my work into an AI. This was completely written by hand, thank you for stopping by and reading!
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CONTAINS — codependence, limerence, toxicity, manic shidou, adhd charles, shizophrenic bachira, manipulation/shidou’s a big fat liar, suggestive dialogue, catcalling, violence, mentions of domestic violence
disclaimer: i am in no way romanticizing mental illnesses or psychiatric facilities. the events below are strictly fictional and are in no way a reflection of life inside mental institutions. this is purely for entertainment purposes and is to be treated as such.
“nurse!!! that freaky schizophrenic bit me!”
a voice shrills across the hallway of your room, and as you step out, a blonde boy runs past you in a hurry, holding his arm like it was going to fall off any minute.
a naked man follows him, clad in only his boxers and some socks. there’s a glimmer in his pupils, and you’ve stuck around the psych long enough to know what those eyes mean.
“ahh shit,” a voice spawns behind you, and you don’t even need to turn around to identify the speaker, “i think this is my fault…” he chuckles.
“how come?” you scoff, watching as the two boys run around the lobby like headless chickens. it’s still early—at least a quarter before the designated wake up schedule, which means the nurses are still busy prepping and the other patients are still asleep.
shidou giggles as he steps forward, placing himself by your side as the two of you admire the view, “i drew a pentagram on the wall because bachira pissed me off. think i triggered him…” he looks up, a finger on his chin as if to ponder.
you turn your head slowly, not quite comprehending what he said. “you… drew a pentagram on the wall… knowing your roommate’s schizophrenic?” you ask.
he shrugs, “he drew a dick on my coloring page.”
“on the wall, though? what did you even use?”
“i snuck one of the crayons in between my toes,” he smirks proudly, looking at you as if he were expecting some praise.
“get away from me, i don’t want rabies—!”
later that day, you lounge by the common area, bored out of your mind. you’re sitting down on the couch, watching the television with a pillow on your lap as you scroll through the channels.
it’s been a few months since you and shidou were turned in by the police. you’ve since taken the time to truly reevaluate your priorities, which thankfully helped you in getting better. your head’s clearer, and you’re not as angry or irritable anymore.
when you were sixteen or so, your first therapist told you that irritability is often a manifestation of melancholy, and that sometimes, it’s not you speaking—it’s grief. grief for all you’ve lost, all the people, but most of all, it’s grief for the idealized version of you that never was, the person that you think you’d be, had you avoided all the traumatic events you’d gone through.
you didn’t learn much from her, but you did learn that, at least.
it’s helped you find inner clarity, and before you knew it, your discharge papers were being processed, and your sessions have been less about your symptoms and more about outside plans, aftercare, and follow-up appointments.
the local psychiatrist’s been looking more and more satisfied with you throughout your talks, and you were even relieved off of nurse surveillance. the world seems brighter this time around, and though the past few months have served as a wonderful opportunity for you to really build your sense of identity, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t miss this place once you’re out.
“i’m tellin ya—! mppfh… ‘t’wasn’t me—!”
you roll your eyes as you turn around on the sofa to see shidou in a straightjacket and a dog muzzler, thrashing as he’s strapped to a board. that’s one thing not to miss, at least.
“thisissoexcessive! i’m suing you all! i’ll kill you!” his yelling comes out muffled as you see two nurses roll him away, one with a red crayon on her hand.
even from outside, you’re able to see the naked man from earlier—who is now dressed, thankfully—shake his head as he watches shidou get dragged out of their room.
he huffs and, as if talking to someone else, he pouts, “i know, right? that’s what he gets for trying to scare me!”
a tap on your shoulder alerts you, and when you turn around, it’s the same blonde boy from earlier as well.
he offers you a cheshire-like smile, then introduces himself. “i’m charles, what is your name?” his french accent is thick as he speaks, his snaggletooth glinting under the lights.
“oh, uh… i’m—“
“actually, i already know who you are,” he cuts off, hands on his hips as he proudly boasts. “shidou told me you’re his girlfriend, and he said you’re really crazy!” his eyes sparkle with adoration as he says the last part, looking up at you with eyes as big as the sun.
“…he said that?” your eyes narrow, feeling your annoyance for shidou grew.
“yup!” the boy—charles—nods eagerly. “he said you’re really fun, but you’re going away soon…” he looks down, as if disappointed, “so i asked the nurses for your contact info!” he smiles.
“my contact info?”
“but err, they said contacting people you meet from the psych ward is prohibited, but i’m a contrarian, see?” he giggles, rambling, “so i figured it out! come!”
charles takes you by the arm and sits you down on a table before running off and coming back with a box of scrabble.
he lays out the board and spreads the letters across, then looks at you.
“we can pretend to play! here,”
he lays out his first word, c-h-e-v-a-l-i-e-r.
“that is my last name! now your turn.”
you sigh, but reluctantly put spell out your last name under his. “so, charles, what brings you here, anyway?” you ask, trying to put on a pretense of actually playing by rounding up all the squares and putting them back in the bag before giving charles a select few, then taking some for yourself.
“i like to parkour, and i got caught trespassing more than once. so, to avoid juvie, i said it was because of my adhd. i thought they’d let me go but they put me here,” he says, dejected at the memory.
“oh!”
“yes, and shidou tells me you like parkour, too! he said we can all play together when we get out, that’s why i approached you!”
charles adds on a word, connecting it to his name.
i-n-s-t-a.
you take the hint, writing down your handle as you look for the right letters. apparently shidou’s told him all about you.
“so, where is your most impressive jump, mademoiselle?” charles asks, spelling out what you assume is his own instagram as you finish.
“i jumped a guy in back in junior high school, does that count?” you say, not really knowing how to respond.
charles laughs, throwing his head back, “you’re really funny! is it true you tried to kill shidou?”
“that’s… an exaggeration,” you say bashfully.
“but you harmed him, no?”
“yeah.”
“and you threaten him a lot?”
“…yeah.”
“and you ran away with him?”
“okay, yeah, but—“
“so you two are together! i thought he was joking when he said that. you’re too pretty for him,” he says, cleaning up the board.
“wait, that’s it?” you ask, confused.
charles clears out every tile except for the ones that spell out your instagram, “mhm. i don’t want to put too many words, otherwise i’ll get confused. i got a concussion when a guy kicked a ball into my head two weeks ago.”
“…but you were admitted here three weeks ago?”
“oh! maybe it was four weeks ago, then,” he says, handling the box with care as to not shuffle the tiles and mess up the order, “goodbye, mrs. shidou!”
the following week, you’re packing your bags when a knock on your door stops you. you turn around to see shidou, finally released and out of his straightjacket… in a suit?!
“are you tung tung? ‘cause i’m tryna give you some tongue tongue!” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a huge grin.
you scoff and stand up to walk towards him, eyeing him up and down, “what’s this about? and what happened to you? you had on a muzzle and everything last time i saw you.”
shidou scoffs, “they hit the pentagon.”
“what?”
“nah, i’m kidding. they found my pentagram,” he says, “now will you come with me? there’s something i gotta show you.”
you look at him suspiciously as he offers you his hand.
“um… no thanks, i have to pack.”
shidou huffs and pouts as you turn around and go back to your bag. he follows you inside, and to your surprise, presents you a bouquet of paper flowers—thin, little pieces of white stick out, mimicking baby’s breaths as a variety of bigger, more colorful flowers surrounds them, a haze of pink and yellow capturing your haze as you gape at them.
“what the fuck…” you say, taking it from him as you look at it, examining from all angles. the handiwork is amazing—this could easily pass as something made by a professional origami artist. “did you make this?” you ask.
shidou gloats, “yeah, in your favorite colours, too.”
“you don’t even know my favorite colours.”
“well, whatever it is, it’s pink and yellow now. ‘cause you like my hair.”
“i don’t like your hair.”
“you like me, though.”
“not even close,” you try to deadpan, holding in your smile, “but, um… thanks. this is really nice.”
shidou smiles, “you’re welcome. now come with me, i gotta show you something.”
“tsk,” you click your tongue disapprovingly, “ryusei, i told you. i’m busy.”
“what if i say please?”
you sigh. it’s clear he’s not letting up anytime soon.
“fine. but be quick, okay?”
“well, i do love quickies,” he chuckles to himself, leading you to the cafeteria.
once you get there, your eyes widen at the sight. there are makeshift banners hanging on the ceiling, multiple pieces of paper glued together and cut up into a lace-like design. the tables are decorated with smaller versions of the bouquet in your hands, and there’s a cake and a few boxes of sweets in front. down across the room, bachira and charles both stand, adorned in a suits as bachira holds… a bible?
“what is this?” you ask, looking at shidou as you scoff.
“our wedding!” he smiles, hands on his hips as he looks at you proudly, “i had to beg on my knees for the nurses to order us some outside food, especially after i yelled at them last week that i’d kill them, but at least the art therapist was on board when i explained my plan!”
you furrow your brows, looking shidou up and down in mock sympathy as you speak, “ryusei, i didn’t know you also had delusions of grandeur… have you spoken to your psychiatrist about this?”
“stop playing and come with me to do our vows. you know, it took me at least four hours to convince bachira that he’s a priest. perks of having a schizophrenic roommie,” he says, looking over at said roommie, who’s currently nodding as he reads the bible.
you giggle, unable to hold back your appreciation. “okay, fine. but i don’t know my vows,” you say, taking his hand in yours as you walk down the “aisle”.
“me neither, let’s just wing it,” he says.
the mock wedding goes on for a little bit, with bachira scolding shidou every time he cursed during his vows or mentioned your body, claiming it was disrespectful and lustful, and insisting they started the entire ceremony again. the other patients—or guests, rather—started getting so annoyed to the point where they threatened to throw tomatoes at him.
“hey! violence is a no-no!” bachira retorts.
the day ends with you and shidou sitting down on your own table, a single slice of shared cake in front of you as the others eat and converse.
“ryusei?”
“mhm?” he asks, hand on your ass as you lean your head against his shoulder, your entire body tilted in his direction.
“i know i can be difficult so… thanks for sticking around,” you say, looking up at his pink eyes. you gulp as a wave of bashfulness takes over you, “and… thanks for this, as well. this was a great going away party. even if you don’t call it that,” you look over at your hand, a push pop ring wrapped around your finger.
“yeah, praise me more, baby. i’m so hard,” shidou chuckles, deep from his chest as it heaves, before you smack him, “kidding! just remember you’re married when you leave this place, a’ight?”
it’s been a couple weeks after you got discharged. despite visiting the ward weekly for your scheduled appointments, you haven’t seen nor heard from shidou even once after your mock marriage, which was weird, even for shidou. this was the guy who pulled the fire alarm to run away with you after seeing a few minutes of your vulnerable side—there’s no way he hadn’t thought of a way to contact you, right? even if it weren’t for the prohibition of electronics inside the ward, there was always physical letters, or at least showing up whenever you dropped by.
you take a deep breath as you push away those thoughts. it wasn’t like overthinking it was going to magically make him appear in front of you, anyway. you’re not a princess, and this isn’t a fairytale, and you definitely don’t keep the paper flowers in your closet, where you see it everyday before your day begins.
as you walk, you open your phone to check for any notifications you might’ve missed. you bring your drink up to your lips, and you’re about to take a sip when…
“ou shi—“ “fuck!”
the liquid spills out against the the concrete sidewalk, ruined as your cup continues to drip.
the sun is hot against your skin, but it pales in comparison to the temperature at which your blood boils. you had been looking forward to that specific beverage all week—the local coffee shop near your house, which had been all the craze in your town, was always packed full. this was the first time you were able to purchase something without having to fight off like you were souls in hell, desperate to crawl out.
you look up to see the perpetrator, and it’s none other than…
shidou?! out in public? in your neighborhood?!
“what the fuck, man?!” you yell, unable to contain your temper.
shidou puts his hands up in mock surrender, “okay, baby, i swear that wasn’t on purpose—“
“no, you need to get a new drink. you need to replace this shit,” you press, walking over to him as your nail digs into his chest accusingly.
shidou chuckles, putting his hands down as one of them holds yours. does he think this is a fucking joke?! you quickly snap back your hand, repulsed at the contact.
“hey, if you wanted to go for a drink with me, you could’ve just asked,” his smug smirk appears yet again, and you can confidently say that you’ve never been more annoyed at a sight.
“shidou, i’m fucking serious!”
“shidou..? what happened to ryusei?” he asks, face transitioning to a perplexed expression.
you sigh, a shaky breath escaping you as you try to hold onto your patience for dear life. “i don’t know, actually, what did happen?” you sass.
shidou scoffs, amused, “okay, fine, princess. i’ll get you your coffee. which way’s the cafe?” he asks.
“ugh, forget it! i’m gonna be late, and the cafe’s probably jampacked by now,” you huff, walking away from him.
shidou follows you, turning around, “hey, what’s the big deal? we haven’t seen each other in a while. don’t you want to watch up with your husband?”
husband?! the audacity…
you stop in your tracks, scoffing as you look him dead in the eyes, “you have some nerve calling yourself that.”
“what’s the big deal?”
he’s so stupid, it hurts sometimes.
you roll your eyes and hopelessly walk away, leaving shidou in the sidewalk as he watches you go, frozen in confusion.
he wouldn’t admit it, so you wouldn’t say it. simple as that.
later that night, you’re outside as you try to catch a cab. it’s nearing midnight, definitely past safe-lady-hours. all taxis drive past you, either already with passengers or on their way home.
a man approaches you from behind, “well, damn. nice ass, sexy.”
you don’t have to turn around to know he’s ogling at you. you sigh, ignoring him as you wait for a ride.
“hey, didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to ignore people?”
“and didn’t anyone ever tell you to respect women?”
fucking superman over here, you roll your eyes, turning around to see shidou… in a scooter?!
“you need a ride, baby?” he asks, smiling at you as he leaned over the handlebars.
“what the…”
“hey!” the man from earlier shouts, “i got dibs on this one, she’s mine.”
shidou rolls closer to the man, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing at the sight. a dark skinned man of 185 centimeters and 172 pounds of muscle, rolling in a pink scooter with stickers plastered all over it, a menacing look in his face.
he towers over the creep, looking down on him with a grin, “you deaf or something? ‘cause i can sign for you if that’s the the case,” he says, then proceeds to put up his middle finger, “you know what this means?”
the guy scoffs, then throws shidou a punch, making the latter stumble back a few steps. the scooter falls down on the pavement as shidou wipes his now-bloody nose, scoffing as he stares the guy down.
shidou chuckles, giggling like a maniac before his fist connects with the man’s nose. blood gushes out immediately, dripping down onto the concrete, some spilling onto your cheeks. he doesn’t let the guy recover before he grabs his head and bangs their skulls together.
“fuck—! that’s it, that’s the good stuff…” shidou laughs wholeheartedly before pressing the man’s cheeks together and staring him dead in the eyes, “let’s do something about that tongue of yours next, yeah?”
the man thrashes against his hold, clearly terrified as he runs away without a word, almost tripping as he huffs.
shidou sighs before throwing his hair back and rubbing his forehead, then glancing at you, “sorry, baby… you’re still my number one, don’t worry,” he smiles.
“ryusei, you’re a fucking maniac,” you say, wiping the spilled blood off your cheeks.
“yeah, and you love it,” he picks up the pink scooter and hops on before rolling over to you, “i’ll drop you off, yeah, wifey?”
“no, i’m fucking serious,” you say, backing away. “this isn’t the psych ward anymore, you could… you could get arrested, or worse, what if that guy comes back for you and he’s with his friends?” your throat dries at the thought, eyes wandering around in a panic.
shidou blinks at your direction a couple times, “…but you’ve seen worse shit than that, what’s the problem?”
“the problem is it was okay at the hospital because there were nurses! and it’s different when you’re in an episode—you have no control over your actions! you can’t do that shit out here, ryu!” you practically cry as you speak, tears filling your waterline.
shidou grins, “are you worried about me?”
you scoff, looking away as you shake your head—not in denial, but in disbelief. you open your mouth to answer, but no noise comes out.
“you used to bash my head in and now you’re scared of a splash of blood,” he giggles.
“i don’t think i want to be around you right now, shidou…” you say, avoiding his gaze as you fidget.
shidou scoffs, then lets the scooter fall down on the pavement as he approaches you.
you squirm under his gaze, feeling small. he takes your chin and forces you to look up, your eyes doing anything but meeting his.
“look at me,” he commands.
you gulp as you reluctantly obey, still fidgeting with your fingers.
“what’s wrong?” shidou asks, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious. was it because of the change of environment?
you shake your head. “i just… don’t feel safe around a man right now,” you answer as vague as possible, gaze leaving his.
“bullshit,” he says, “tell me the truth.”
you sigh. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that shidou doesn’t stop unless he’s got what he wants.
“i… i’ve seen men beating up their spouses before. i don’t want… i mean,” you look down on your fingers, unable to find the right words, “i just… think that a violent man will always remain a violent man, regardless of the victim.”
a few seconds go by without either of you talking, and for a moment, the world seems to pause.
“yeah, fuck,” he scratches the back of his neck, “guess that did look pretty bad, huh? but… i’m not going to do that to you.”
you look him in the eyes, your brows furrowed in worry.
he chuckles, “it is taking everything in me not to make a kinky joke right now.”
you shake your head, looking away, “you say that but you’ve already hurt me.”
“what are you…”
“you didn’t write, you didn’t call. i know you asked charles to get my contact information, shidou. and you didn’t do anything,” you practically beg as you speak.
shidou shakes his head, “no, no, baby. i did, but he wouldn’t tell me. he wouldn’t give it to me. says he’s a contrarian or something—i don’t even think 15 year olds are allowed to work in construction.”
“and when i dropped by at the ward to visit, you were never there.”
“because i was strapped down in the iso room!”
“then how did you find me? you couldn’t have looked for me earlier?”
“i just got out three days ago! i’ve been looking all over for you,” he says, voice desperate.
shidou falls down to his knees in front of you and rubs his face against your thighs. “baby… c’mon, i’d never swing on you,” he says, “i’m too terrified of you. i almost got a concussion last time,” he chuckles.
you look down at him, still not fully convinced.
shidou reaches into his pocket and pulls out a push pop ring—the very same one that he used during your mock marriage.
“doc keeps telling me i’m too fucked up to date and that i gotta work on myself, all that…” he shrugs, and for the first time, you see shidou hesitate, clearly choosing his words carefully, “but… you’ve seen me screaming, strapped down, and covered on blood. you… make me feel like i still deserve love despite my problems.”
You don’t really know how you were able to met Bunny Iglesias. You remember meeting him at a party bar, where you were dragged by your friends who wanted to party during your vacation in Barcelona.
The memory was blurry by how much alcohol and laughs you had. Your eyes wondered across the sea of people and there you saw a pale lavender-ish haired man hunched over the bar and you were talking about how “pretty” he was and dumbfoundly your friends decided to dare you to go up to him and ask him out.
That was why you were out here drunk and giggling standing in-front of this man.
“Hello…mister...” you went up there with full—fake—confidence, hiding your anxiousness of making a fool of yourself in-front a random stranger when he heard you, it made him pique his interest.
The white-haired man glanced up from his drink, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Lo siento, preciosa , pero no entiendo inglés,” the man said with an amused chuckle. You blinked at him for a moment before pointing triumphantly at yourself.
“Uhmm..” you muttered while internally cussing at yourself for being dumb and coming up here, why in the hell did you agreed to your friends stupid dare..
“!Sí! ¡Te entiendo un poco..”You held your fingers a tiny distance apart. “Mi español es…” You searched desperately for the word before blurting out, “…muy malo…hablo un poco español.”
Bunny just laughed at you and let you continued on while eyeing at your figure trying to come up with what to say next
“¿Tú…” you mumbled, squinting as if the words might magically appear in your head. “Eh…tú..eres…muy…” You frowned while trying to concentrate on what to say . “¿Guapo?… ¿Tú… entiendes?”
Then you burst into laughter before he could answer, covering your face with both hands.
“Sorry,” you giggled. “My friends—mis amigos—uhm…they dared me to come ask you out.” You pointed vaguely toward the group of girls snickering from across the bar. “They’re probably laughing at me right now.” You laughed and brushed off the strand of hair blocking your face, “I’m sorry about that..” then you flashed him a smile.
You were so busy laughing at yourself that you completely missed the way the white-haired man looked at you. For a brief moment, Bunny simply stared. It was a bit late in the relationship to realize this, but you finally discovered that Bunny, per se, didn’t like to see people happy.
That realization made you freeze because when you first met, you were drunk and laughing.
“But you see, cariño,” Bunny murmured, “your laugh was so pretty and effortless. I love to hear it, whether it is loud or quiet.”
That’s what he said….
It wasn’t often someone approached him without recognizing who he was—without wanting a picture, an autograph, or something in return. As a rising football star, he enjoyed going out in public to eat or visit bars, but tonight he had been dragged out because the FC Barcha squad wanted to party at this specific spot.
Bunny assumed you probably had no idea who he was. It made him chuckle, knowing you had the guts to embarrass yourself in front of a stranger—let alone a famous athlete.
He rested an elbow against the counter, the corner of his lips curling into an amused smile.
“Qué desastre eres,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. “Pero eres adorable.”
You blinked hearing him murmured those words, you swallowed and gulped down knowing that either this man was accepting your clumsy flirting to him.
He tilted his head, ruby-red eyes catching the warm glow of the bar lights as they settled on you.
“Si me lo pides otra vez…” he said smoothly, “…esta vez diré que sí.”
You stared blankly. “…What…?”
His smile only widened—just a little.
“You don’t fully speak Spanish.”
You shook your head sheepishly. “Not…really…just a bit..but I’m not…good…”
He took a slow sip of his drink before looking back at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“So what did you say?”
“I just said…” He let the sentence hang on purpose, enjoying your confused expression. “…something nice to you.” Then he flashed you a smile.
“Oh…were you flirting?”
His chuckle answered the question before he did.
“Maybe.” He said on a humming note,
“Oh well…,” You laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.
“Sorry for bothering you,” you said with an embarrassed grin. “I’ll… uh…go before my friends make fun of me even more.”
You turned your body to leave him, your face silently flushing with embarrassment. But before you could take more than a single step, gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist.
You turned back around.
There was a large hand that grabbed your wrist, that belonged to him, gripping you in a strange, possessive sort of way. He was still perched on the barstool, holding you loosely but firmly, his expression completely relaxed and still wearing a smile. Yet, there was an unmistakable curiosity dancing in his red eyes.
“Espera,” he murmured. He smiled to himself, watching your reaction before smoothly switching to English.
“What’s your name, cariño?”
Yeah, there was absolutely no doubt this man was flirting with you. Even if your Spanish wasn’t great, you weren’t that oblivious.
“Oh... my name? Well, it's—” You glanced to the side, trying to pull away, seemingly deciding if you wanted to continue on but you saw your friends smiling and giggling.
The only reason this all happened the first place was you thought he was pretty and hot…that was all…and now..you had to deal with the consequences.
“Cariño, it pains me that you don’t even want to tell me your name,” he interrupted your train of thought playfully.
You rolled your eyes lightly. “Well, my name is […]”
He smiled, the grip on your wrist loosening into a gentle stroke. “See? Isn't that hard to tell me.”
“Uhhhm...yeah”
He repeated your name slowly, tasting the syllables and making sure he pronounced every single one correctly before nodding to himself. “It suits you.”
You nodded your head. “And yours?”
He grinned, leaning a bit closer. “Bunny.”
You stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “...You’re lying.”
“I’m not, cariño.”
“...Your parents looked at a tiny baby and said, ‘Yeah, Bunny. We should definitely name him Bunny’?” Your dry joke broke through his smug exterior, making him laugh—a genuine, bright sound this time. “It sounds like naming your pet bunny or a cartoon character, are you sure that’s your name…bunny?”
“Maybe,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “But my name is Bunny. Bunny Iglesias.”
He rested his chin in his palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though your disbelief was the absolute funniest thing he had heard all week.
You blinked, the full name echoing in your mind. “Iglesias... that sounds familiar...”
He tilted his head, his smile widening as he watched the realization slowly dawn on your face. He didn't offer any clues, clearly enjoying the way your brow furrowed as you tried to place where you had heard that name before.
"Familiar, huh?" he echoed, his deep voice carrying a trace of an amused purr.
Your eyes darted from his striking red eyes to the expensive, athletic cut of his jacket, and then past his shoulder toward the VIP lounge.
Across the bar, a group of loud, athletic-looking men in casual outfits were laughing and downing shots. One of them wore a shirt with a distinct, golden crest—the unmistakable logo of FC Barcha
Your jaw dropped slightly. Your mind raced back to the sports headlines, the viral football clips, edits, and the roaring stadiums. Bunny Iglesias. The New Generation World XI forward. The rising prodigy of Spanish football.
You were currently getting hit on by a world-class athlete whose face was plastered on billboards across Europe and the one that you saw many edits about…
“Oh my god…” you opened your mouth widely which just made him more amused about this unlikely interaction you were having.
"You..." you stammered, pointing a finger at him. "You play for Barcelona. You're that Iglesias. Like…THE IGLESIAS.”
Bunny let out a soft, delighted chuckle, finally releasing his grip on your wrist only to slide his hand down to catch your fingers.
He gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"Ah, so you do know me," he said, pretending to look disappointed. "And here I thought I finally met someone who just liked me for my charming personality”
Bunny leaned in closer, his chest shaking with a silent laugh as he took in your sheer, wide-eyed panic.
He could practically see your hesitation and embarrassment with you turning your head and close your eyes as you mentally prayed to every deity in existence to open up the floor and swallow you whole.
“Fuck me… fuck me…fuck me and my absolute, peak-level stupidity.”
You repeated the phrase like a manic; inside your head, you were having an entire internal monologue while fighting the urge to hysterically laugh out loud because you felt like everything was a dream and you weren’t even in spain. “It’s fine. It’s totally okay. I can just… walk away. I'll just say 'adios' and leave. I surrender…He’ll let me go… right? Right. Yeah. Sure. For someone named after a harmless little rabbit, why the fuck does he look so terrifyingly intense right now?”
Your body language was completely giving you away that you were regretting and facing humiliation in-front of him by how your hands were balled into tight fists at your sides, and your knuckles turning white as you seemingly trembled right where you stood.
You couldn't tell if the shaking was because:
1. You were still undeniably a little drunk from the bar's cocktails and a migraine was forming.
2. The sheer adrenaline of actually going through with your friends' stupid dare was finally crashing down on you. Plus you and your friends all screaming and laughing too loud.
3. You had just completely, thoroughly embarrassed yourself in front of a total stranger. Who was THE Bunny Iglesias and you’ve kinda just went up to him and flirted.
4. You actually kinda…no..REALLY like him—and this dare was absolutely not supposed to go this way.
5. Lastly why the fuck was he looking at you like that?
You bit the inside of your cheek, your wide eyes locked onto his. Bunny didn't look offended, and he certainly didn't look bored of you. Instead, he leaned forward against the counter, his broad shoulders shifting as his gaze entirely consuming you.
The famous forward player, Bunny Iglesias, looked at your flushed, trembling self and completely fallen in love with you taking his breath away.
“Shot of expresso or whatever they say…pretty sure you can imagine the song “Take your breath away by Berlin playing in his head.”
“Qué pasa, cariño?” he purred, his voice dropping into a low, velvety tone that did nothing to help your racing heart. “¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato?”
He didn't bother translating, completely aware that the more he spoke in Spanish the more it made your brain short-circuit further. He rested his cheek against his knuckles, while his vibrant red eyes locking onto yours with absolute amusement.
“No te preocupes, no muerdo... a menos que me lo pidas,” he whispered, a wicked grin stretching across his handsome face.
You just stood there, entirely frozen. Still staring at him completely just looking at him, ignoring everyone else.
“You’ll condemn yourself if you fumble this. You would literally start crying. You’ll be one of those people on TikTok with tragic lore like, ‘Yeah, a famous person was genuinely interested in me but I said no,’ and everyone in the comments would cry for you and calling you out.”
To be honest, the more you stared down at him—watching the easy, relaxed way he smiled up at you, and the rugged line of his cross-shaped facial scar made you look more at his face, completely allured by his smile.
To you... he was absolutely beautiful. He was charming and his presence was entirely overwhelming. But you can't give in yet.
“No... get a hold of yourself. Please do not give in to temptation. Mother Mary, please grant me strength, do not let me fold right now.”
Bunny noticed the sudden, frantic shift in your expression, your internal panic evidently painting itself all over your face.
A low, thoroughly amused rumble shook his chest as he shifted his weight, his thumb running over your knuckles one more time.“¿Qué pasa, mi vida?” he murmured, his deep Castilian accent wrapping around you like red velvet. “Estás pensando demasiado. Sé que te mueres por decir que sí, así que deja de pelear contigo misma.”
He didn't translate a single word, but the, confident gleam in his red eyes told you everything you needed to know.
Please, someone, anyone, my mom calling me and scolding me, my friends screaming and needing for help , a sudden bar fight—literally anything to save me, you pleaded to the heavens.
He reached out, his thumb gently brushing against your burning cheek. “Awh, princesa... it’s no fun when you go completely silent on me,” he teased in English, his smirk widening as he took in your flushed face. “Or are you just realizing how much trouble you are really in?”
You couldn't even form a coherent sentence. His gaze was so heavy, so entirely focused on you, that it left no room for doubt—this man wanted you, and he wanted you badly.
He let out a soft, delighted laugh, the sound low and entirely smug. “I am teasing you, cariño. Relax,” he said, his red eyes dancing with amusement. “Though… I think your friends owe me a massive apology now.”
You glanced across the crowded bar, where your friends were practically pressed against the opposite wall, frantically whispering and watching your every move from afar.
“They’re probably convinced you rejected me, by how you aren’t even speaking nor sitting down beside me..”Bunny reasoned, his grin only widening.
“I don’t think I did…,” you mumbled, your voice a little breathless.
Bunny’s fingers loosened around your wrist, though he didn’t let go immediately.
Instead, his thumb lightly stroked the sensitive skin of your pulse point, a slow, deliberate touch meant to keep you rooted to the spot. “You should stay.”
You looked at him, completely surprised. Then A small, soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I like you..”
You blinked, your heart doing a violent flip and a blush appeared on your cheeks.
“And your smile,” he added, his voice dropping into a smooth, quiet purr that was purely meant to fluster you even further.
For a second, you simply stared at him, your brain stalling out entirely under the sheer weight of his flirting. “…That’s, uh…”
You reached up and awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, unable to stop the nervous, breathless laugh that slipped out. “…Kind of a weird thing to say to someone you met, like… a minute ago.”
“It is?” He pondered fakingly, tilting his head with an expression of pure, innocent confusion that didn't match the hungry gleam in his red eyes at all.
“…Yeah,” you nodded quickly then laughed it off out loud, “hahahaha…that’s..your so funny…I should leave!”
“Awh, princesa why are you so scared, I mean it,” he said easily. He leaned just a fraction closer, his broad shoulders cutting off the rest of the noisy bar until it felt like it was just the two of you. “Me encantas, de verdad. I don't say things I don't mean, cariño.”
You looked at him suspiciously, your eyes narrowing as you tried to decide if this was all just a game to a famous athlete who was used to getting whatever he wanted especially since he was such a smooth talker he probably did this to many girls.
“…Do you tell everyone that?”
“No.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
His answer came so easily, so completely unbothered, that it caught you entirely off guard. He wasn’t even trying to impress you or put on a show.
If anything, he looked genuinely amused by the fact that you found his sudden, intense attraction to you so hard to believe.
“I don’t believe it,” you muttered, trying to inject some steel back into your voice despite your pounding head. “You probably did this to many girls before.”
Bunny paused, his thumb continuing that slow, agonizingly brushstroke against your wrist.
He didn't look offended by your accusation. If anything, your skepticism only seemed to fuel his amusement.
He tilted his head, his sharp red eyes locking onto yours “¿Eso crees?” he murmured softly, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
“You think I spend my free time wandering around Barcelona plazas holding the hands of random tourists?”
“I mean... you are a famous football player,” you countered, crossing your arms while he still held your wrist. “It’s kind of in the job description, isn’t it?”
Bunny let out a low, breathy chuckle, leaning in just closer. Making you shudder and step back.”
“Te equivocas, cariño. I don't chase people. I don't have the patience for it.”His grip softened, his fingers sliding down to catch yours, locking them securely. “But you...I like you..and I don’t lieee…” he hummed.
You swallowed hard, your eyes darting down to his lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to his vibrant red gaze.
“You're… you're doing this on purpose,” you stammered, your face burning so hot you were certain you were glowing under the dim bar lights. “You’re just trying to mess with me.”
“¿Yo?” Bunny feigned innocence, putting a hand over his chest while his grip on your wrist tightened just enough to tug you half an inch closer.
“ Oh I would never. I am just a lonely football player enjoying the company of a very pretty, very loud girl who crashed into my night.”
“I wasn't loud,” you protested weakly, though your voice lacked any real bite.
“You were laughing at yourself so hard you almost tripped over your own feet,” he corrected cheerfully, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest.
“It is amusing, And now, you are standing here trembling like a little bunny, looking at me like you want to run away.”
“Ironic, because you are the bunny here,” you muttered under your breath. He paused, his gaze dropping to your balled fists before slowly traveling back up to lock onto your wide eyes
“But you aren't running,” he whispered, his voice dropping, “Why is that, cariño? Are you starting to like me back?”
You opened your mouth to deny it—to throw out another sarcastic joke or insist that you were being played trapped—but the words completely died in your throat.
You let out a sharp, snarky huff, rolling your eyes as dramatically as your dizzy head would allow.
“Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself, conejo,” you shot back, using your terrible accent.
Bunny’s eyebrows shot up in pure delight, a bright, booming laugh escaping him.
“¿Conejo?” he echoed, his thumb tracing a smooth circle over your pulse point again, making your skin burn.
He looked down at your accusing finger, then back up to your lips, his gaze darkening. Which made you look away, making you internally question this man more, ‘genuinely why is he looking at me like that’
“You like the menace, don't you?” Bunny joked while making a whistling sound.
“I hate you,” you groaned, burying your burning face into your free hand while your heart hammered violently against your ribs.
“Mentirosa,” he chuckled softly, his grip on your wrist softening into a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“You don't hate me at all. Now, sit down before you actually fall over, cariño.”
As he guided you toward the stool, he wasn’t trying to impress you or put on a show. If anything, he looked genuinely serious on getting to know you and didn’t care about you being sarcastic back at him.
To a world-class athlete who usually dealt with people playing mind games, this was honesty one of the most funniest thing he'd encountered all year.
You pulled your hand back from your face, giving him a glaring, look. You dredged into your brain for the harsher vocabulary you’d picked up from your friends, from your own personal experience, determined to take that smug smirk off his face.
“Eres un bastardo molesto,” you snapped, your pronunciation completely ruined by the alcohol, turning the crisp insult into a slurred, tangled mess
Bunny froze for a split second, his red eyes widening. Then, a massive, delighted grin broke across his face, and he threw his head back with another booming laugh.
“¿Un bastardo molesto?” he echoed, leaning his forearms on the bar counter to bring himself right back into your space.
His thumb lazily swiped across your pulse point again, completely unfazed by your aggression. “Dios mío, cariño, you are horrible at pronouncing words, is it because you are drunk right now?”
“Stop laughing at me,” you groaned, your snarky confidence immediately deflating as your ears burned hotter, “I’m not drunk either…” you muttered under your breath.
“I am not laughing at you, I am admiring you,” he teased while making a purring sound. He leaned in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “Though, if you are going to call me a bastard in my own language, princesa, you should at least roll your R's correctly. Otherwise, it just sounds like you are begging me to kiss you to make you shut up.”
You let out a breathless, defeated gasp, completely short-circuiting at the sheer audacity of his dirty talk and pushing his face away from you . “I—I am not begging you for anything!”
“Mentirosa,” he whispered, his eyes he hummed and rolled his eyes.
“You walked over here because your friends dared you,” Bunny continued. “You embarrassed yourself trying to speak Spanish, laughed at yourself instead of getting upset, and apologized before leaving.”
He shrugged lightly. “I thought it was cute.”Your ears warmed instantly, the blood rushing straight to your face. Trying to escape his intense, focus on you. You glanced over your shoulder and only saw your friends had completely abandoned any attempt to be subtle.
They were practically pressed against the other side of the bar, huddled over their drinks, watching the two of you with expressions that screamed, Why is he still talking to you?!
Bunny followed your gaze toward the table of absolute chaos, a low, deep chuckle vibrating in his chest.
As you stood there completely still, your buzzed brain frantically trying to come up with a snarky comeback to salvage your pride, Bunny shifted.
His large fingers smoothly slipped away from your wrist, granting you a tiny bit of freedom. Yet, he didn’t actually back away. He remained leaned in close, hovering over the counter, leaving you trapped in his personal space.
You could easily catch the rich, faint scent of his expensive cologne. Across the room, you could practically hear the collective gasp from your friends.
The exact moment Bunny released your wrist, they exchanged frantic, wide-eyed glances, completely losing their minds as they began aggressively gesturing to one another from afar.
Bunny tilted his head, completely amused by the silent panic stretching across your face as you looked back and forth between him and your chaotic friends.
“They look very stressed over there, cariño,” Bunny murmured, He rested his chin on his palm, leaning his elbow on the bar counter so he was looking directly up into your eyes. “Are you worried they are going to come over here and rescue you from the big, scary football player?”
“They aren't going to rescue me,” you mumbled, your face still burning. “They’re probably just placing bets on how fast I’m going to fumble this.”
Bunny let out a low, delighted chuckle. “Then don't fumble it. Stay right here with me and prove them wrong.” He gestured with a slight nod of his head toward the space right beside him.
“You came all the way over here on a dare, you butchered my native language, you called me a rabbit, and you called me a bastard. You cannot leave now, princesa.”
Bunny watched them out of the corner of his eye, thoroughly amused by their dramatic reactions. He waved over the bartender with a casual flick of his wrist.
“¿Qué quieres tomar, cariño?” he asked, his voice softening as he looked back at you. He caught himself and flashed a quick, apologetic grin. “Sorry—what would you like to drink? My treat.”
You cleared your throat, trying to regain even a shred of your usual confidence. “Just a a margarita is fine. Thanks.”
He ordered the drinks; the bartender nodding respectfully before rushing off to prepare them.
Bunny then turned his full attention back to you, resting both elbows on the counter.
“So,” Bunny murmured, a playful glint returning to his red eyes. “Since you were brave enough to face a stranger on a dare... tell me, what else do you do for fun”
Before you could answer You glanced from the other side of the bar—completely going blank trying to put two in two together.
Then a chorus of muffled screaming erupted. Your friends had apparently given up on pretending not to watch. One of them shot straight out of their seat, both fists raised triumphantly in the air.
“THEY’RE STILL TALKING!”
“NO WAY!”
“SHE ACTUALLY SCORED!”
“Guys, wait—that’s Bunny! Like, the Bunny Iglesias! Oh my fucking gosh!” While their fingers aggressively flying across her phone screen as she typed into a search engine. “Look at his face. Look at those red eyes and that light hair. Tell me I’m crazy, but isn't that literally Bunny?”
“Bunny? Like a rabbit?” Another girl scoffed, trying to peer over her shoulder. “Girl, that man is built like a brick wall, what are you talking about?”
“No, you idiot! Bunny Iglesias!” The girl with the phone shoved the glowing screen directly into theur face. “The star forward for FC Barcha! Next to Lavinho! The New Generation World XI prodigy! Look at the stadium photo from last week's match! Look at the cross-shaped scar on his face!”
A collective, sharp gasp sucked all the air out of their side of the booth. Someone nearly choked on her drink, slamming her glass onto the table so hard the ice rattled.
“Oh my fucking god,” the girl whispered, her jaw completely dropping. “Our friend, OUR FRIEND, THE […] walked over there on a stupid twenty-euro dare that we made because we hyped her up to go over her ‘crush’ thinking he was a total nobody... and she accidentally reeled in a multi-millionaire international football star?!”
“Is he... wait, is he flirting with her?” The girl squinted, watching Bunny lean his broad shoulders over the counter, completely trapping you in his personal space.
“Look at his body language. He just took his hand out of his pocket and touched her wrist. Oh, he is down bad.”
“Look at her face, she’s literally so pink, awhh so cute! ,” someone giggled, while aggressively shaking the person who choked on their drink.
“Should we rescue her? What if he's an evil man” A worried tone emerged from the group.
“Are you insane? Rescue her from that?” The girl pointed her manicured finger across the room.
“Look at how he's looking at her! Like a starving man, plus she doesn’t look uncomfortable look at her.”
“She better treat us for lunch tomorrow.”
“As if we are even gonna see her tomorrow,” another teased, wiggling her eyebrows knowingly.
Bunny glanced over your shoulder toward the table of absolute chaos. One of your friends gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Another saluted him. A third mimed wiping away tears as if witnessing a beautiful romance unfold on a movie screen.
Bunny couldn’t help but laugh. “You have very… supportive and loving friends.” He raised an eyebrow, highly amused.
You sighed heavily. “I was supposed to walk over, embarrass myself, get turned down, and come crawling back. Instead…” You gestured weakly between the two of you.
“This happened.”
Across the room, one of your friends suddenly stood right up on a chair. “YO, [….]! ASK FOR THEIR NUMBER!”
Another immediately shouted back, “WE BELIEVE IN YOU!”
You groaned so loudly that several nearby patrons laughed. “I am never going out with them again.”
Bunny rested his chin against his hand, watching your flustered expression with obvious satisfaction. “I don’t know…” His smile softened. “I think I should thank them.”
You turned your head slowly, seeing him tapping his chin while resting his hand on his palm, eyeing you intently. “…Why do you want to do that?”
“Because if they hadn’t dared you…” His vibrant red eyes locked onto yours. “…you never would’ve come over and said hello mister.”
Bunny looked at you for a quiet moment before smiling to himself. A loose strand of your hair had fallen into your face. Without much thought, he reached over.
“¿Puedo?”
You caught that one. “…Sí.”
His fingers gently tucked the strand behind your ear before pulling away just as quickly.
His touch was light, almost absentminded, yet somehow it left your heart beating a little faster.
“There,” he said softly.
“…Gracias.”
“De nada.” He studied you for another second before a brilliant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “¿Siempre sonríes así?”
You blinked. “…Yeah, I’d say so.”
“I like it very much,” he chimed in..”
You let out a subtle laugh “You’re very confident.”
“I know that, cariño,” he countered smoothly. “If I wasn’t, then I’d have none.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “…Qué descarado.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh?”
He laughed, making the corners of his eyes crease. “ really I like talking to you.”
Your expression softened. “…You barely even know me.”
Before you could think of a comeback, he reached out again. This time, it wasn't for your hair. His finger lightly poked your cheek two times, making your eye twitch in surprise.
“…Oye.” You stared at him, dumbfounded. “…Did you just poke me?”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because it looked cute.”
“…That’s your explanation?” You laughed, gently swatting his hand away. “Qué raro eres.”
Bunny looked at you for a long moment, the amused smile on his face softening into something much quieter. “You know…” he murmured.
“Hm?”
“I think your friends are going to be very disappointed if you leave now.”
You followed his gaze. Across the bar, your friends were practically hanging over one another, shamelessly watching your every move. The moment they noticed you looking, they immediately started making exaggerated hand hearts and aggressive thumbs-up signs.
You groaned again. “I’m never speaking to them again.”
Bunny laughed. “I don’t believe you.”
A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Then, before you could say anything else, Bunny stepped just a little closer.
“¿Puedo?”
You blinked. “…What?”
He tapped a finger lightly against his own cheek, silently asking for permission. Realizing exactly what he meant, you let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “…Uh…”
You barely had time to nod before he leaned in and pressed the briefest, gentlest kiss against your cheek. It lasted less than a second before he pulled away. When he looked back at you, he was smiling.
“Buenas noches,” he said softly.
Your brain completely stopped working. “…I…” Heat rushed straight to your face, making your cheeks feel like they were on fire. “…Did you just—”
From across the bar, a deafening chorus erupted.
“HE DID IT!”
“NO WAY!”
“LET’S GOOOO!”
One of your friends nearly fell right off their stool. “I TOLD YOU THEY’D HIT IT OFF! Holy shit, they’re gonna be making out tonight!”
Another slammed both hands on the table. “Our vacation is peak, guys! We need to book another one for next year!”
Even the bartender looked over, trying—and failing—not to laugh at the spectacle. You covered your burning face with both hands. “Oh my god…”
Bunny glanced toward your cheering friends before looking back at you, completely amused by your reaction. “They seem happy.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “…You planned that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged innocently. “I only said goodnight.”
“…With a kiss.”
“In Spain,” he replied with a teasing smile, “we’re affectionate.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I have a feeling you don’t greet every stranger like that.”
His grin widened just enough to give his true intentions away. “I just only thought… you would smile again for me”
Your heart skipped a beat. From the other side of the bar came one final, roaring scream “KISS THEM BACK, [...]!”
You buried your face in your hands again. Bunny laughed so hard he literally had to lean against the counter for support. “Your friends are very enthusiastic and entertaining.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to hear about this for the rest of the trip.”
Across the room, one of your friends was dramatically fanning themselves while another pretended to wipe away tears of pride. “Guys, our mama is making it!” someone shouted. “DO NOT FUCKING FUMBLE THIS!”
“Shut up!” you called back, unable to stop yourself from laughing.
Bunny watched the exchange with an affectionate smile. “You laugh a lot.”
You looked back at him. “…Is that a bad thing?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes dropping to your lips for a lingering, heavy moment before snapping back to yours. “No. Me vuelve loco como te ríes, cariño,” he whispered, leaning in until the tips of your noses almost brushed.
“Te juro que me estás tentando demasiado. Deja de jugar conmigo.”
Your breath hitched. You knew enough Spanish to catch the meaning of his words—he was telling you that you were driving him crazy, that you were tempting him too much, and to stop playing games with him. You were pretty sure..
“I’m not playing games,” you lied, your voice smaller now, your fingers nervously tightening against your own sleeves.
You forced a defiant look onto your face, trying to deflect and not seem an easy catch “And I told you, I don't speak good Spanish. So You’re cheating.”
“No estoy trampeando, nena,” he purred, his large hand sliding casually onto the counter, his fingers brushing against your arm just enough to send a sharp shiver straight through you.
His thumb traced a lazy, line against your wrist. “Sé perfectamente que me entiendes... y sé que tú también me quieres. No me mires así si no vas a cumplir lo que prometen esos ojos.
He was talking in a low, whisper, telling you that he knew you understood him, that he knew you wanted him back, and warning you not to look at him like that if you weren't going to follow through.
You let out a breathless, nervous chuckle, rolling your eyes to hide the fact that your knees felt like water and chocked on your laughter having to drop the margarita drink down.
“You are a literal menace, conejo, you know that? I am an innocent tourist. You shouldn't be saying things like that to me.”
“¿Inocente?” Bunny let out a rough, incredibly dark chuckle, his gaze dropping to the visible pulse point throbbing in your neck. “De inocente no tienes nada. Y si te sigo hablando así, es porque me muero por ver qué haces al respecto.”
He was practically hovering over you, his fingers tightening against your wrist with a quiet, a brief acknowledgment to the fact that he wasn't going to let you walk away tonight.
You swallowed hard, your snarky exterior completely melting under intensity of his stare. You wanted to play hard to get a little longer, but looking up into his eyes, you knew you were already losing this battle.
“You're making it really hard to leave,” you whispered, your defenses officially crumbling.
Bunny’s lips curled into a slow, victorious grin, his thumb smoothing over your skin. “Good. Because I have absolutely no intention of letting you go, mi vida.”
Before you could gather your thoughts to throw another snarky retort his way, his grip shifted. His large hand slid down from your wrist, his long fingers smoothly intertwining their way between yours until your hands were completely locked together.
Bunny slowly brought your joined hands upward. His gaze never left your face as he leaned down, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your knuckles. And a low, velvety purr vibrated against your skin as he kissed your hand, a sound so deeply intimate it made your breath completely catch in your throat.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, his touch firm, possessive, and warm against the cool night air.
“Vente conmigo,” he murmured, while kissing your hand.
“Bunny…” you breathed, your snarky exterior completely gone soft as a wave of heat rushed from your neck all the way to your ears.
Lowkey, you wanted him just as badly, and it was noticeable . You weren't pulling your hand back; if anything, your fingers tightened against his, holding onto him just as securely.
“Por favor, nena,” he whispered against your knuckles, pressing another fervent kiss to your skin “Let's get out of here. Leave with me tonight. Just you and me.”
You swallowed hard. You were supposed to play hard to get, but you know what…yeah sure let’s go.. you thought to yourself.
“Yeah, Okay,” you whispered softly, your heart thumping, while you gave him a smile, “Let's go.”
A victorious, happy grin broke across Bunny's face, his fingers tightening around yours as he immediately guided you down the cobblestone path, completely ready to lose the rest of the world with you.
Together, you slipped out of the noisy bar and into the warm Spanish night. Behind you, your friends immediately erupted into another massive chorus of cheers loud enough to pierce right through the open doorway.
“THAT’S OUR FRIEND!”
“DON’T MESS THIS UP!”
“I LOVE YOU MAMI, YOU DA GOAT!”
You covered your face yet again, your shoulders shaking. “I’m actually going to block every single one of them.”
Bunny laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that felt entirely too close. “You won’t.”
“Yeah…You’re right,” you muttered. then looked back at them and waved them goodbye, while one of your friends sent you a flying kiss and pretended to catch it and send one back, laughing.
While bunny smiled at you just simply being happy with your friends.
Side by side, the two of you began to wander through the narrow streets, letting the city’s late-night chatter replace the noise of the party. For the first time that evening, there wasn’t a dare, a joke, or a crowd watching, just talking.
You found out more about him and so did he.
Bunny kept a casual pace, his hands slung into his pockets, but his tall, athletic built frame was angled entirely toward you. Every few steps, his shoulder would lightly brush against yours, and the faint touch of your fingertips crossing each-other while you walked.
“So, princesa,” Bunny broke the silence, his accent dropping into a low, velvety pitch“Now that we are away from your very loud entourage… are you still going to pretend you don't like me?”
The alcohol swirling in your system gave you a sudden, reckless surge of bravery. You stopped walking, turning your body to face him fully, crossing your arms defensively.
“No me gustas,” you fired back, trying your absolute best to piece together a sentence. You squinted at him, your tongue tripping slightly over the pronunciation because of the drinks. “Eres un… un dolor de cabeza. Y muy presumido.”
Bunny paused, his red eyes widening in pure delight. He looked down at you, a smirk spreading across his face as he took a deliberate step closer, completely invading your personal space
“¿Ah, sí?” he purred, his voice dropping into a rough, intimate register.
“¿Soy un dolor de cabeza? Pues a mí me parece que te pones muy nerviosa cuando estoy cerca, cariño. Mira cómo me miras… te mueres por mí y ni siquiera puedes negarlo.”
You understood exactly what he was doing—he was teasing you about how nervous you got when he was close.
“Stop doing that,” you stammered, your face burning a bright, furious red as you tried to take a step back.
But Bunny was faster. His large hand slid out of his pocket, his fingers smoothly catching your wrist.
He didn't squeeze, but his thumb began to trace a slow, agonizingly deliberate stroke over your racing pulse point, pulling you back toward him until the distance between you entirely vanished and both of your faces were near.
“¿Dejar de hacer qué, nena?” he whispered, leaning down until his lips almost brushed your ear, his breath hot against your skin.
“¿Dejar de decirte lo mucho que te deseo? No puedo. Desde que me hablaste, lo único que quiero es tenerte para mí solo.”
“You are… literally a menace. Qué malo eres,” you whispered back.
Meanwhile, back inside the bar, your friends immediately huddled up the second the door clicked shut.
“Wait, holy shit... she’s actually gonna be with an athlete? Does this make her a WAG?”
“Guys she texted me and sent me her location just incase, she said ‘my head hurts and bunny is a pain in the ass but I want him badly’ what should I say?
One chimed in, “tell her to have protection and uhm….just tell her to take care of herself and don’t feel pressured with anything and tell safe”
“Okay okay!”
“Oh shit, guys, what if he is an evil man? Wait, fuck… we forgot! Look him up right now!”
One of your friends hurriedly pulled out their phone, typing furiously. “No… I don't see any bad drama. He has none… I think…he got that one thing with that Japanese boy tho…plus he is really fine people on the internet wants him…like badly..”
“Fuck that, but what if he is secretively evil? We should just send an Etsy witch after him…”
“Girl, what the fuck … an Etsy witch? No, wait! We should all just pray that his knees snap or he gets an ACL tear if he ever does something bad to her.”
The group went quiet for a moment, absorbing the intense threat. One by one, all of them slowly nodded in dark agreement.
“Wait, actually… yeah. An ACL tear woukd work…it will ruin his career, no?”
“I don’t know much but he is pretty liked for how high he can jump like a bunny… so if he bust his kneecaps then bye bye scoceer..”
“Well… I hope he is a nice guy.”
“Yeah…”
“Bunny Iglesias, do not fuck this up.”
The cool night air felt refreshing against your burning cheeks as you walked away from the neon glow of the bar.
For a few minutes, after that conversation you stopped talking to him. The only sound heard between you was the click of your shoes against the cobblestone street and the distant, muffled echoes of Barcelona’s nightlife.
“So,” Bunny broke the silence,“Where are you and your friends visiting from?”
“From, […] We’re just here on vacation,” you said, looking up at him. “We’ve been planning this trip for months. Though I didn’t exactly plan on getting with a professional athlete’ as part of the itinerary.”
Bunny chuckled, the sound deep and effortless. “Is that how you see it?” He hummed, “but all I did was calling you adorable.”
“Qué descarado,” you muttered under your breath again.
He let out a delighted laugh, his red eyes crinkling at the corners. “See? Your vocabulary is expanding already. If you stay in Spain a little longer, I might even teach you how to properly insult someone on the pitch.”
You only sighed and nodded in acknowledgment.
Bunny's face, fingers tightening around yours as he immediately guided you down the cobblestone path.
But you had only taken a few steps before a sharp spike of pain shot directly behind your eyes. The consequences of drinking too much was a huge migraine and the urge of throwing up.
You winced, your eyes shutting tightly as you involuntarily slowed your pace.
A heavy, throbbing started pounding against your temples, making the distant city lights blur into a dizzying smear.
Bunny stopped walking instantly.
Feeling the sudden tension in your hand, he turned his full attention back to you, his grin vanishing.
His red eyes searched your face, noticing how pale you had suddenly become and how you were protecting your head from the dim streetlights.
“Hey,” he said softly, his deep voice immediately dropping into a low, comforting murmur“¿Qué pasa? Are you okay?”
“My head,” you groaned, burying your free hand against your face as a sudden wave of nausea rolled through your stomach. “Bunny …I feel like I'm gonna throw up.”
Instead of looking grossed out or annoyed, Bunny’s instincts kicked in completely. He stepped closer, his large frame blocking out the light as his hand moved to steady your waist.
“Calm down cariño, I’ve got you,” he whispered close to your ear, his touch firm and grounding. He didn't hesitate for even a second. “If you need to throw up, go ahead. I’ll hold your hair back for you, princesa.”
He was genuinely ready to stand in a dark alley and hold your hair back just to make sure you were okay.
“I don't think I actually need to,” you breathed weakly, leaning your forehead against the cool fabric of his jacket just to keep your balance. “I just… I can barely walk. My legs feel like lead.”
Bunny let out a quiet, relieved breath, his chest rising against your cheek. “Okay. No more walking then.” Before you could make sense on what he meant
Bunny didn't even hesitate to carry you . He slid his arm beneath your knees and the other securely behind your back, scooping you entirely off the cobblestone street in one effortless motion.
A breathless gasp escaped your lips. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck to keep your balance, your, aching head resting right against his shoulder.
He began to walk with a steady, easy stride, carrying you through the narrow streets as if you weighed absolutely nothing.
“Wait uhm.. are you sure you can carry me?”
“Mhm, don’t worry…”
As he walked, his eyes glanced down at your face, noticing the tense strain around your eyes. He looked down toward your feet, where your strappy heeled shoes were dangling in the air.
“Hey,” Bunny whispered , against your ear. “Do you want me to take your heels off for you, cariño? For your comfort? They cannot be helping your head right now.”
You let out a weak, tired chuckle against his jacket, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “You’re going to walk down a street carrying a girl and holding a pair of heels?”
“I will do whatever makes you feel better, princesa,” he replied a gentle, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted his grip to keep you completely secure against him. “I am a football player, I’m practically built for strength and endurance…so don’t worry…Just close your eyes and let me handle it.”
Realizing the bright streetlights and the long walk back to your hotel lobby might make your headache worse, Bunny decided against heading straight back. And decided to rest for a bit , so he carried you to a secluded corner of the plaza.
And carefully lowered you onto a smooth, clean stone bench, keeping one hand gently behind your back until he was certain you wouldn't trip over.
Once you were settled, bunny dropped down onto his knees right in front of you, taking off your heels for your comfort. He rested his forearms on his knees so he was looking directly up at your face.
“Better?” he asked quietly, his eyes softening in the dim light.
“Yeah,” you breathed, “Thank you. And sorry.”
Bunny let out a quiet, amused breath. “You apologize too much. First for your Spanish, now for having a headache. I don’t know what world you come from, but you don’t have to say sorry every time—especially to me, cariño.”
You peeked one eye open, looking down at Bunny. He looked effortlessly striking. “I just didn't want my first impression to be a mess of person ”
“It's a memorable impression,” Bunny countered, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He reached up, his thumb lightly tracing a soothing circle over the back of your hand where it rested on your knee.
“And I told you. I didn't care about the Spanish. I liked how you simply smiled and laughed.”
He simply watched you, his thumb tracing a soothing circle over the back of your hand. It was nice just talking on the bench, but Bunny took note that staying out here might not be the best for your head.
“Sooo..can I get your number?” He pulled a sleek smartphone from his pocket and held it out to you, the screen already open to a blank contact page. “Unless, of course, you are just playing with my heart.”
“Later, I’ll give it to you…” you mumbled tiredly, “…just take me back to my hotel lobby..please”
“Gracias, mi vida,” he chimed in with a soft whistle.
He effortlessly scooped you back up, carrying you bridal style while your hands latched securely onto his shoulder blades for balance.
“No soy tu vida, solo soy una persona que conociste hace cinco minutos y además eres un mentiroso,” you tried to say, but because the sentence was so long and your head was spinning, your tongue completely tripped over the words and pronounced it horribly .
Bunny stared at you for a second, processing the sentence, before he burst into a genuine, loud laugh. “Okay..okay” Bunny simply said while his thumb tracing a slow, soothing circle over the back of your hand.
Then his gaze flicked down to your feet, where your strappy heeled shoes were pressed against the cold stone, and then back up to the tight, pained strain still visible around your eyes.
He took note of the way you slightly shivered when a cool breeze swept through the archway. Sitting out here on a hard stone bench in the middle of a public square—even a secluded one—was far from ideal.
Bunny let out a soft, thoughtful sigh before breaking the quiet. “Hey,” he murmured, his deep voice dropping into that low, comforting register that didn't hurt your ears. “As much as I am enjoying having you entirely to myself right now, this bench isn't going to fix your head, cariño.”
You opened your eyes fully this time, looking down at his face. “I’m okay...”
“You are freezing, and you are still wincing every time you hear a car drive past the plaza,” he countered.
He shifted, his fingers tightening around yours as he stood up from his haunches, instantly towering over you once again.
He leaned in closer, “My apartment is just a few blocks from here. It is quiet, dark, and I have medicine that will actually help. Come back with me.”
You hesitated for a split second, your tipsy, throbbing brain trying to process the invite. ‘Stranger danger’ echoed faintly in the back of your mind. Sure, he was a famous person, and liked you but you had still only known him for a short while.
“Bunny… I don’t think—”
“You don't have to, cariño,” he interrupted softly, his voice gentle as he caught your hesitation. He straightened up slightly, backing away just enough to give you space to breathe. “You can say no, and I can get a taxi for you right now. I don't mind.”
“Um, hold on,” you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing temple. “I need to text my friends....”
“No, go ahead. I get it,” he hummed, nodding understandingly. There wasn't a single shred of annoyance in his face; if anything, his expression was completely respectful. “Safety and all. I won't let you do anything you don't want to do anyways.”
You offered him a weak, smile and pulled your phone out. The bright screen made you wince, but you blinked through the glare and saw a flood of multiple texts from your friends.
They were violently buzzing your notifications, assuring you not to have sex if you didn't want to, aggressively reminding you to ask for protection, and typing out an absolute novel of yada yada advice.
Half of the messages were just telling you to call them if anything felt off, reminding you that they were keeping a strict eye on your location.
A small laugh escaped your lips, hurting your head a little but warming your chest. You quickly typed back, 'Thanks, I love you guys.'
Their replies were almost instantaneous, 'We love you too.'
You locked your phone and slid it back into your purse, looking back up at him. “Okay. I told them.”
Bunny’s lips curled into a smile, “Okay Good...”
Before you could even blink, he dropped down to his knees right in front of you. He stood up and effortlessly scooped you back up, again, carrying you bridal style while your hands latched securely onto his shoulder blades for balance.
“Smile for me,” Bunny asked softly, You peeked one eye open, looking up at him suspiciously “Why?”
“Because,” he whispered, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his own lips as he nudged your cheek with his nose. “I told you before... you smile with your whole face. and I still want to see it, mi vida.”
A helpless, breathless little laugh escaped your lips despite your best efforts to play hard to get.
Bunny’s grin widened into something thoroughly victorious, his red eyes darkening with absolute satisfaction.
“There it is,” he murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your forehead before continuing his easy stride down the street. “Now close your eyes, princesa. We are almost at my apartment.”
Bunny carried you down the quiet hallway of his apartment, and nudged open his bedroom door with his foot. The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft, glow of the city skyline filtering through the windows.
He moved toward the large bed lowering his towering frame until he sat at the edge of the mattress.
Instead of putting you completely down, he kept you cradled in his lap, letting your back rest against his solid chest while your legs draped over his knees.
“Shssh... I’ve got you,” he whispered,
Without another word, Bunny leaned down, his large hands moving toward your legs. His fingers lightly brushed against your knees, a tender touch that made a sudden shiver ripple straight down your spine.
You let out a soft sigh, your body slumping back completely against his chest as the relief washed over you. “Thank you, Bunny,” you mumbled, your eyes remaining squeezed shut against the lingering, heavy migraine.
“De nada, mi vida,” he murmured right against your crown, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, gently resting your face against his shoulder.
He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of water and a couple of pills. You opened your eyes slightly, looking at him cautiously as your tipsy brain tried to process the situation. Sensing your lingering hesitation, his red eyes softened with complete reassurance.
“Drink this,” he murmured gently. “Nothing in it, I swear.”
Trusting him completely, you forced yourself to take a few sips of the cool water, swallowing the medicine before humming and collapsing back into the white sheets.
Bunny adjusted the pillows around you, pulling the thick, warm comforter over your shoulders until you were perfectly tucked into the bed.
He slid into the bed right beside you, and slid his hand around your waist, embracing you securely ,while his other hand gently a stroked your hair, lulling you into sleep.
The next morning, you woke up slowly to the soft glare of daylight cutting through the expansive bedroom windows.
You lay tangled together in the plush white sheets. While Bunny’s face was directly in front of yours, nothing had actually happened that night—Bunny had kept his promise to not to anything at all.
Moving carefully so as not to wake him, your fingertips gently traced the rugged, uneven line of the cross-shaped scar on his face, the familiar ridges warm beneath your touch. You looked back at the scar, gently brushing your thumb along its edge.
“…Where did you get it?” you whispered softly.
“It’s a long story.”
You leaned in close, your breath fanning across his skin as you hummed a quiet, adoring sound. “You're very pretty,” you mumbled against his jaw, “You're handsome... very.”
A breathless chuckle was heard from bunny’s lips and you chuckled right back.
Bunny reached up, his large hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck to guide your weight back down against the mattress. trapping you beneath his comforting warmth, and buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your pulse point as he murmured something too low to understand.
He looked down at you, his thumb softly brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze softened. He spoke in a low, gentle tone. “Eres monísima, de verdad... Te quiero tanto,”he murmured.
Before you could even process the weight of those words, he was pressing soft, desperate kisses all over your jaw, your cheeks, and finally down to your lips.
You wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling his body against yours. Your lips felt completely numb, from his kiss
Then, he shifted, his face burying into the crook of your neck. “I love you..te amo mucho,” he uttered beneath his lips.
You froze entirely, your breath catching in your throat as you stared blankly up at the ceiling.
Slowly, you moved your hands and brought your fingers up to his face, sliding the soft strands of his light hair away from his face while he continued to kiss you.
Your hand lingered against his crown, the pressure of your palm silently signaling for him to stop.
Bunny paused and slowly lifted his head, pulling back just a few inches so he could look down at you. For a long moment, neither of you uttered a word .
You just looked at each other. His eyes were searching your face for any sign of rejection, while his breathing was slightly shallow as he waited for your response.
You stared up into his eyes and smiled “I love you too,” you whispered back softly.
The words had barely left your lips before a visible wave of relief washed over Bunny’s face. Bunny let out a low, shaky chuckle, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his light purple hair mingling with your own.
“That makes me happy, corazón...” he breathed, You let out a l laugh, your hands still gently cupping his jaw as your thumb smoothed over the rough, uneven edge of his cross-shaped scar.
Before you could even reply, Bunny leaned into you pulling you into a deep, feverish kiss.
Meanwhile, on the completely opposite side of Barcelona, the morning sun was hitting the outdoor patio of a local breakfast cafe.
Your friends were huddled tightly around a small table, completely ignoring their iced coffees and pastries as they stared intensely at a phone screen. One of them slammed their hand on the table, making the silverware rattle.
“Oh, they definitely had sex, brah.”
“Oh, one hundred percent. Did you see the way he kept on eyeing her at the bar? I could feel the tension from were we at.”
Another friend aggressively pointed their spoon that they used to stir their coffee—at the group. “I’m telling you, if she comes to breakfast slouched over and talking about some ‘my legs hurt shit’, they hundred percent did it.”
“Wait, look at his Instagram story from an hour ago,” the third friend hissed, shoving the phone into the center of the table. It was a picture of the sunrise over a high-end apartment and it was a bed picture of someone in the sheets.
“NO FUCKING WAY”
“OH MY FUCKING GOSH”
“Mami looks so fine~”
“HOLY SHIT”
A collective, high-pitched gasp erupted from the table, drawing annoyed glares from a couple of local Spaniards dining nearby.
“BUNNY IGLESIAS, YOU absolute legend!” one of them cheered, raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. “Our baby really didn't fumble the dare.”
“WE DID IT FINALLY SHE—”
“Shut up, look—she just texted the group chat!”
The table immediately went dead silent as they all scrambled to read the single notification flashing on their screens: 'Hey guys, sorry I missed breakfast. Head still hurts a bit. See you at the hotel later. Love you all.”
Your friends all looked up at each other, their expressions perfectly matching.
“Yeah, okay. 'Head hurts.' Sure, Sure.”
“Do you think she knows we can see through her lies?”
“Doesn't matter. The second she steps foot back in that hotel lobby, we bombarding her with questions.”
The friend who was wearing sunglasses suddenly gasped, “Wait! What if he’s a player? Like, a literal player on and off the field? We need to make sure our girl didn't just become a one-night stat sheet for FC Barcha.”
“Please, did you see his eyes last night?” the first friend countered, leaning in so close her nose almost touched the table. “He looked at her like a starving man looking at a five-star tapas menu. He was down bad. I bet you he is probably clinging onto her right now.”
“I agree with her on this one” the third friend scoffed, furiously tapping her phone screen. “Guys... if they get married, do you think he can get us VIP tickets to the El Clásico match?..”
“We can ask him…”
“Guys we don’t even know for sure if he is an okay person, what if he is just using her you know how athletes get with their love scandals”
“Relax mami, i understand you but I’m sure bunny won’t hurt her…i hope..”
“[…] is an independent woman and I’d doubt she would stoop so low, we should give bunny the benefit of the doubt.”
“Everyone who agrees say aye.”
Everyone said aye…except for one.
The one friend that didn’t say no, rolled her eyes, throwing a crumpled napkin across the table. “You guys are ridiculous. First, we were praying for his ACL to tear if he hurt her, and now we are all planning for a wedding…that we aren’t sure…will happen?”
“Hey, hey hey, I can just FEEL it…that they will end up together and a good best friend protects and loves their friend and also plans the bachelorette party.”
“Guys! I have an idea. A Bachelorette party in Ibiza, next year all of us!”
The table erupted into a fresh wave of giggles and frantic whispering as they began plotting exactly how to ambush you with questions the moment you came back in the hotel room.
You let out a soft, defeated breath against his lips, finally trying to untangle your fingers from his soft lavender strands. “Bunny... please,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep and the breathless ache of his kisses. “I need to get up.”
“No,” Bunny replied instantly. His voice was a low, rumbling right against your skin.
Before you could even shift an inch, his heavy frame moved, nudging you right back down to the mattress.
He playfully pinned you down, sliding his long legs over yours and wrapping both of his massive arms securely around your waist.
He buried his face right into the crook of your neck, his messy hair tickling your jaw as he let his entire dead weight drop completely over you.
“Bunny!” you shouted , letting out a helpless laugh as you tried to push against his broad, shoulders. “Get off me, you're so heavy! You are literally huge, please... I can’t breathe.”
“Me da igual,” he purred into your skin, thoroughly stubborn against the idea of letting you go “I don't care. You aren't leaving this bed, corazón. They can wait.”
He tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you so close bunny lifted his head just enough to look down at your flushed, laughing face.
“I need you here,” he pleaded, affectionately.
Before you could even process how sweet he was being, Bunny started to completely pepper you with soft, kisses.
Pressing them all over your jaw, down your neck, across your m cheeks, and finally right onto your smiling lips, completely drowning out any lingering thoughts of your friends, the hotel, or the rest of the world.
You let out a soft giggle and sigh, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and melting completely into his touch…maybe you’ll stay…
Written by Jammy. Please do not copy and paste or feed my work into an AI. This was completely written by hand, thank you for stopping by and reading!
kuroo who always drops what he’s doing to hang out with you. practice, school, chores, you name it. you call his name and he’s there.
kuroo who introduced you to the team for the first time as ‘his gorgeous girlfriend y/n’. because it’s true. he loves you’re long long hair. elbow length in the back.
kuroo who will bring you on fancy dates. and doesn’t care who judges him for spending so much on you.
kuroo who spoils you an buys you whatever you want without thinking. in an instant. “you bought her designer heels??!! kuroo are you out of your fucking mind-“ yaku screams at him while all he can think about is how your face lit up.
kuroo who will chill inside with you if you get overwhelmed. or overstimulated. and he isn’t leaving for the bad parts. he doesn’t judge. he’s just here for you.
the fluorescent lights of the mall fitting room did absolutely nothing to dampen the beauty of iwaizumi hajime, who at that moment, looked like the greek god of abercrombie.
after being invited to oikawa’s spontaneous garden party, the two of you came to the marvelous conclusion that hajime had nothing at all that was appropriate to wear. nothing. at. all.
you thought a trip to the mall would be nice. after all, as his best friend (you’d never admit your crush….ever), it was your job to help him out.
you find yourself regretting it and thanking the gods in equal measure.
the olive green shirt he wore hugged his arms, the cut of it emphasizing his broad shoulders and even more sculpted biceps. the color made his eyes, something between green or brown or hazel look infinitely more alluring.
you wondered how you’d ever be able to get this out of your brain.
“it’s nice shirt!” you blurted out, willing your face not to betray the thoughts you had on the inside.
the truth was that he was marvelous. marvelous and beautiful. you could burn the image of him into your eyelids.
he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling the smallest bit before flexing his arm in the mirror, the muscles all lining up just to kill you. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you sighed, “looks good. you should buy it.”
he nodded, paying no mind to the price tag as he walked back into the fitting room door. he stilled for a moment before closing the door, meeting your eyes with a smirk that spelled trouble.
“oh i will,” he grinned, “if your reaction was that crazy for this shirt, you couldn’t handle me shirtless.”
you were left dumbfounded as he shut the door, his laughs increasing in volume while you stood slack jawed over your menace of a crush.
taglist: @chimielie (sorry if he’s ooc lia ily), @mayiedayie @kagstobioisthelightofmylife (not kags but i’ll do it someday) @brooksviolin @karnevil @amorinn @huhyeni
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Part of Dilf!Osamu and his controversially younger gf series (stay tuned)
Highly suggestive!
Dilf!Osamu who trails after you whilst you shop, his beefy arms carrying all your bags with such ease, including your handbag which you insisted many times that you can carry.
Dilf!Osamu who is sat in the cramped changing rooms, his large stature on the little bench which looks almost comical. Burly arms twitching slightly, his fingers itching to help in any way possible.
Dilf!Osamu whose large palms gently manoeuvre your waist so he can see all angles of the dress you’re trying. Calloused hands from years of working tracing at the details of the dress, your breath hitching when you feel his palms go lower.. and lower.. and lower.
Dilf!Osamu who gestures for you to do a little spin once you’ve tried an article of clothing on. His fingers doing a little circular motion each time, his eyes hooded and peering up at you smugly; knowing you’ll do exactly that.
Dilf!Osamu who can’t help it when you’re both in a changing room and his hand wanders under the pretty summer dress you’ve been wearing or trying on. His large palms knead the soft, supple skin of your upper thigh, desperate for more.
Dilf!Osamu who begins to get more handsy, his patience now wearing thin from the countless stores you’ve been going into. All he wants now is to go home, for you to privately model everything for him and get an even closer and more hands on look :(
Dilf!Osamu who is more than happy to buy his controversially younger girlfriend anything she desires, because how can he say no to her? Especially if she’s going to be wearing one of those matching sets that he’s had a sneak peek of.
Dilf!Osamu who will mindlessly nod along at whatever new makeup product you’re talking about. His hand is littered with different swatches, he’s your personal palette to test shades after all!!
Dilf!Osamu who wants you to do a kiss test to see if your new lipstick transfers to his lips. His lips now stained a light pink from all of the tests you have done, but he doesn’t mind at all.
Dilf!Osamu who carries all your bags (including your handbag) without you even having to ask, because why wouldn’t he do that?
Came home from shopping the other day and had a vision
@karnevil has been making me SO osamu pilled and now he's consuming my thoughts (pirate!osamu when??)
bunny is growing on mee😓 i thought this would be perfect for him + hes hot as hell n soo big, soo yeah bunny debut!! howd i do! also i feel like he’d either be reallyy sweet in bed or just downright nasty but idk (idk spanish so i used the basics sorry n i WILL get back to my reqs now, sigh..)
the whole room felt foggy, like a hazy blissful dream and your mind was floating in it — the euphoric feeling of bunny’s dick being the only thing you could concentrate on and the intense sparks of pleasure and ecstasy that hit every time he buried himself in you.
the heat and smell of sex was practically palpable in the room, the air a swirl of his moans and your whimpers, seeping from both of your lips as you held your legs wide for him. he was stood between them, your body draped across the sheets at the edge of the bed, cunt on full display as he held onto your inner thighs.
his huge dick was making you twitch every time he fucked into you, the indecent repetitive plap! of skin to skin bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. your moans were so loud you guarantee your neighbours would be filing a noise complaint again.
not that bunny cared.
he adored the way you would call out his name, voice all raspy and whiny as he stretched you so well and so so full. he was obsessed with how your pretty pussy squeezed around his throbbing cock, a feeling he could never get tired of, as your body got closer and closer. and he was addicted to that look in your eyes — that glassy, empty look of yours that told him he had fucked you soo good you had gone dumb. not a single thought but him swimming around in that sweet little head of yours.
so of course he had to drag multiple orgasms out of you, seeing you like that was his treat.
“you still with me?” he didn’t think he had to ask with that look beginning to appear on your face but he did anyways, reaching down to slap at your cheek demeaningly. “or is your head already empty, cariño?”
his hips still meeting yours ruthlessly because he refused to slow down, you were fighting to keep your legs open, hands slippery from sweat and thighs twinging from keeping them wide open for ages.
“o-of course i am, don’t flatter, ah— yourself!” you hissed.
“really? that won’t do.” he spoke to himself acting like he was surprised that you had responded, “i’ll have to fix that.”
he was laughing slightly, the tone of it cruel sounding as he halted his movements and leaned in. you were dwarfed by his giant frame in instant, the entirety of his weight pressing against you, crushing you under his heaviness.
and it only made you wetter.
your glistening tits pushed to his scarred chest, he was kissing you sloppy — nipping at your bottom lip before dipping his tongue in your mouth, keen to taste you. you were struggling to match his frantic hunger, only able to moan into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue.
“concentrate on me.” he panted, pulling away as strings of spit stretched between you two. “you can do that for me, can’t you?”
you had never nodded so fast in your life, eyes locked with his crimson ones, not a lick of hesitation on your face. he pressed a kiss to your lips again, gentle and brief this time, a stark contrast to the one previously and you felt your knees go weak.
hands now coming to rest on your waist, he resumed — drawing you into his pounds and moving just as swiftly as before, not sparing a single second to build the pace back up. a thick ring of combined cum settled at the base of his dick and your cunt seemed to squelch louder, your added wetness only increasing the perverted sounds of the room.
your legs were slowing closing and your hands were slipping, fatigue battered joints trying to catch a break when bunny’s hips were coming to a halt again, voice teasing you as he gazed at you hopelessly.
“princesa, don’t do that,” he was swatting your arms away and folding you himself, angling your ass and hips a little higher, spreading your legs further and gripping down behind your knees. “how am i meant to see that pretty pussy if you do, hm?”
the newfound angle was insane. his already stupidly giant dick had found a place deep inside your creamy walls that made your fingers crawl at the sheets, his fat tip that had shot several loads into you was pressed up at your cervix and your pussy that had already squirted a dozen times was ready to spray more.
“b-bunny! ohh, you’re gonna make me cum!” it felt like he was in your lungs, your cunt only able to clench around his length as you pathetically whimpered.
“so soon?” he chuckled, “it’s okay, you don’t need to think, just keep focused on me.”
he was driving his hips flush to yours, knocking the breath out of you and making you cry out, the waves of pleasure hard to contain. you really were so close already, teetering on the edge of your orgasm as your eyes turned into the back of your skull — pussy fluttering as his thumb found your clit.
“cum on this dick, cariño.” he was groaning at the tight hug from your walls, your swollen bud pulsing under his touch. your orgasm was brewing, his thumb putting delicious pressure on the bundle of nerves, the stimulation intense and hot.
mouth open and jaw slack, you were losing your mind, cunt clenching his dick like a vice and splashing his abdomen with liquid as your vision went white. even though this was around the fourth orgasm, it was mind shattering — hitting even harder than the previous ones. your were legs trembling and spine curving off the clammy sheets, thoughts cloudy as he fucked you through it.
“f-fuck, there you go.” bunny was smiling smug at your expression. oh how he loved it, you were so pretty like this.
you were in ruins — the only thing you were capable of doing was moaning, eyes rolling and irises flicking into the back of your head, drool spilling off the corners of your lips and clinging to your cheek. your brain felt like fucking mush.
“you still with me now?”
“mmmh.” you slurred, your head obviously up in the clouds. the overstimulation your poor cunt was enduring felt divine and you were coating his dick a milky white.
“that’s what i thought, fuck— this pussy’s killing me, princesa.” pushing his twitching cock into your sensitive heat, his moans were only getting more vocal now as he began to reach his peak, fingers leaving an impression into your skin as the veins in his arms bulged. “does she want to be filled up, huh? does she want my cum?”
“y-yeah!” you were mindlessly yelping the word, balling the sheets in your fists and whining his name because he was the only thing on your mind.
“then i’ll give it to her.”
knuckles turning white as his hold on your thighs tightened, he was meeting your pussy with a particularly hard thrust and releasing straight into your overstuffed womb, a loud broken groan leaving his lips. your entire body shuddered at the sensation, cunt sopping and glistening as he pulled out, multiple rounds worth of cum leaking out your hole.
“look at that.” he was running two thick fingers over your slit, gathering the drip and shoving it back into your cunt. “can’t waste any after you begged for it.”
“t-too much...” you whimpered, limp and exhausted, unable to scoot away from him.
he was bending down and dropping a soft kiss to your lips, caressing a warm hand over your cheek. “i know, you did well, amor.”
romaincrisis
