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youre walking through the forest, enjoying the sunlight coming through the leaves, when you notice a ring of mushrooms in a clearing.
you walk over, bending down to examine the odd arrangement, when the grass lashes out, wrapping around your wrists and pulling you forwards, your knees hitting the forest floor with a thump
panicked, you attempt to fight back as more grass ensnares your limbs, pulling your chest to the ground, pinning your feet to the soft forest floor, the grass snags your clothes, lifting your skirt and pulling down your blossom, leaving you exposed in the clearing
a tinkling sound, like a bell, approaches, and you see a small shape whizz into the clearing. a fairy! the fairy flies around you, observing your situation. you call out for help, only to be ignored
the fairy circles around behind you, flying closer and touching the lips of your exposed pussy. the fairy, only slightly larger than your palm, begins to poke and prod at your pussy, tinkling at the wetness that gathers
the tinkling noised continue as the creature roughly grabs your clit, causing you to jolt, protests cut off by a surprised moan. moans and pants continue to fall from your lips as the heated sensation of the fairy's mouth radiates from your clit, kissing and sucking as the creature pulls and moves your clit
the stimulation builds along with the shame on your cheeks, pleas and pleasured cries filling the clearing, your body rocking into the fairy's ministrations, legs shaking, a line of drool coming from the corner of your mouth. the grass keeping you restrained has started to pull at your nipples, tugging and rolling them in time with the fairy's sucking on your clit
you are cumming, a long broken moan clawing from your lips, your cunt spasming around nothing as pleasure floods your body, the impossibility of the situation making your orgasm that much stronger
as you lie panting against the ground, trying to right yourself after the dizzying experience, you see the fairy hovering in front of your face, it winks at you, skin glistening with your juices, before it zips away. the grass releases your body, and you slump to fully lie on the forest floor, bewildered and blushing in satisfaction
Imagine trying to have a normal Halloween party but all of your guests are REAL monsters that are horny as FUCK.
You see a fairy prince rubbing his bulge as you walk by, some werewolves eyeing your hips with each step, and you swear those “fake” vampire teeth just got longer as if getting ready to sink into your neck-
You’ve gotta stop having open invite parties unless you’re ready to feel tentacles and knots stretching you out.
Humans are cute, and you’re a particularly intriguing snack to monsterkind. With those plump hips and soft tummy, they’re about ready to tackle you and get to making babies.
A few drinks in and your giggling as a bottle spins. You end up in a closet with something you can’t quite comprehend and leave with your panties soaked with viscous black fluid and mind numb.
Some pretty vampire boys take turns kissing you, their cold fingers traveling down your body. It’s only later that you realize they’ve begun drinking from your neck, you’re too buzzed to even notice the pain.
Your pussy gets played with by an incubus who doesn’t even try to hide his flicking tail. Not like you’d notice anyways, you’re too focused on the feeling of his tongue swirling your clit.
Several cocks enter you that night, some slimy and long, others short at first before growing longer and thicker once they cum. By the end of your night they’ve all left some sort of claim on you, and you’ll be visited by different monster suitors until you pick which one to mate with.
You’ve got the sight after all, even if you’re not aware of it yet, and monsters prefer a human that came see them when they’re plowing into them.
Hopefully next time you’ll actually realize you’re getting pounded by actual monster cock, though.
✦ What was Aurelian actually doing with the maid? ✦
So, I’ve been getting a lot of questions about what Aurelian was doing with the maid…
I want to clear this up: Aurelian is still a virgin!
Just a reminder about my Patreon, where I answer questions early. I’ll be posting some answers here, but many of them -especially the spicy ones - will go up exclusively on Patreon! For instance, there’s already a post revealing what’s hidden under Emphys’s clothes hehehe~
Forget that, I've been procrastinating for YEᗩᖇᔕ!! But at least I'm finally getting to it now with potentially more on the way (ФωФ)
[Maybe, who knows, we might have to timeskip to another year from now to see that :/ ]
I hope I served him justice for any Sanzu Fans out there, I love his design !! ✨️✨️
Most, if not, All of Bonten really!! I love how the creator handles timeskips for they're designs, it's not just "Haircut" for once, XD
Anywho, to those who've seen Tokyo Revengers, who are some of your favorite characters??
Personally, I've been a long time fan of Mitsuya !!
Which, now that I think about it, with him, I'm noticing a pattern.
If I had a nickel for every time my favorite character of a series would at some point in time grows a mullet, be good friends with someone who has a buzz cut and a girl who's in some way a sisterly figure, eventually having to turn and fight against a friend who even the story can't decide if the friend who eventually becomes an antagonist [kinda], and on top of that, have a side passion/hobby for the arts in some regard, I'd have 2 nickles.
Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice ^^
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𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄 tries dating someone new to distract himself. It lasts less than two days. 𖹭
𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇. ꒰ 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ canon jjk ꒱
It’s Shoko who calls you first.
The phone buzzes against the kitchen counter while you’re staring at a half-eaten bowl of cereal gone soggy. You almost ignore it. Almost, but habit wins, and you do pick up.
"He's being weird,” she says, biting off a yawn, cigarette smoke curling lazily from her lips. “Weirder than usual. He brought some girl to dinner last night.”
You blink. “Oh.”
The word comes out small. Flat. Like it doesn’t belong in your mouth.
“She laughed like a goose and called him ‘Toru-bear’ and wore a shirt that said ‘Boss Babe.’” Shoko pauses. “You, understandably, weren’t there. So I had to suffer alone.”
“Sorry.” You almost sounded sincere.
“Don’t apologize. He should be apologizing. It was pitiful.”
You try not to let it get to you. You try not to think about how it felt, because just three nights ago, when he kissed you so soft and said, “You make everything quiet,” like it was a confession, like it hurt to say it, when the words left his lips...
And, now he’s… dating?
Trying?
Moving on?
Your chest aches, but you smile through it. “Maybe he just needs to figure some stuff out.”
Shoko exhales. “You’ve ruined him. You know that, right?”
You laugh. It sounds brittle and slightly amused. “I don’t think I’m that powerful.”
“You are,” she says dryly. “I watched this man— this man who used to brag about how hot girls lined up for him after missions— literally panic when his dinner date tried to kiss him.”
Your heart flips. “What?”
“He flinched,” she confirms. “Like, full-body jolted. Said, and I quote, ‘Sorry, I’m just not used to someone else’s face being that close. It feels wrong.’”
You’re stunned into silence.
Then: “He said it felt wrong?”
“Mhm.” A long pause fills the space for a moment. “And then he left. Mid-date. Suguru watched him walk outside and immediately call your number. You didn’t answer, did you?”
You hadn’t.
You’d seen his name light up your screen and tucked your phone under your pillow, heart hammering, unsure what you were even to him now.
That night, he left you a voicemail.
You hadn’t listened to it.
Not until now.
You pull it up after exchanging goodbyes with Shoko. Hands trembling, and you press play.
“Hey,” his voice murmurs. There’s a sharp exhale. “I know you probably don’t wanna talk to me. That’s fair.”
Theres a second of silence...
“I thought… maybe I needed to know what it would be like. To be with someone who isn’t you. To see if I could want something else. And I can’t.”
He laughs, soft and its self-deprecating.
“I couldn’t even hold her hand without thinking about the way you tuck yours under mine like it’s automatic. Couldn’t sit across from her without hearing your voice in my head telling me to chew slower because I eat like a gremlin.”
You close your eyes, breath shallow.
“You’ve ruined me, sweetheart,” he whispers .“And I think I’d let you do it a thousand times over.”
The message fizzles out to an abrupt end.
You stand there in the quiet kitchen, phone still pressed to your ear like the sound of him might come back if you just wait long enough.
Your pulse is loud in your throat.
You don’t think— you just go.
Keys. Shoes. The door slamming behind you hard enough that the frame rattles.
The night air hits your face. Cool and sharp because it's 10pm and you're running. You don’t remember deciding to run but your feet are already moving, pavement blurring under you, streetlights smearing gold across your vision.
Every step feels like it’s carving something open in your chest.
Three nights ago his mouth had been so careful against yours. Three nights ago he’d breathed against your temple like the whole world had gone soft just for the two of you. Three nights ago he’d looked at you like you were the only solid thing left.
And then he’d tried to date someone else.
Tried.
Failed so completely that Shoko called it pitiful.
You don’t slow down until you’re outside his building. The code for the gate is still muscle memory. The stairs take forever and no time at all.
You reach his door.
Knock once.
Twice.
The lock clicks.
He opens the door looking like a kicked puppy— eyes wide, hoodie sleeves too long, heart cracked open.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Then you don’t say a word— just throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.
He holds you like he never wants to let go again.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so— sorry.”
“I’m not,” you whisper back.
You lean up.
Kiss him like he’s the only person in the world worth knowing.
Like he belongs to you.
Because he does.
His mouth is warm and a little desperate under yours. One of his hands slides up into your hair, the other locking around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a fraction.
You feel the way his chest rises and falls too fast against yours. You feel the tiny tremor in his fingers.
When you finally pull back just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours.
“I hated it,” he says, voice low and rough. “Every second of it. She kept talking and all I could hear was you. She touched my arm and it felt like static. Wrong frequency. Wrong everything.”
You don’t answer with words. You just kiss him again, slower this time, tasting the apology still sitting on his tongue.
He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss. The door clicks shut behind you. Somewhere a lamp is on, casting soft gold across the floor. His place smells like the laundry detergent he always uses and the faint citrus of the cleaner he pretends he doesn’t buy just because you once said you liked it.
He presses you gently against the wall by the entryway. Not hard. Just enough that you can feel how solid he is, how carefully he’s holding himself back.
“I kept thinking about the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Like I’m something worth keeping. She looked at me like I was a prize she’d already won. I couldn’t stand it.”
Your hands fist in the front of his hoodie. The fabric is soft from too many washes. You know every loose thread.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” he says. “I knew the second I sat down across from her that I’d made a mistake. But I stayed. Like an idiot. Like maybe if I just forced it hard enough it would start feeling right.”
You tip your head so your lips brush the corner of his jaw. “Did it?”
“Not even close.”
He kisses you again, deeper, and you let him. Let the heat of it pull everything else out of focus until there’s only the two of you and the quiet apartment and the way his body fits against yours like it was designed for exactly this.
When he finally draws back there’s a flush high on his cheeks. His eyes are bright in a way that has nothing to do with residual cursed energy and everything to do with you.
“Stay,” he says. Not a question.
You nod.
He takes your hand the way he always does, fingers sliding between yours like they belong there and leads you further inside.
The couch is still a mess of throw pillows from the last time you were here. One of your hair ties sits on the coffee table. Evidence of a life that never quite stopped belonging to both of you even when you tried to pretend otherwise.
He sits first and pulls you into his lap without ceremony. You go willingly, knees bracketing his hips, arms looping around his neck.
For a long moment you just look at each other.
Then he starts talking again, quieter, like the words have been waiting behind his teeth for days.
“She ordered something with cilantro and I almost told her you hate cilantro. Almost said it out loud. Like my mouth forgot who I was sitting with.”
You brush a strand of white hair off his forehead. “You left mid-date.”
“Yeah.” A short, self-conscious laugh. “Suguru gave me the look. You know the one. The ‘you’re an idiot and I love you but also please stop’ look. I walked outside and called you before I even thought about it. Needed to hear your voice. Needed to know you still existed in the same world as me.”
You remember the way your phone had lit up. The way you’d shoved it under the pillow like that could protect either of you from whatever this was becoming.
“I listened to the voicemail,” you tell him.
His arms tighten around you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Silence settles for a few heartbeats. Comfortable. Heavy with everything neither of you has said yet.
Then he leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your neck, soft and lingering.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it properly,” he murmurs against your skin. “That you’re it for me. That nothing else even comes close. That I tried to prove myself wrong and only proved the opposite.”
You tilt your head to give him more room. His mouth follows the line of your throat with careful, deliberate attention.
“You don’t have to figure it out,” you say. “Just keep showing up.”
He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. There’s something open and a little raw in his expression.
“I will. Every time. Even when I’m being an idiot about it.”
You kiss him for that. Slow. Thorough. The kind of kiss that says you already knew and you’re still choosing him anyway.
His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, palms warm against your waist. Not demanding. Just anchoring you to the present.
You feel the way his breathing changes when your fingers find the nape of his neck and scratch lightly the way he likes.
“Stay the night,” he says again, quieter this time. Almost a plea.
“I’m already here.”
He smiles against your mouth. The real one. The one that softens everything about him until he looks almost young again.
“Good.”
Later, when the apartment has gone fully dark except for the city glow through the windows, you end up tangled together on the couch under a blanket that smells like both of you. His heartbeat is steady under your ear. One of his hands keeps tracing idle patterns along your spine like he can’t quite stop touching you now that you’re close again.
“Shoko’s going to give me so much shit for this,” he says eventually, voice drowsy.
You huff a quiet laugh. “She already did. Called the whole thing pitiful.”
“She’s not wrong.”
You press a kiss to the center of his chest through the soft fabric of his hoodie.
“I don’t care if it was pitiful,” you tell him. “I’m glad you figured it out.”
His arms tighten around you one more time.
“Me too,” he whispers. “God. Me too.”
Outside, the city keeps moving. Inside, everything is quiet the way it only ever is when it’s the two of you.
And for the first time in days, it feels like enough.
kuuya looks malnourished 🥹 how would he react if his darling made sure he ate proper meals? like as in, making and delivering him meals to his office and force feeding/spoon feeding him whenever he doesn't want to eat? i need to see the poor baby eat, he's skin and bones with a giant boner 😭😭
you wouldnt need to force him i dont think! he's more than happy to eat whatever you make, regardless of how good it is what it even is. just know that every bite has him freaking out internally. he might feel bad for relying on you so much and try to return the favour though; whether or not its a good idea to eat what he cooks up is......up to you!
edit bc people apparently don't know how to act in fandom spaces: this post is for KAINESS shippers, not ness fans who hate kaiser. you can hate kaiser, and there are plenty of reasons for that - please just respect fandom etiquette and shit on him somewhere else.
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How the Upper Moons and Muzan express their love language for you!
Here is my masterlist for the hashira.
Here is my masterlist for the demons.
Note: I added Daki as a platonic bonus. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Brief mention of being parents in Douma’s part. It’s right at the end and just one sentence <3
Pairing: Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Gyutaro, Daki x gn!reader
❤️ Muzan Kibutsuji ❤️
Quality Time (intensity: 9/10)
Muzan would call himself a busy man, but he likes having you around while doing his experiments. Just having your presence near him just makes him calm and able to concentrate on his experiments. But besides that, Muzan likes to spend time with you. Over his thousands of years of living, he’s spend a lot of time doing many things, and yet spending his valuable time with you made him the happiest and content he’s ever been. Even if he won’t admit.
Also, Muzan enjoys holding you in bed. He himself doesn’t need sleep, not that he can sleep, but he will hold you and caress you until you fall asleep. He will remain the whole night, just silently laying there watch your chest go up and down, brushing your hair out of your face.
Giving/receiving gifts (intensity: 8/10)
Gifts don’t mean anything to Muzan, but you giving him little trinkets you found on the market, or a new article of clothing you thought would suit him makes him feel happy. Those things have a meaning to him, unlike the other meaningless garbage. Muzan will make sure to wear the clothes or keep the trinkets close to show how much he appreciates him.
But what Muzan loves even more is to shower you in gifts. Thanks to Gyokko and the pot selling business, Muzan is very wealthy. That means he can buy you all the food you like, all the clothes you want, and all the little trinkets your heart desires. That man will spoil you, and he will do it until the end of time.
“Would you like to go to a new restaurant that just opened in the southern district, my light? I heard your favourite dish is server there.”
💜Kokushibo💜
Words of affirmation (intensity: 9/10)
Kokushibo doesn’t talk a lot, but he likes listening to you. You talking about your day makes him content, almost a little envying your simple life. No matter how simple or boring something may seem to you, he’d want to hear it. Not being able to go outside with you during the day kind of kills him.
Also, you complimenting him boasts his confidence and pride, especially when you compliment his skill. He has trained for centuries and always envied his brother for being more talented and stronger, so you admiring something he worked so hard for makes him beam of pride.
Kokushibo also likes praising you for your skill in whatever you’re doing right now. Sketching, writing, training or whatever. Kokushibo likes to admire you and express his affections with compliments.
Receiving/Giving gifts (intensity: 6/10)
Kokushibo used to work with wood, carving small things like animals out of wood. He lost interest in that little hobby shortly after becoming a demon, but picked it back up after starting a relationship with you. You once found a very, very old wooden figure he carved and told him you liked it, so he started carving those things again. It relaxes him, but also he likes seeing you happy and appreciate his art.
He showed you everything he carved, almost childishly begging for you to praise his artwork
“My moon, would you like to see the new project I’m working on? … Yes, it’s a little statue of you…. Do you like it?”
🩵 Douma 🩵
Physical affection (intensity: 10/10)
Douma wants to be near you, preferably on you, on all times. His hand has to be somewhere on your body, may it be on your shoulder, around your waist, on your thigh or just holding your hand. You’re near him during sermons, near him during his free time, and in his arms when you sleep. He doesn’t need sleep, just like the other demons, but he likes cuddling you while you do so. It kind of gives him a power trip, you being all trusting and vulnerable while he, a man-eating demon, cuddles and watches over you.
Just to test your limits, he likes teasing you as well. Pinching and squeezing your skin on all kinds of areas, watching your reactions and laughing at them. You’re so adorable, do you know that? He could eat you right up!
Acts of service (intensity: 8/10)
People serve Douma every day and night, giving gifts from all kinds of people, poor or rich. It’s boring and meaningless to him, because he probably got every gift in the world at least twice or trice (expect the blue spider lily of course). What Douma does like to do, is to “serve” you., instead of being served for once. Massages, kisses, cooking (he’s trying) or just doing little chores for you. The only thing he wants in return is the appropriate amount of kisses, cuddles and praises!
Quality time (intensity: 6/10)
Douma adores spending time with you doing whatever! Sometimes it’s just you sitting with him during the sermons, or sitting together in the bathhouse, or you watching him make his little Douma ice sculptures. He likes making little you’s out of ice and play house with you. His little Douma’s are the papa, and the little you’s the mama. It sounds silly, but it’s adorable and he loves it
“My dear lotus! Where are you going, hmm? I’m not finished kissing and coddling you yet! And don’t give me any excuses this time!”
💛Akaza💛
Receiving/Gifting gifts (intensity: 6/10)
Akaza would occasionally steal things for you from people’s homes, dressing you in nice clothes and beautiful hairpins. He picks up everything he believes would suit you. He also likes stealing sweets and food for you, making sure to grab all your favourite foods. He can’t eat them himself, but he likes sitting beside you while you eat, and it makes him very proud when you wear the things he stole for you.
Akaza also melts when you gift him things, whatever it is. He likes handmade things the most. Whimsy flower-crowns or handmade bracelets make him all giddy and warm inside, and he will wear them with pride (enduring all the side eyes and teasing he will receive from the other Upper Moons).
Quality Time (intensity: 8/10)
Akaza likes being around you. That’s when he feels the safest and most welcome. Something he enjoys doing the most is watching fireworks with you, when another festival comes around. The moment between you two as he holds you close, sitting together on a rooftop just makes him feel… human. It remind him of something he once had once but then lost, and you keep reminding him of it. Akaza can’t quite put the finger on it what exactly it is you remind him off, but he doesn’t really mind. He just wants to savour the moment with you and hold you a little longer, just until the fireworks are finished and the sun starts coming up.
“My, my Akaza-dono!~ What’s this? A bracelet? It looks so colourful!”
“Take your damn eyes of it and then kill yourself.”
💚 Gyutaro Shabana 💚
Words of affirmations (intensity: 10/10)
At the start of your relationship, Gyutaro hated it when you called him handsome or pretty, or compliment anything on his appearance. It makes him feel itchy and dirty, as if you’re just lying straight to his face.
But after a while, he warmed up to them more and more. Now, Gyutaro out right craves your words and compliments. It boosts his pride and confidence, and it makes him feel wanted and cherished for. Just one nice word makes his complete day, maybe even week. It’s like he’s addicted to your praise.
He’ll try to return the favour, but he just can’t out into words how MUCH he really loves you. Gyutaro can’t decide what he should praise you on. There are just so many things about you that are beautiful to him, he just can’t decide and starts stuttering, sometimes accidentally throwing an insult your way.
Physical touch (intensity: 8/10)
Just like praises, physical touch was something Gyutaro resented at the beginning of the relationship. Why do you want to touch him anyway? He’ll just end up ruining your clothes, or worse, make you hate him even more than you probably do!
After a while, a very long time, he starts getting used to it. Now, he’s very addicted to that as well. Gyutaro is very similar to a feral cat that needs to learn how to love and get loved, and when you show him enough patience, he’ll be a cuddle bug. He wants to hold you, cuddle you and be wrapped in your arms as well.
“A-Are you done talking w-with your pretty lips? I-I wanna be h-held now. I-I’m clean, I swe-swear!”
Bonus:
(Platonic)
🩷Daki Shabana🩷
Receiving/Giving gifts (intensity: 9/0)
Daki is used to being spoiled, and she likes giving you gifts as much as you give her some. In her eyes, it’s some sort of competition. You gift her a golden hairpin, she’ll give you a diamond-golden-hand made hairpin. You give her a new kimono, she’ll give you the most high quality silken kimono on the market.
Daki will appreciate your gifts though. She’ll boast it to her brother about it, priding herself in the fact that you gifted her something. You thought about her while you choose the gift! It just makes her very happy.
Quality Time (intensity 10/10)
Daki likes spending time with you. Gyutaro barely comes out of her anymore, so she really appreciates you hanging out with her. You two gossip about the other oirans from the other brothels while Daki paints your nails, or she does your hair while she rants about Muzan and the other Upper Moons. Sometimes Gyutaro joins in, and you two do his make up. He doesn’t like it, put he puts up with it. Since Daki likes you so much, he will tolerate you.
“Those nails look so pretty on you! Not as pretty as on me, but you get it. Oh, oh! How about we do onii-chan’s next?”
💠
I added Daki as a platonic bonus. Hope you guys enjoyed!
Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!
you’re sae’s cumdump / you dirty talk sae / morning sex with sae / giving sae a blowjob / sae fucks the reporter / sae fucks the brat out of you / you give sae a blowjob after a lost game / bathroom sex with ex!bf sae / sae marks you with his cum
ᯓ⚽︎ Rin Itoshi
you tested rin’s patience… / secret bus sex with rin
ᯓ⚽︎ Hiori Yo
sadistic sex with gamer!hiori
ᯓ⚽︎ Isagi Yoichi
isagi analyzes your sex
ᯓ⚽︎ Alexis Ness
best friend ness is obsessed with you
ᯓ⚽︎ Nagi Seishiro
nagi fingers you / nagi eats you out
ᯓ⚽︎ Bunny Iglesias
bunny wins the world cup & needs you
ᯓ⚽︎ Shidou Ryusei
the devil eats good. shidou eats better.
ᯓ⚽︎ Vivienne Hugo
you’re hugo’s doll / webcam sex with hugo
ᯓ⚽︎ Michael Kaiser
wall sex with kaiser / limousine sex with kaiser / you overstimulate kaiser by jerking him off / kaiser fucks you at an event
ᯓ⚽︎ Among Football Gods
isagi & kaiser share you
you’re reo’s & nagi’s obsession
kaiser & ness are obsessed with you
┆ ⤿ brother’s best friend ⌗
bunny iglesias | vivian hugo | hiori yo | michael kaiser
┆ ⤿ genre:sick boys ⌗
alexis ness | michael kaiser | hiori yo | bunny iglesias | sae itoshi | shidou ryusei
┆ ⤿ multiple ⌗
jealous sex
they realize they like a boy
they find out you’ve a stalker
they get distracted by your tits
magic mike dance — one / two
spit on it and jerk it — one / two
they catch you fucking — one / two
they catch you pleasuring yourself — one / two / three
how they canon fetishes affect your sex life — one / two
they make a bet that they you’ll fall for them — one / two
just imagining each and every segment (even the original zandik) playing the piano for you and each having a unique song made for you.
you, his muse; are his inspiration.
i literally wrote this under like 3 hours.. so it will be terrible, i’m really bored so i’m doing this to pass time and because i still need to think about what to do for the pierro one. i haven’t written like this since i was like 15 and was bad at it (im literally still bad at it it’s just so much less cringey) so apologies are due.
┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈
8: you can’t help but comfort the segment as he is still new to the piano, trying to make a song for you and making many mistakes but he still tries his best to his ability. he would often look up at you with teary eyes even after being comforted, hoping you appreciated his effort
↳
for someone like 8, he had no care in the world of what others thought of him, you on the other hand were an exception.
“a-am i doing okay?” he whispered in hopes he wouldn’t disappoint you, knowing you would never be upset at him.
“you’re doing wonderful my dear, you’ve made so much progress in so little time! i’m so proud of you!” you exclaimed at him while smiling sweetly, in return he showed you his bright smile as he sniffled and wiped away his tears. “i’m happy to hear that.. i will make you a song that shows my love for you!” he beamed with his eyes closed, you could help but smile ear to ear; your adoration for him as clear as a sunny day.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
18: although he is not new to the piano, he isn’t exactly number one when it comes to skill, above average but there is room for improvement; although you’ll never hear him admit to it
↳
you sat next to 18 as he played the piano listening to the words that came out of his mouth. “at the akademiya, i never had time for the piano; i was rather occupied with pursuing my own goals..” he recounted as the notes swayed with romantic allure. “for someone who rarely had time for such futile things, you sure do know how to play like a professional.” you mused with a closed smile. “are you mocking me?” he scoffed playfully and you couldn’t help but laugh, even if he sounded annoyed, you could still see the adoration in his eyes.
two people of different backgrounds enjoying the notes being played in the air, as the song he made for you filled up the room with nothing but admiration.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
25: the only time you’ll ever hear 25 play the piano is when there is free time and when he notices you’re feeling down, which unsurprisingly isn’t uncommon due to what tends to go on in the laboratory.
↳
it was one of days where things just weren’t going your way, which led to 25 basically kidnapping you by throwing you over his shoulder since you refused to move from your bed. “you truly can be a headache at times, are you aware? you should feel honored that i’m taking time out of my day to amuse you.” he muttered as he arrived to the music room
“then why not keep doing that?! you could’ve let me stay in bed, but yet you chose to do this” you huffed as you kept smacking his back and kicking your feet in hopes he would drop you, to no avail he sat you up next to him as he started to play the piano, an unfamiliar tune entering your ears. you perked up, the tune sounded romantic and it was all you could focus on. “i will indulge you this once, so pay attention to this new melody i have created.” he said, and you did exactly what he asked you to do, 100% of your attention was on his fingers, the way he played without hesitance had you in awe. he smirked seeing your face light up, it seems like he accomplished his goal.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
35: the last segment you expected to ever show such trivial emotions, the last to make you a song. he was not one to indulge you, in fact he would laugh at you if you even suggested it, so imagine your surprise when he told you he made you something
↳
“so are you gonna sit down or what?” he grumbled even after you were in the middle of doing just that, you never understood him and you have a feeling he didn’t understand himself either, but you would rather be struck down by the heavenly principles than say it out loud. “is there a reason you made a new melody?” you mumbled. “i want to see the results of how you will react to this small experiment.. think of it as some minor research.” he gleamed, he would never admit it but he cares for you as much the other segments did. he just showed it in his own way.
he played the piano, he took notice of how your heart rate went down, your shoulders dropped, you leaned closer, your muscles became less tense, your breathing became slower.
the signs that you were relaxing, the sadness within you being forgotten, mission accomplished, he smirked.
you closed your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulders, the tune continuing to play.
the experiment was a success.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
45: a rational man who knew what you liked when it came to music, he knew you were a sucker for the sounds of a piano playing.
he told you he wanted to show a new song he wrote for you. excited, you dragged him to the music room, eager to hear what he wrote
↳
“come on! i can’t wait to hear what you wrote this time!” you jumped as you led him to the seat in front of the piano, the man chuckled at your eagerness, something he loved about you. “mama prema, your never ending energy will always surprise me.” he chuckled as you blushed at the nickname, his fingers pressing the keys as you watched intently, different from 8, he was skilled and was able to play the piano without looking down, not even a blindfold would make a difference.
you couldn’t help but smile, the man in front of you was the light of your life and would drop anything to attend to you, the way he smiled at you lovingly was something you will never get tired of, it was one of the only times you would see this specific segment without the bird like mask.
you both were caught up in the moment, it felt like it would never end, and you were thinking that you never wanted it to end.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
65: the most quiet of all but very gentle when it came to you, he has been teaching you how to play the piano and wanted to see if you were able to play the song he made for you, so he took you to the music room to try it out… it went better than expected
↳
“am i doing it right?” you asked as you slowly played the piano, afraid to make mistakes. “you’re doing fine, relax… i’m not gonna get mad if you make a simple mistake.” he chuckled, standing behind you slightly jumped as you felt him place his fingers on top of your, guiding your fingers on the keys. “i recognize these notes.. it’s the love progression, you wrote me a song?” you whispered, your face slowly becoming warmer; the realization that he made this for you and wanted you to hear it by playing it yourself. your breathing hitched and you looked at him in awe. “you made this..for me?” you said as he nodded. “it is not often you get shown appreciation, it is deserved” he mused as he sat down next to you.
both forgetting why they were there originally, chatting idly as time passed by.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Zandik/85: the original, the one who’s been there since day one, he was a hopeless romantic and it wouldn’t the first or last time he made you a song
↳
as he played the keys, you swung your legs as you sat on top of the piano. “zandik, the way you play the piano will never fail to amaze me.” your face beaming as he smiled. “these songs are all inspired by you after all, my muse.” he teased.
you hummed in response and focused to the tune of the song, stealing kisses from zandik once in a while,
the music room has become the place of comfort for the both of you, indulging only one person, and that person was you.
all the songs he made for you were embedded with a secret language only the two of you knew. not even the other segments were aware of this.
there were times he would measure your natural heart rhythm and compose to the beat of it with exact precision. he held you in high regard after all. even near death you will always be his priority.
(I removed the names and took out some of the needless Worldbuilding I had in it, but boiling it down, it's essentially Dom!Fairy x Horny Human Researcher
(...) Indicates a sizable removal of things in between to get to the smut
Hope you enjoy!)
" Strip."
He ordered, finally letting go of her necklace he had used as a leash to tug her along in the groves, flitting around her, " Leave on the stockings and shoes."
He watched the articles of clothing obediently hit the floor, admiring the way her stockings gently squeezed her thighs, tracing over it with his palm in a way a man her size would stroke flesh with a finger, making her shiver before he pointed to the hollow of a tree, it's roots jutting up like the sides of a chair.
It was then, with his magic that vines came out, snaking over her thighs and ankles, spreading her open for the world to see, a vine draping down and loosely binding her hands above her head, her hands twitching as he admired the flush that had spread over her face, down her neck and to her chest.
" These are just precautions so you don't accidentally squish your thighs together and crush me or something.
Hell of a way to die, but probably not very good for your research paper." He grinned to her as he himself had shed his clothing, flitting over to her chest as his hands sparked with some fire magic, tracing heat patterns onto her skin that lingered in a tingling wake as he practically painted the warmth along her left breast, moving from the top to the bottom of it in lingering swirls before moving to the center, circling to it until it was hard under his hands.
" Just a little bit of touching and you're already starting to feel it?
They get some pretty top quality researchers, huh?" He teased to her before opening his mouth, using the whole of it to pull her nipple into his mouth, making her shiver as he doted on her, his small tongue swirling around it, savoring the taste before giving it an affirmative bite that made her jolt.
" How cute." He mumbled before letting go and fluttering to the ground, picking a blade of grass and tying it neatly around her left nipple to keep it in a nice permanent pinch, moving to do the same to the other, the heat of his fire magic swirling around her at times, making it feel like tendrils were on her as he sucked on the other until it matched, binding that one too, wiggling his fingers and showing just how much power he still had over things that weren't even connected to the earth as the blades moved, pulling them as she threw her head back with a small squeal.
" Adorable." He grinned, sliding down her stomach in a warm trail of fire before he got between her thighs, giving bites where he could, his diminished size from her making the bites mostly tingle as he didn't bite hard enough to break skin, little teasing pinches that made her shudder.
(...)
" Wonderful. I've kept you waiting long enough, especially when you've been doing so well." He chuckled.
Both his hands drenched with her wetness as he grasped ahold of her clit, stroking it as a whole wave of warmth crashed through her with a small shock of electricity, making her arch, her legs straining a bit against the vines to close on him.
If he was at all bothered by what would be in his case sizeable thrashing, it definitely wasn't showing by the pleased grin on his face, opening up his mouth as wide as it could go and stuffing her whole clit into his mouth with a contented grunt.
Her whole body tingled and shuddered as she gasped and moaned, electricity spiking from her clit and branching out all over her body the more heat and passion he poured into it, bringing her higher and higher, especially as his magic worked against her, pinching and pulling on her chest.
Then he suddenly stopped.
" What? Why?!" She gasped as she trembled, her fairy mostly soaked in her slick as he grinned before plastering his whole body against her
" Hold on, I got you, just take a breath for me."
She did so along with him before he took her into his mouth again, using his final move to shove her over the edge as his delicate wings automatically started beating so hard it made a buzzing noise, making him vibrate against her like a premium toy, shoving her to orgasm as she arched, unable to stop the scream wrenching from her throat.
Waves of pleasure overwhelmed her from the tingling and pull of the magic, to his seemingly ceaseless vibrating against her before it ended, wherein he detached from her, dripping of her as he flew up to be slightly above her tossed back head, grinning to her, obviously pleased.
" Happy, Gorgeous?" He asked before kissing her lips it being the gentlest brush as she couldn't stop trembling.
" I've got something for you to take after this. You'll get to be our size for a while, and I want to show you very thoroughly how we fairies like to 'pollinate'."
Oh my goddddddd
Anon this is so delicious??? So creative??? The way he uses fire magic to stimulate her and then flapping his wings to make himself vibrate against her like a vibrator??? I’ve never thought of stuff like that wow
Also the mental image of a tiny fairy being the dominant one is so hilarious to me (i really dig it). If this is the stuff he manages to pull out while being so tiny I’d love to see how he behaves when he gets her on his size
Reading the recent request about Gab and Lulu it makes me realize how much I want to bully and be mean to Lulu in my side until he cries a lot and then tell him soothing things, spoil him with Gab just to bully Lulu more. I love crying man what can I say.
Lulu is indeed, a crybaby at heart. He's been cold his whole life and now he has a gorgeous girlfriend and an athletic boyfriend (even if he will only begrudgingly admit so).
He's been perfect his whole life sooooo, he never tasted the pain and bitterness of losing 🤷 He has never had anything to lose before. Now that he's the one receiving the end of the cruel words and activities after being worshipped all his life, he's obviously going to break.
Since the three of you dated, Lulu is more open with his feelings. Especially because he's studying law and he's actually learning to be fairer and emphatic. Even if he's slightly crazy and psychotic, he's determined to do a good job in his future profession, you know?
[Name] will be the kinder one because Gabe is certainly not backing down. The Upperclassman still holds grudges to our serial blondie for traumatizing you back in highschool, and what's better than torturing him until his dick weeps?
You'll be holding Ludwig firmly from behind, with one hand pumping his dick, and the other one lightly choking the front of his neck. Pretty boy is going to sob just from the touch, just wait until Gabe pulls on his nipple and frots their dicks together 😋
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Tags: male yandere x fem reader, happy ending for once, 1.4k words
The came back wrong trope is a horror and gothic staple. The idea that someone you love and cherish is still with you, but they’re also not. Their eyes are different somehow, the way they smile is just a little off, their voice carries in ways it’s not supposed to.
That hair-raising knowledge that something isn’t quite right, but not being able to put your finger on exactly what it is.
It’s terrible when the man you’re supposed to marry gets drafted and sent to the front lines. But it’s especially terrible when he comes home and you aren’t sure he’s the same man at all.
When you run into his arms at the train station, his whole body goes stiff. He touches you like he’s scared to break you, and when you stand on your toes to kiss him, he turns his cheek to you instead.
“I’ve missed you,” you say softly.
“Missed you too.”
It's not much better when you bring him home. There's a big welcome home party for him — his pa and his great Aunt Betty and all the neighbours who used to say he was such a good kid — and none of them seem to notice the change. He smiles at everyone and laughs politely at their jokes, but his arm is heavy around your waist the entire time.
When the party is over and evening starts creeping into night, you find yourself giving one excuse after the other so you won't be alone with him.
“You really ought to drive Aunt Betty home. Her eyes aren't the best anymore.”
“I'll just run these leftovers over to the neighbours. You know how the kids love cake.”
“Just go on up to bed without me. I want to get this mess cleaned up.”
But all your excuses run dry eventually. He walks with you over to the neighbours and tells the kids he'd be happy to send over some cookies tomorrow. He helps you sweep up and wipe the tables, even though he's still in his dress blues and you know how much he hates to get them dirty.
When the house is spotless and the moon is high, you finally have no way of avoiding him.
“I thought about you all the while I was gone,” he says at last. You can't read the expression on his face. “I did everything I could to get back to you.”
You expect him to kiss you, or touch you with that fire all returning soldiers are rumoured to have. He doesn't. He just gets ready for bed and sleeps on the very edge of the mattress.
You tell yourself that you're being paranoid. Who knows what terrible things he saw during the war? Of course he's going to be a different man after all that violence and blood.
The next morning, you make him his favourite breakfast. You rest your palm on his thigh while he pushes it around his plate. He doesn't eat a single bite.
“What would you like to do today?” you ask.
“Whatever you want. As long as we're together.”
That's another strange thing about him — he's oddly subdued. The man he was before would be all over you, calling you baby and darling and dollface. He'd be proposing half a dozen different places to visit.
You tell yourself that your old fiancé will come back with time. Maybe he just needs to adjust to being back home.
A month passes, and then another. He doesn't kiss you. He doesn't hold you at night. You don't see him eat a single thing.
You still love him. Of course you do. But oh, it's hard. You might as well be living with a stranger.
“What have I done wrong?” you ask him eventually. “Why won't you touch me?”
He looks guilty. And maybe a little frightened.
“I…can't. I'll hurt you. You don't understand how badly I want you, how much I wanted you while I was gone.”
“Please.” You touch his cheek. “Please, just be my fiancé again.”
When you stand on your toes to kiss him, he goes perfectly still. His lips are cool, and he tastes of pine.
“Don't,” he says when you move closer. “I'm not safe. Not for you.”
You pull away, but can't hide the hurt and anger you feel.
“What's the point then? If you won't have me, then maybe we shouldn't be together at all.”
He flinches when you pull off your engagement ring and slam it against his chest. But he doesn't follow you when you leave.
Getting your own apartment and sleeping alone is less of a transition than you thought it would be. You were alone when he was gone, and you were alone when he came back, too. It hurts. It hurts deep inside you, and most mornings you have trouble forcing yourself out of bed.
You tell yourself that it's for the best. He doesn’t want you, not really. If he did, he would have fought harder to keep you. You try to forget about him, mourn him as though he died overseas.
It doesn't work. And when he finally comes to get you back, some part of you isn't all that surprised.
He comes for you on the night of your anniversary.
You wake up to a cold breeze, and when you open your eyes, your bedroom curtains are fluttering in the open window.
“Don't scream,” he tells you pleasantly. He's sitting in an armchair in the corner of your room and you're so shocked to see him that you make no sound at all.
“I thought staying away from you would be the best thing for you,” he says. “But it wasn't any good, not a bit. I kept thinking about you like I was still at war.”
He's in his field uniform. Even though it's clean, the front of it is ripped to shreds. He fingers the holes in his shirt.
“Machine gun. Hurt like a bitch. When I died, you were the last thing I thought about. More than the panic, more than the fear of death, it was you.”
You sit up slowly. You can't take your eyes off him.
“What are you?”
He shrugs. “I don't know. I just know that I died, and they had to leave me behind. There are strange things over there, stories I used to laugh at when we were first deployed. When I woke up, those stories didn't seem all that funny anymore.”
It's his eyes, you realise slowly. It's his eyes that are the most different thing about him. The same colour, the same shape. But you get the sense that something old and terrible is staring out at you.
“What did this to you?”
He sighs and rubs his jaw. “I don't know that either. But I don't get hungry anymore. I tried eating a few times, out of curiosity, but it all tastes like mud. I don't sleep, I don't dream. Nothing.”
“When we were in bed together…”
“I was awake the entire time. When you fall asleep, I like to watch you. You can't understand how much you mean to me. You’re the one thing that kept me going.”
“You say that. You say you love me. So why hide this from me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
You aren't sure you believe him now either. The logical part of your brain is telling you that there's no way a dead soldier can just get up off the battlefield and come home. But those eyes…
He sighs again and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His dog tags swing on their chain, catching the moonlight.
“I don't know what I am. I don't know if there's heaven or hell or if I can even die again. All I know is that I love you. I want to be with you. Staying away is impossible, and…dangerous.”
“Why dangerous?”
“Because I want you all the more when I can't see you. It's like I need to mark you up just so I know you're mine. I thought I loved you already, but now I burn up at the thought of being without you.”
Your dead fiancé stands up slowly. You're not afraid of him, because deep down you get the sense that he's still the man who loves you. No, you're far more afraid of the thing you can feel right below the surface. The magic or curse or hoodoo that's keeping him alive.
“Will you let me kiss you, knowing what you know now? Knowing what I am?”
There's only one answer you can give him. Despite your fear, despite the deep-seated sense of wrongness, he's always loved you. And you've always loved him.
Synopsis : It’s funny how the person they once loved, fianlly moved on without them.
Characters : Noa Noel , Chris Prince , Marc Snuffy, Micheal Kaiser, Julian Loki , Vivian Hugo.
Part One : Sae Itoshi , Rin Itoshi , Isagi Yoichi , Reo Mikage , Oliver Aiku.
Notes : Fem reader, angst, wrote this with pure boredom, failed relationship or whatever, cliché, not fully proofread, oc characterization—maybe? suggestive and a tad bit dramatic…perhaps? Lost motivation after I finished Prince’s part…so I’m unsure about the rest kinda sucks… lost ideas so Loki and Vivi got the same trope.
･ ༝ ･ Noel Noa
You met Noel Noa before the world knew his name, long before he was labeled the greatest striker in the world.
Later on, fans would look at you with envy, calling you incredibly lucky and praising how you had been there to support him through everything and how he still chose to stay with you.
But back then, he was just Noa. A young football player running on the streets of Paris, chasing a dream that seemed entirely impossible.
It was brutally hard to get scouted when you came from a poor area; you had to work twice as hard just to convince someone to look at you and pick you up for a club.
He didn’t have much to his name. Money was tight, his apartment was incredibly cramped, and his meals were painfully simple.
There were nights when he came home completely exhausted, dropping his heavy bag by the entryway door and sitting in absolute quiet because even he did not know if all his sacrifices would actually lead anywhere. He had to play football and also work a real job just to earn money.
But you stayed. You dated him because you found him to be reliable, and he charmed you to the point you fell deeply in love you spent your days working hard just to come home to that tiny apartment.
You would spend hours resting on the mattress, hugging his waist against your bare skin while he kissed you softly.
One dark night, with the window cracked open, he brushed the stray hair away from your face while you held him tightly beneath the blankets.
He looked down at you and quietly “ do you think I can make it?“ You looked back at him “yes noa, i know you could do it.”
Then you leaned into him for a lingering kiss, which he softly kissed you back and pulling you closer. That was the exact moment he realized he wanted you beside him forever.
The two of you married young, it was one spontaneous decision born on a random day while you were walking hand in hand across a bridge.
You did not bother telling your families; you just looked at each other and agreed to do it right then and there.
People would have told you that you were far too young, that his career was too uncertain, and that love alone was not enough to build a future, but neither of you cared.
You had absolutely nothing, yet it felt like you had everything because you had each other.
You immediately bought a cheap white dress that was on sale, found a secondhand veil at a small shop, and Noel simply wore one of the few suits he already owned.
He bought you a simple bouquet of flowers, and you both paid for the certificate, while you sealed your vows right there before walking home laughing.
When Noel Noa finally became famous, it happened slowly at first.
The world had finally discovered him, and the young promising striker had immersive talent that quickly transformed into a living legend.
The same man who once had to count every single expense was suddenly surrounded by immense wealth, flashing cameras, and a-lot of global expectations.
You were unbelievably proud of him, watching the man you loved achieve every single thing he had ever dreamed of.
You eventually moved into a beautiful, spacious apartment —the exact one he had promised to give you once he made it—and he would pepper you with affection to the point that you built a family together, eventually welcoming a son into the world.
Noel, with his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him, would watch his don crawl on the floor and crawl towards him babbling.
He reached out, his large hand engulfing your son’s tiny fingers, before his gaze flicked up to meet yours.
He slide a hand over your knee, squeezing it gently, a silent acknowledgment that this—the warm room, the sound of your breathing, the small child laughing between you—was the actual prize he was playing for.
For a while, your life felt absolutely perfect.
There were mornings when Noel would leave early for training but still make time to kiss your forehead before stepping out.
And there were nights when the three of you would sit together at the dinner table, where you would cook a warm meal and bake dessert while Noel quietly helped clean the dishes afterward while you took care of your son’s needs.
But having to move from Paris to Germany had been a struggle for you.
You only knew the language because you had taken it as a school elective years ago, which did calm your anxiety about raising your son in a foreign country while Noel's career has began to reach the ladders.
Yet, you managed. Noel made sure the inside of your new home remained entirely warm. On the evenings when he didn't have late meetings, he would come home smiling , took a shower and would change into soft sweatpants, walk straight into the kitchen where you were preparing dinner, and silently wrap his long arms around your waist from behind, burying his face into your neck just to breathe you in.
“You look tired,” you would murmur, leaning back into his solid chest while stirring the pot on the stove.
“Tiring day, the trainers are strict about conditioning,” Noel would reply, his voice a bit low, that rumbled against your skin. “But their methods are logical, they kept me in there for so long, wanted to see you two right away.”
He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his hands resting securely on your hips. “More importantly, how was your day? Did you manage the market down the street?”
You would turn around in his embrace, looking up into his teal eyes with a soft smile. “I stumbled over my words three times, and I’m pretty sure I said the wrong thing when I asked them to cut the meat, but the man was patient and kind enough. Also, Noé kept trying to mimic the German words, which made everyone laugh.”
Right on cue, a bright, bubbly sound would echo from the living room rug. Noé, who was a toddler, was sitting among his building blocks, babbling happily in a French and German baby talk.
He was waving a plastic toy car in the air, his wide eyes fixed completely on his father.
Then suddenly happy and laughing seeing him come home.
Noel’s gaze would instantly soften a look that the public and the paparazzi never got to witness.
Noel would walk over to the rug, scooping Noé up effortlessly with one strong arm.
Noé immediately let out a loud, delighted giggle, burying his tiny hands into Noel’s hair and babbling a string of incomprehensible sentences as if he were explaining a very important story to his father
Noel listened with absolute seriousness, nodding along to his son's chatter.
“Is that so?” Noel murmured, a faint, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “A very efficient strategy, Noé.”
He carried the babbling toddler back into the kitchen, stepping close to you again.
With Noé settled securely on his hip, Noel reached out with his free hand, gently cupping the side of your face.
He leaned down and pressed a warm, deep kiss to your lips.
The moment he pulled away, he immediately shifted his focus down, planting a loud, affectionate kiss right onto Noé’s chubby, flushed cheek, which made the little boy squeal with laughter.
Standing there in the foreign kitchen, surrounded by the smell of home-cooked food and the sound of your son's laughter.
You had absolutely nothing to fear, because as long as the three of you were together, any place felt exactly like home.
On match days, your young son would look at his father on the pitch with wide, amazed eyes, pointing up at the field in pride and start saying “dada” and then would babble while you had to soothe his hyper-activeness and nod saying “yes, that’s dada, look at him” then you’ll kiss your son’s cheeks.
A problem would always be the paparazzi and the public eye always observing and obsessing over his private personal life. it always irritated Noel whenever the media tried to invade your privacy.
It was hard to get away from them.
You took family vacations to the ocean side of France, where he would chase the two of you along the shore, carrying you both in his arms as a complete, happy family.
You vividly remembered a summer afternoon back in the south of France, during a brief three-day break before the World Cup training camp commenced.
Noé was about four years old, completely exhausted from a day of chasing waves, and was fast asleep in the bedroom of the small coastal house you had rented to escape the public eye.
You were standing at the kitchen counter, cutting fresh fruit, when Noel walked up behind you.
Simply resting his chin on your shoulder, watching you cut the fruits.
“The club wants to extend the contract by four more years,” Noel stated flatly, his eyes fixed on the cutting board. “The financial compensation is substantial. It would secure everything for Noé future . And for you.”
You paused, the knife hovering over a piece of fruit. “Alright, does that mean, we’ll have to stay in germany?” You questioned while feeding noel a piece of fruit that you chopped.
“Mhm,” Noel murmured around the fruit, chewing it slowly as he leaned his heavy weight more firmly against your back. His long arms slid around your waist, his hands resting flat against your stomach to hold you flush against his chest.
“Four more years in Munich guarantees absolute stability for the rest of our lives, ensuring neither you nor noé will ever experience the financial instability I grew up with.”
You swallowed hard, looking down at the remaining fruit on the cutting board. “Im not sure i can stay in germany amd live in that house, i get pretty lonely and barely have any one to talk too andthat massive apartment house in Munich just feels like a very expensive cage. I only know the language from an old school elective. I can’t build a life out there when my entire world is just waiting for you to come home from a match.”
Noel stayed completely still against your back, his broad shoulders tensing slightly and turned you around slowly within the tight circle of his arms, forcing you to lean back against the kitchen counter so he could look directly into your eyes.
“I do not want you to be lonely,” he murmured softly, his thumb reaching up to gently trace the line of your jaw, his touch incredibly grounded and deliberate. “The contract is merely an offer. If the environment in Germany is causing you to be unhappy then I’ll tell them. We can look at options that return us closer to France, or a different routine.”
A small, smile touched your lips as you looked up into the face of the man who was currently considered the greatest striker on the planet, yet was willing to rewrite his professional trajectory just to fix the sadness in your voice. “Can you really just change it like that? Your managers will be furious.”
Before Noel could answer, a soft whimper broke the heavy silence of the kitchen. From the nearby bedroom, Noé had finally awoken from his nap, rubbing his eyes as his small footsteps patted against the hardwood floor.
Noel’s expression instantly softened, and effortlessly scooped the toddler up into his arms. Noé immediately rested his heavy, sleepy head against his father's broad shoulder, “papa”
Noel pressed a gentle kiss to the side of the boy's head, holding him close before looking back down at you, his eyes silently waiting for your final verdict on their future.
Looking at your husband holding your son so securely, a wave of guilt washed over you.
You knew how hard Noel had fought to escape the slums of Paris, and you knew what he is doing is his way of ensuring Noé would never have to experience that kind of life, ever.
You took a deep breath, swallowed your rising anxiety, and hesitantly agreed to stay in Munich for the extension.
You told yourself you could handle the massive house and the empty afternoons if it meant keeping your family whole under the life Noel was building for the both of you.
But months after returning to Germany, the crushing weight of the isolation completely broke you.
The massive house in Munich felt more like a silent and a prison than ever before, the foreign language isolating you from the world while Noel was constantly away at demanding training camps, high-stakes matches, and mandatory club events.
You spent your days staring at the pristine walls, listening to the echoing quiet, until you finally realized that your soul was entirely suffocating. You couldn't take it anymore.
The compromise you finally reached was a painful, bittersweet fracturing of your daily life.
You packed your bags and moved back to a secure, quiet apartment in Paris with little Noé, seeking the familiar comfort of your home country where you could finally breathe, while Noel stayed behind in Germany to fulfill the demands of his multi-million dollar contract.
He lived in Munich, completely burying his loneliness in relentless discipline on the pitch, while you lived a separate life miles away.
He would ride or fly to Paris on his rare days off just to hold you on the mattress and kiss Noé’s cheeks, but the distance had already begun to cast a long shadow over your marriage—marking the exact, quiet beginning of the drift that would eventually pull you apart for good.
The long-distance arrangement quickly solidified into a test that stretched on for four agonizing years.
The quiet apartment in Paris gave you happiness but it cost you the daily presence of the man you loved. Your primary connection to Noel became just daily routine of late-night phone calls.
Every evening, after his double training sessions in Munich, your phone would buzz at exactly nine o'clock. He never missed the timing, but a telephone line could not transmit the physical warmth you desperately craved.
“Noé is already asleep,” you whispered into the receiver one rainy evening, leaning your head against the cool glass of your kitchen window. “He spent an hour today tracing your face on the tv and kept on waiting for you at the doorstep. He keeps asking when the white airplane or train will be bringing you back.”
A long, heavy pause echoed through the line from Germany, punctuated only by the faint, clinical hum of Noel’s empty apartment in Munich. “My flight is scheduled for Friday at dawn,” Noel’s low rasp replied, his voice laced with a deep, exhaustion that he only ever revealed to you.
“I negotiated a thirty-six-hour release from the club’s weekend training to meet you two. I will be there before he wakes up.”
“Thirty-six hours isn’t enough, Noel,” you murmured, a tear finally slipping down your cheek in the dark. “You spend more time in transit than you do in this home.”
“It is the only time they let me,” he flatly stated, though his jaw tensed so hard you could practically hear the strain over the microphone. “Bear with me, please.”
The weekend visits were a chaotic blur of intense affection and underlying heartbreak.
Whenever the front door of your Paris apartment finally clicked open, little Noé would drop his toy blocks and sprint across the hardwood floor with an ecstatic yell.
Noel would immediately drop his travel bag, collapsing to his knees to catch the boy in his massive arms, burying his face into his son's hair while Noé was frantic and happy to see his father he always longed for.
Noel would lift him up high, pressing a deep kiss to his cheek, before his eyes immediately locked onto yours over the boy's shoulder.
He would wrap his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and kiss you with a desperate, frantic intensity that tasted like pure loneliness and stolen time.
For those brief hours, the three of you would build blanket forts on the living room floor, bake sweet desserts together, and pretend that the outside world didn't exist.
Noel would hover over you on the mattress late at night, his bare skin warm against yours, tracing your jawline as if trying to permanently memorize your features before the sun came up.
But Noé's reaction to the constant back-and-forth became increasingly painful.
He was growing older, and he was becoming acutely aware of what was happening . Every Sunday evening, the atmosphere in the apartment would grow completely quiet and tense.
Noé would sit directly on top of Noel’s packed suitcase, wrapping his small arms around the handle and crying quietly, refusing to move so his father couldn't leave.
“Don’t go to Germany, Papa,” Noé would sob, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of Noel’s pants. “Stay here. Play football in Paris. Stay with me please ”
Noel would crouch down, his and gently pried his son's hands away from the bag. And place a hand on Noé's shoulder, his voice completely flat trying to hide the fact that his heart was breaking.
“I can’t simply do that, Noé. It is my responsibility. This is for the better, papa loves you always and I will call you at nine.”
That was how it was, he comes and goes. By the time the four years of the contract extension finally concluded, the damage was completely absolute. The routine of phone calls and brief, agonizing visits hadn't saved your marriage; it had simply strained the two of you.
You tried to raise Noé in a peaceful, normal environment. But You never fully understood what went wrong with your family but the moment that framed family portrait accidentally broke, everything began to go south.
The actual conversation that led to the breakup happened back in Paris, inside the quiet living room of your spacious home.
Noé was older now and fast asleep upstairs.
There was no screaming just the suffocating weight of an empty marriage that was tiring you out.
You were sitting on the couch, staring at the space between you, when you finally broke the silence. “Noel, we can’t keep doing this.”
Noel paused, setting his tablet down on the coffee table. He looked at you, his eyes “Doing what?”
“Living like strangers,” your voice was quiet, completely exhausted. “You came home three days ago from the training camp, and we have barely spoken ten words to each other. I can’t keep moving on with you like this .” Your breath hitched and continued on,
“You are physically in this room, but your mind is always away, I am so lonely, Noel.”
Noel’s posture remained rigid, his shoulders locking. “I am doing my job. You know that, the legacy that I promised you and our son”
“I don’t care about the legacy anymore!” The sudden cracked tone in your voice made him flinch slightly. “I cared about the man who used to hold me under a blanket in a freezing apartment. I cared about the father who used to kiss our son’s cheeks until he laughed. I care about my husband who was there.”
“You’re barely even here Noa.”
A heavy, painful silence settled over the room. Noel stared down at his hands, his fingers tensing against his knees.
“The world demands everything from me,” Noel confessed, his voice dropping . “If I do not give it everything, I fail. I fail not just the world but my family .”
“Winning is enough for the fans, Noel. It isn't enough for a marriage,” you murmured, tears finally spilling over your eyelashes.
“I don’t know how to reach you anymore. And I don’t think you know how to let me in.”
Noel didn't deny it what you just said.
He couldn't. His mind knew the truth of your words, “So,” Noel whispered, the word tasting bitter in his throat. “What do you want to do?”
“We let each other go,” you replied softly, your heart breaking as you said the words out loud. “Before we completely ruin the beautiful memories we have left.”
Noel closed his eyes, a deep, shuddering breath escaping his chest.
He simply nodded, accepting the defeat with the same dignity he likes how he acted on the pitch, even though his chest ached with emptiness. “We will talk about this later.” Then noel went upstairs to your shared bedroom while a family framed picture fell down.
Midway the process of the divorce. Noel did not realize the shift at first; he genuinely thought everything was fine because there were no arguments or screaming matches.
Instead, it was just two people slowly and quietly drifting apart. The distance wore both of you out completely, and even your son began asking difficult questions about what was happening.
He was young, but he was old enough to feel that his parents were no longer the same people they were when he was a child.
To make matters worse, Noel’s rising fame meant the media constantly manufactured rumors about him dating other people, and the intense prying into your marriage even led to your son’s classmates mocking your relationship at school.
For a Noé, this meant that the simple act of leaving the house became an absolute nightmare.
Paparazzi would wait themselves outside the family property, thrusting flashing cameras and heavy lenses directly into his face whenever he walked to the car.
They would yell out aggressive, intrusive questions, completely unbothered by the fact that they were ruthlessly harassing a child just to get a reaction for the morning headlines.
The brutal harassment quickly came into his school life, the constant media speculation about his parents' deteriorating marriage became a weapon for his classmates.
“Hey, Noé, saw the news today,” a boy sneered during lunch break, tossing a tabloid magazine onto the cafeteria table.
“Says your dad is staying at a hotel in Münich with some model. Is your mom finally getting dumped?”
“Shut up,” Noé muttered, his fingers clenching the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white.
“Everyone knows your parents are totally fake,” a girl chimed in from the next table, offering a cruel, mocking laugh. “My mom says your dad only stays married for his clean brand image. Must be exhausting pretending to be a happy family.”
Another girl chimed in, “I heard from my mom that she’s so lonely that she began having a relationship with another man.”they all looked at him and sneered.
Noé sat entirely frozen, just feeling the humiliation and anger rushing to his cheeks.
He wanted to scream, to defend the warm, sweet home he remembered from his childhood , but the cold reality was that he couldn't deny their words anymore.
He had seen the empty space on his father's side of the bed. He had felt the suffocating silence that now filled their dinner table. And how his parents wouldn’t talk to each other and just stare at one another wanting to say something.
The mockery from his peers made him feel intensely isolated, it made him think his family wasn't real—they were just public figures meant to be picked apart.
When the school bell finally rang, Noé walked out of the school gates only to find a swarm of reporters waiting on the sidewalk, tipped off by the recent rumors of an impending divorce.
The moment his small frame emerged, the crowd surged forward, completely blocking his path home.
“Noé! Is it true your parents are drawing up custody papers?” a reporter shouted, pushing a microphone dangerously close to the boy's face.
“Look over here, Noé! Does your mother know about the latest photos from Germany?” another voice barked, the blinding strobe lights of the cameras causing the boy to stumble backward in panic.
Noé covered his face with his backpack, his chest heaving as tears of frustration finally spilled over his lashes.
He felt completely suffocated, he kept his head down, pulling his school jacket tight hoping that if he moved fast enough, he could slip past the intersection unnoticed.
He was just a kid trying to get home to his mother, but his father’s name made him public property.
Three reporters leaped out from a parked black van, their heavy camera lenses swinging toward him like weapons.
Before Noé could even think to run, they aggressively sprinted across the pavement, completely cutting off his path and pinning him against a brick wall.
“Noé! Look over here! Just a quick statement!” a man barked, shoving a microphone inches from the boy’s face and cameras were flashing blinding the poor boy.
“Is your mother packing her bags tonight? We have sources saying the lawyers are inside the house right now!” a woman shouted, her voice entirely devoid of empathy as she leaned over his small frame.
Noé stumbled backward, his back hitting the cold brick wall.
He brought his school bag up to his chest, using it as a fragile shield against the blinding, rapid flash of the cameras. The strobes lit up the dim street, making his vision blur and his head spin.
He was completely trapped, a child surrounded by ruthless adults who only saw him as a lucrative headline.
“Leave me alone,” Noé, his voice trembling violently as he tried to squeeze past them. “Please, I just want to go home.”
“Did your dad officially replace you guys in Germany, Noé?”The photographer stepped closer, the lens clicking aggressively right in front of the boy’s tearing eyes.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing more than anything that his father would come out of the shadows and save him—but deep down, he knew Noel was miles away and entirely oblivious to the price his son was paying for his popularity.
Seeing a child pinned against a brick wall by a predatory crowd of adult journalists, two teachers raced down the concrete steps, shouting over the noise.
They aggressively forced their way through the wall of lenses, shoving reporters aside to wrap their arms around Noé’s trembling frame and drag him back inside the safety of the main building.
Inside the main office, the secretary immediately dialed your number.
You answered the phone only hearing the sheer panic in the teacher’s voice on the other end made your blood run completely cold.
When you arrived at the school fifteen minutes later, the media circus had doubled in size.
The moment your car pulled up to the curb, the paparazzi swarmed your vehicle, slamming their heavy equipment against the windows and completely blinding you with their rapid camera flashes.
You fought your way through the suffocating crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs as you pushed past the glass doors into the main office.
Noé was sitting in a corner chair, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his face entirely pale and stained with tears. He looked completely hollowed out. You quickly rushed and hugged him but he couldn’t even utter a word, completely frozen.
The teachers escorted you both out the back exit, but the reporters had already anticipated the move.
They surged forward, blocking the path to your car, shoving microphones into your face and shouting intrusive questions about Noel's career, the asset distribution, and the failing marriage.
You desperately tried to push Noé into the back seat, shielding his body with your own, but a photographer aggressively leaned over the car door, clicking his camera inches from your son's terrified eyes.
Something inside you completely snapped.
"Get away from him!" you screamed, your voice cracking with a desperate, terrifying rage that stunned the surrounding crowd. "He is a child! Have you completely lost your minds?! Leave us alone!"
You slammed the car door shut, locking it instantly. As you scrambled into the driver's seat, the sound of Noé’s muffled, sobs from the back seat filled the vehicle.
He was hyperventilating, weeping so deeply that he couldn't even draw air into his lungs.
Two days later, the fallout forced an emergency meeting at the school.
Noel Noa had been flown back from Germany while the corporate sponsors and team managers frantically trying to contain the massive PR disaster of his wife screaming at journalists on the evening news.
You sat stiffly in the principal's office, your hands tightly clasped in your lap, refusing to look at Noel as he sat right beside you. The air in the room was suffocatingly tense.
The principal closed the thick folder on his desk, looking at both of you with a grim, uncompromising expression. "Mr. Noa, Madam, I called this meeting because the situation has reached a critical breaking point. This institution prides itself on safety, but what happened on our sidewalk was an absolute failure of security."
Noel’s posture remained rigid,"The club is already processing legal injunctions against the specific media outlets involved. Security personnel will be assigned to the perimeter moving forward, for my son"
"This isn't some kind of thing that should be handled lightly!” your voice cut through with a tone of heavy with grief.
You finally turned your head to face him, your eyes blazing with tears. "I can’t keep this up anymore, Noé hasn't eaten a full meal in forty-eight hours. He refuses to leave his bedroom. He can’t sleep without me being by his side and he keeps calling for you, your own son won't even look out the window because he thinks someone is watching him."
Noel’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he remained silent.
"Your son has been completely destroyed," you whispered, the raw defeat in your tone turning the room freezing cold. "Your son barely even has friends any more, he comes home and starts asking me about us, We are done pretending. This marriage is completely over."
Noel looked from you to the principal, “let’s deal with this at home, not in-front of people—please.” He looked at you and the principal just went quiet seeing two married couple fight in-front of him that all he could do was cough .
The meeting ended in silence till the car ride home to your apartment, the moment you two entered the room, you started fighting again.
The heavy wooden door of Noé’s bedroom did very little to muffle the bitter, escalating voices coming from the downstairs hallway. It was the first time his parents had ever raised their voices like this, the house that was filled with warmth has been slowly falling apart.
Upstairs, Noé lay curled on his side beneath his blankets, pressing his hands over his ears, but the pain in his mother's voice and the unyielding weight of his father's tone cut straight through the floorboards.
“He is hyperventilating in his room, Noel!” you shouted, your voice cracking with a desperate rage that Noé had never heard from you before. “Are you completely blind to what your doing to him? He was hunted on a public street like an animal, and you are still standing there talking about public relations.”
“I am handling the reality of the situation, we can’t act rashly like you did.” Noel’s voice striked back, saying it with frustration. Making you scoff, “Yelling at reporters on national television does not solve anything. You just gave the media exactly the reaction they want to keep selling .I am trying to control the problem so we can protect him!”
“You think that’s more important , Noel? He is your nine-year-old son!” You let out a breathless, sobbing laugh.
“You think you can solve a broken family with that. You think if you just stay the master striker, if you keep winning matches, so that makes everything stay safe?”
“I grew up with nothing,” Noel confessed, “I know what happens when you fail. I have spent every single day of my life running so that we would never have to experience that life. Everything I have sacrificed, every camp I attended, every hour I spent away from this house was to build a life where he would be secure. Do not tell me I do not care about my son.”
“But you aren't here, Noel,” your voice returned, completely dropping its anger, leaving only a sound of hollow grief and silence that followed.
Upstairs, Noé buried his face into his pillow to muffle his own quiet sobs. The certainty he felt as a toddler in Germany, the vacations you all went too, wrapped in his father's strong arms while his mother laughed in the kitchen, was completely gone now.
He heard the faint, distinct sound of his mother’s footsteps walking away into the kitchen, followed by the heavy, his father’s footsteps walking up the stairs.
Eventually, the day came when you sat across from him in a completely quiet room with divorce papers resting between you. Both of you signed the documents in front of your lawyers, agreeing to shared custody. Noel insisted on giving you the apartment, promising to pay for your son’s entire future and giving you half of his career earnings. You quietly agreed, knowing you had nothing left to give him.
You both just stared at one another, Noel letting out a heavy sigh while you found yourself entirely unable to meet his eyes.
There was no bitterness in the room—only sadness.
When the lawyers finally left, the two of you sat in the heavy silence of the empty house, waiting for your son to come home.
You quietly broke the silence “I don’t hate you…I still love you.”
Noel looked down at his hands, his voice tight “I know…I love you too.”
After an agonizing pause, you confessed that you didn’t know what went wrong. His fingers tightened slightly against the table as he whispered that he still cared for you.
That was the absolute worst part of it all. You both knew the love was still there.
After the divorce was finalized, the public expected bitterness, a massive scandal, or a specific reason to blame someone, but there wasn't one.
There was just Noel Noa—a man who had successfully become everything the world wanted him to be, but had completely lost the one person who knew him before all of it.
Sometimes, he would look through his old photographs.
He preferred the old ones, the ones where he was younger, his hair was messy, and his clothes were cheap.
In those pictures, he was smiling genuinely because he had absolutely nothing to prove to the world, and standing right beside him was you—the person who loved him when he had nothing.
He would look at your wedding picture, watching you laugh as you kissed his cheek, remembering how beautiful you looked that day.
He would flip through the countless baby pictures from when your son was born, tracing the memories of the family they used to be.
A few years later three of you sat together in the private dining room of a quiet Parisian restaurant. Noé was a young teenager now, sitting comfortably between his parents.
There was only a quiet, deeply settled familiarity. You were older, and so was he. You both had changed significantly, but for a single, fleeting moment, he looked at you and still saw the young person who used to sit beside him in that cramped Paris apartment.
There was no media outside, no flashing cameras, and no predatory reporters lurking in the shadows. The outside world had finally moved on to chase younger prodigies, leaving the three of you with the one thing you had sacrificed everything to get: peace.
"Your father still doesn't know how to order anything besides that meal," you said with a soft, teasing laugh, pointing at the small cup in front of Noel. "Some things never change."
Noel let out a rare, low chuckle, the strict lines around his mouth softening completely as his teal eyes met yours. "I quite like it, then he stopped, “I’ll be going to Japan, Ego requested me to go check out his new plan, Blue lock.”
"That’s nice, send us pictures in Japan then" you shot back gently, your eyes crinkling with a tender.
Noé watched the exchange, a faint smile touching his lips.
He was watching his father quietly push the bread basket closer to you, and watching you naturally finish Noel’s sentences about his current coaching career, Lucas finally understood.
He couldn't help but wonder if, in another life—one where you and his father relationship wasn’t ruined by the media the teo of you could still be together.
He wondered if, in that other life, love would have been enough to save you. But this life was different.
They were no longer husband and wife, but they were the only two people who remembered the the past, where the dream began.
As the dinner wrapped up, Noel stood up to help you with your coat, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for a brief, respectful second just to ensure you were warm and gave you a faint kiss on the cheek.
He looked down at Noé, and hugged his son
"Take care of your mom for me," Noel murmured to his son,
"I will, Dad," Noé replied, pulling his mother close to his side as you walked toward the exit together.
You looked back one last time before stepping out and smiled faintly. Noé also looked back at his father’s figure who was standing by the window alone, watching your retreating figures with a calm, peaceful expression on his face.
In another life, the both of you will meet again and again and someday maybe even grow old together like you wished for.
･ ༝ ･ Chris Prince
Chris Prince had always belonged to the world. Everyone knew his name, his face, and his brand. Chris prince was known to be a phenomenal football player, a global celebrity, a highly lucrative brand, and the second-best striker in the entire world.
Chris Prince could walk into any crowded room and immediately become the center of attention without even trying.
People absolutely loved him, falling effortlessly for his staggering confidence, his chiseled appearance, his booming charisma, and his talent.
Fame, news, photoshoots, modeling campaigns, high-end television advertisements—Chris did it all, winning awards and constantly being named one of the most attractive men on the planet.
Everyone wanted a piece of Chris Prince, and Chris absolutely loved it.
He thrived on the excitement and the trill of the public attention, it was an intoxicating feeling.
And then, he met you. It happened at an extravagant, high-profile celebrity party filled with athletes, models, or plus one dates and even people desperately trying to claw their way close to someone famous.
Everyone in attendance knew exactly who Chris Prince was, and everyone was begging for his attention, wanting nothing more than to be noticed by the star.
You were simply leaning against the bar an hour into the event, thoroughly tired from partying and wanted to take a break, you were taking a slow sip from your cup.
He saw you idly sitting alone with a tired expression when Chris casually strolled up to you, but you just looked at him like he was a regular human being, you were too tired to realize his face, but then when the sudden realization came.
You offered a little smile and said, "Hey, you're Chris Prince, right? Let's take a selfie real quick, my friend is a huge fan."
He came up close to you and struck a pose, and you smiled at him “thanks, my friend really likes you a ton,” you joked.
From there, you just started talking to him normally, making him laugh with jokes about your regular job and telling him stories that made him interested in getting to know you.
It completely hooked him, he began also talking you and the moment he was pulled away from you he help up his phone number for you to put in.
That’s all how it began, he mostly did his best to text you and show that he wanted to get to know you more as a friend, it took him a while but, the two of you started dating. You reminded him that you were just cautious back then, not used to someone being so consistently attentive.
It took time for you to realize he didn't have an ulterior motive and truly just wanted to know the real you. The daily check-ins, the random teasing he’ll so, and the questions about your day.
Chris fell so hard, he started calling you his “sweetheart”or “babe” and constantly dragging you into his world, holding your hand tightly and looking at you with a smile.
When he worked out in his private gym, he would playfully demand that you give him a kiss for every single push-up he did.
his chest bare and his muscles gleaming with sweat, insisting that he couldn't finish unless you weren’t right in front of him.
For every single push-up he executed, he would push himself up high enough just to steal a quick, breathless kiss from your lips, grinning like a kid when you laughed.
Eventually, everything became exciting .
He’ll bring you to massive victory parties, his hand wrapped around your waist while he’ll kiss your shoulder. Spontaneous trips across the globe, and sudden flights across international borders just because Chris had a high-stakes match in another country and he’ll bring you with him.
You stood in the VIP boxes of packed stadiums, you were watching alongside thousands of people chant his name,
Chris loved showing you his world, taking you everywhere he went, many pictures of you were taken by paparazzi and you were always right there beside him. held your hand tightly, guiding you through the crowd.
The public simply could not get enough of the way the two of you together.
Every time you stepped out of a venue or walked down a city sidewalk, it garnered immediate attention of the waiting photographers.
People online kept on saying how heavily reminiscent of the most iconic couples of the early 2000s.
Chris never let go of your hand, using his free arm to gently shield you from the crowd or guide you through a sea of reporters.
The internet fell in love with you, you didn’t know why but they admired you.
There was a viral photo of him leaning down to whisper something in your ear instantly became the definition of modern romance, proving that you both remained entirely wrapped up in each other. Multiple people were watching the both of you.
The cameras finally caught the moment the entire internet had been waiting for, It happened late one evening outside a quiet restaurant, away from the chaos but still within range of the lens.
As the two of you waited for your car, entirely lost in conversation, he reached out to pull you close.
The public completely melted over the sequence of images that flooded social media the next morning. The first shot captured him gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his expression softening, while you kept on talking and Chris just looked at you. The media dubbed him as “helplessly in-love with you.”
In the next frame, his hands cradled your face as he leaned down to kiss you—a lingering moment that made the bustling city sidewalk completely fade away.
Even as the car pulled up and the drivers opened the doors, your hands remained locked together.
By midday, the photos were trending globally, with people commenting and loving the both of your relationships, yes there were haters but it out weighed the amount of people that loved the both of you together.
If two people were happily in love then let them be.
The both of you stepped outside his private suite in the cold night air . He stood at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the sprawling, glowing city skyline.
Then a broad, brilliant grin spread across his face as he turned back to look at you, his eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "This is the life, isn’t it?" he said.
You couldn't help but laugh softly, stepping closer to him as you replied, “Yes, Chris.”Before the last word could fully leave your lips, he leaned down and pressed a deep, breathless kiss against your mouth.
In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you away from the glass doors and into the sanctuary of the shared bedroom.
He pulled the heavy, plush blanket completely over your heads, trapping the two of you in a dark, warm cocoon that felt thousands of miles away from publicists, contracts, and demanding schedules.
Hidden beneath the thick covers, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. He began to hum a soft, aimless tune, while laying his head down on your chest listening to your heart beat.
His large, warm fingers gently intertwine through yours, and playfully tracing the intricate lines of your palm before his touch drifted upward, tenderly outlining the curve of your jaw. "I love you," he muttered, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper.
Another memory was taken by a camera, during a summer vacation Chris surprised you with.
The camera on the yacht’s deck was propped up perfectly, capturing a scene of a couple who were in love.
The warm Mediterranean breeze swept across the water, catching your hair as you sat on the sun loungers. Beside you, was Chris who was clinging to your side
The recorded footage showed him leaning over with a lazy, adoring smile, gently feeding you a plump grape from the massive charcuterie board spread out between you.
Then leaned in right after, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to your sun-warmed lips, the sound of the ocean waves crashing softly in the background of the video.
Another recording was when a deep laugh that echoed over the water, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms.
As you shrieked and laughed, clinging to his neck as he marched straight to the edge of the yacht, counting down before playfully throwing you right into the sparkling water.
Then it captured him diving in right after you, the lens blurring for a moment with splashing water before showing the two of you surfacing, laughing hysterically in each other's arms.
The memory of your early years with Chris felt like a decade’s old.
You remembered one winter night in Manchester, he took a day off and Chris had been ecstatic. He dragged the mattress directly into the living room in front of the fireplace, building a massive fort out of every blanket and pillow in the apartment
Chris just spent hours simply holding you and had insisted on feeding you pieces of fruit, laughing loudly whenever you tried to swat his hands away.
You reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, and whispered that he was just a beautiful boy and he was your good looking boy.
There was another moment you remembered it took place right after a massive victory.
His team had just won the UEFA, and the stadium outside was practically shaking from the roar of tens of thousands of fans chanting his name.
The locker rooms were absolute chaos, packed with reporters, sponsors, and teammates spraying champagne. Chris had been the star of the night, holding the trophy high for the cameras with his signature smile .
But the moment he spotted you standing quietly near the back exit, away from the flashing lights, his entire demeanor shifted.
He completely ignored a major network reporter who was mid-sentence, dropping the trophy onto a bench and pushing through the crowd of executives just to get to you.
He pulled you into his arms, completely unbothered by the fact that he was soaking wet and tracking mud across the pristine hallway.
He buried his face into your neck, holding you so tightly that you could barely breathe, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
“Did you see me out there, sweetheart?” he had whispered, his voice thick with a raw, childish excitement that he never showed the public. “I scored that last goal entirely for you. I kept looking up at the VIP box just to make sure you were watching.”
You had laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, completely melting into his warmth. “I saw you, Chris. The whole world saw you.”
“I don’t care about the world,” he had murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands resting securely on your waist.
You kissed him thoroughly right there in front of the stunned executives and flashing cameras. It was a beautiful, moment, one where you truly believed that your love was strong enough to survive the rising stardom.
You realize that as the trophies piled higher, the beautiful boy you loved would slowly disappear behind the untouchable brand of Chris Prince.
Chris also miserably started confusing having you physically beside him with actually being present for you. Because you were always there, he began to take your existence for granted.
Whenever he called, you answered. Whenever he finally came home, you welcomed him with open arms. Whenever his chaotic schedule shifted at the last minute, you quietly adjusted yours to fit his needs. He never questioned it.
Why would he? You had always been there before, so his ego assumed you always would be.
His life became a never-ending, exhausting cycle of training, matches, advertisements, interviews, photoshoots, public events, and flights to the next country.
Every single time you tried to ask for a quiet moment together, he would make the exact same promise. He would hold you close and whisper, "After this. After this match, babe. After this campaign. When things finally calm down."
But things never calmed down. There was always another opportunity, another mandatory responsibility, and another reason why tomorrow was easier than today.
Chris never stopped loving you though, that was never the issue. It was just that he foolishly believed love could survive on empty promises alone and took you for granted.
He thought that because you knew the real him, you would automatically understand the neglect.
He thought that because you loved him, you would wait forever, and because you were his person, you would always be standing there, cheering him on.
Until one day, you weren't.
It started with something so incredibly small that he almost didn’t notice it at first. He called your phone after training , but there was no answer. He just smiled to himself, assuming you were probably busy with errands.
He called again a few hours later, but it went straight to voicemail. He sent a casual text, but no response came.
And for the very first time in years, Chris Prince experienced absolute silence. He was confused, then he grew annoyed, and finally, absolute panic and worry set in.
And the moment he came home, he found you sitting on the edge of the matress, your eyes fixed on the floor, then whispering the sentence he dreaded most to hear coming out from you, “….Chris…let’s break up…”
He stared at you, his breath catching in his throat. he begged to know why, but your voice cracked “I can’t just keep waiting for you Chris and spend my entire life waiting. I know how demanding you career and life is…I’m just…not fit for that…Chris.”
“We can work it out—” chris responded but quickly shut him down, “no chris…we can’t.” He was down on his knees crying on your lap while you gently pushed him away.
When news of the split leaked, the internet went into a frenzy, and the narrative twisted against you.
Fans and media outlets who once idolized you began dragging you online, labeling you as heartless for leaving him and that you cheated or used him.
Chris tried his best to beg his management to clear up the mess which they did try to ease the situation but The intense public backlash and never stopped, forcing you to hide from the media and go private.
Years later, the media storm had settled, but the emptiness in his chest never did.
While staying at a luxury hotel in London he was walking through the grand, marble-floored lobby when his heart stopped.
There you were. You looked beautiful, dressed in a simple outfit and another man stood beside you, laughing softly at something you said before reaching down to gently place a hand on the small of your back.
He watched the man leaned in to whisper to you, he realized with a sickening ache on how that used to be him and that you finally had the calm, present partner he could never been with you.
The distance across the marble lobby felt wide and he tried yo move his feet to call out your name before his mind could stop him.
As Chris took a step, the other man noticed him first, his expression shifting into slight confusion at the sudden approach of the global sport superstar.
You followed his gaze, turning around slowly. The moment your eyes met his, the air left the space between you.
The lingering warmth of your laugh instantly vanished, “Hey,” he said, his voice completely stripping away the confident, boisterous persona the media knew.
It was just the same , vulnerable tone he used when you were still together ."Chris," you breathed, your voice cracking slightly on his name.
You didn't step back, Chris looked at you. He then looked at the man beside you, whose hand had gently returned to your arm. There was no hostility in the man's eyes, only a deep concern for your comfort.
Chris saw right then that this man saw you as his partner, looking entirely overwhelmed. “I just...”Chris started, his throat tightening as he realized he had absolutely nothing right to say.
He couldn't apologize for the years of waiting, and he couldn't erase the internet dragging your name through the mud when you left.
“I just wanted to see if you were doing well.”You offered him a small, incredibly sad smile that didn't reach your eyes. "I’m living a quiet life now..” you muttered.
The emphasis on quiet was the final blow. It was the one thing his millions, his titles, and his fame could never buy for you.
He nodded slowly, a sudden sting in his eyes as he took a step back, forcing a grin onto his face even though it made him feel pathetic.
“Good. That's.…I'm really glad to hear that.”
He turned away before his composure could completely shatter in public, walking back toward the the exit doors, fully aware that the best thing he could ever do for his sweetheart was to keep walking.
He didn't go to the team bus. Instead, he walked aimlessly down the block, his mind entirely trapped in the loop of that brief, heartbreaking encounter. “Chris.” Someone called out for him and it was your partner.
He stopped on a side walk and , turned around slowly.
Standing a few paces away was the man from the lobby—your partner.
He had followed him out into the cold, his coat buttoned tightly, his expression entirely calm despite facing his girlfriends ex boyfriend who was a famous athlete who could easily cause a public scene.
“Hey mate, do you have a second?” the man asked, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance.
Chris swallowed hard, stuffing his large hands into his pockets to hide how much they were shaking. “If you're here to tell me to stay away from her,”
Chris muttered, his voice raw with exhaustion, “you don't have to. I get it. I saw how happy she looked before she saw me.”
The man offered a small, understanding nod, looking down at the pavement for a second before meeting Chris's eyes again.
“I'm not here to fight you. I know who you are, and more importantly, I know what you two used to be. She told me everything a long time ago. She never hid her past…it kind of took me a long time to finally pursue her since she was still hang up over you.”
He let out a self deprecating laugh and paused, taking a breath that misted in the cold air. “I just wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that she doesn't hate you.” Your partner continued on.
“She never did. Breaking up with you broke her heart, too.”
Hearing those words from the man holding your hand now made a huge blow on Chris’s chest.
“She spent years waiting for a life that was always moving too fast for her," the man continued softly, his voice devoid of malice.
“The paparazzi, the internet dragging her name... it almost destroyed her. When she met me, she just pushed me away so many times and told me she wanted peace. I told her I can give her that. I can do that for her and wait.”
Chris closed his eyes, “Just take care of her,” Chris choked out, his throat tightening so fiercely it hurt to speak.
He opened his eyes, forcing himself to look at the man who had replaced him. “Please. Just... don't make her wait.”
“I won't,” the man promised quietly.
He reached out, offering a brief, respectful handshake that Chris took with a heavy heart. “And Good luck with your match, Chris, I’m betting on Manshine.”
With that, the man turned around, walking back toward the warm, glowing lights of the hotel lobby where you were waiting for him.
While you looked at Chris across from you and just smiled and Chris stood alone raising his hand to give you a final wave before you and your partner left to go check-in.
･ ༝ ･ Marc Snuffy
Marc Snuffy’s past always suffocated him. With what happened to Mick hung heavily over his consciousness, and guilted him, it was a constant reminder of the era when his life was a blur of catastrophic mistakes and his ego and pride took over him.
Back then, he genuinely believed that happiness was defined by a never-ending cycle of packed parties, roaring crowds, easy money, and shallow attention.
He was young, reckless, and entirely convinced that he was completely untouchable.
Every single victory on the pitch was a green light to party and do things that he now regrets...it made him into the exact kind of toxic prodigy that coaches warned others to stay far away from and what he is now trying to do, to protect the people he is coaching to not make the same mistakes as he did.
When you met Snuffy, you were just a struggling amateur model trying to survive the harsh and predatory industry.
You were forced to attend this “elite high-society gala” which was just a label for a party , where famous people and the rich went to get drunk and do a line.
You were here just to get your name out to investors and clientele, an experience that felt less like networking and more like being sold off to the highest bidder base on your body and looks.
You absolutely hated it. While the rest of the room was desperately clawing for validation, you were the complete opposite.
You hated doing this but you only became a model because you needed to survive and support your family.
Amidst the noise, you sat entirely away from the crowd on a plush velvet couch, completely sober.
A man leaned over, offering you a fresh drink with a desperate, hopeful grin, to get your attention but your face remained entirely indifferent.
You quietly watched the room with a look of disappointment. From across the room, Snuffy watched your gaze.
And riding high on his own arrogance, the young player found himself instantly intrigued by your detachment.
To him, he assumed you were simply playing a well-calculated game, pretending to be mysterious just to bait a reaction out of someone like him and attract attention.
Confidently, he strutted over, flashing the same slick, practiced smile that had worked on countless others before you.
He smoothly slid into the empty space on the couch beside you, leaning in with a lazy, with his lidded charm. “You look like you're waiting for someone much more interesting than that man,” Snuffy murmured, nodding toward the man who had just offered you a drink.
His voice was dripping with absolute ego. “Lucky for you, I just walked over. I'm—“ “Disgusting,” you cut him off flatly.
You looked him dead in the eye, your expression completely piercing through his expression.
Snuffy blinked, his smile faltering for a second as he was trying to process what you just said with the lack of awe in your face.
No one spoke to him like this. That’s why he was befuddled. Mostly girls would cling onto him and feed his pride.
Though, he recovered quickly, letting a low, arrogant chuckle as he leaned closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “Ouch. Harsh. Much? Usually, people at least wait until the second drink to tell me what they really think of me.” He continued on and leaning forward to whisper in your ear, his breath reeking with alcohol.
“What's the matter? Don't like football?” “I don't like you,” you snarled back, cutting right through his smug demeanor.
You openly questioned his reality, loud enough for a few nearby guests to turn their heads. “Why exactly do you think your football fame gives you the right to slide over here and harass me? Do you honestly believe your arrogance makes you charming?”
Snuffy’s eyes narrowed slightly, the rejection finally bruising his massive ego. He tried to smooth it over, his tone shifting into condescension.
“Listen, sweetheart, you're the one sitting in the VIP section of my team's party. If you didn't want the attention, you shouldn't have dressed to attract it. Don't act like you didn't know exactly who would come over and what you are here for.”
Slap.
The sound of your palm sharply striking his cheek echoed through the immediate space, instantly killing the nearby conversation.
The slap wasn't meant to cause serious physical damage, but the sheer force of your conviction shocked him to his absolute core.
Snuffy sat frozen, his head turned slightly from the impact, his cheek rapidly flushing a dark, angry red. The surrounding guests gasped, and their whispers immediately filling the sudden vacuum of silence. “Is she completely insane?” a woman nearby muttered, clutching her pearls. “Does she have any idea who he is?”
You stood up calmly, smoothing down your dress without a single hint of regret, leaving the stunned superstar staring up at you from the velvet couch.
To make it worse you had your go to a “mandatory event” The flashing cameras and suffocating heat of the gallery made the nightmare.
You were stuck standing next to your sleazy manager, whose fingers aggressively gripped your waist, digging into your side to force you forward and smile in-front of people who were eying you.
Your manager leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, hissing for you to smile and interact with a group of wealthy clients who were openly staring at you like a piece of meat.
You felt completely trapped, your chest tightening as you whispered to yourself that this career wasn't worth the degradation.
Fuck it, your family relied on you to make money, and you thought that modeling wouldn’t be this degrading to who you were but you were completely wrong.
But the image of the contract you had signed flashed in your mind—you were legally bound to this room.
That was when the crowd parted, and Snuffy came into your view.
The moment your manager saw the famous football player approaching, his eyes practically lit up with greed. He quickly squeezed your waist harder, whispering, “That's Marc Snuffy. Play nice, or your career is over before midnight. Don’t pull off that shit you did last time—or you are seriously getting into trouble.”
You stepped forward and extend your hand to shake his hand while looking at him with a facade smile.
The moment his large palm wrapped around yours, you leaned in just enough so only he could hear, muttering a quiet, biting insult directly to his face. “If you touch me or treat me like you did last time, I'll break your nose in front of these people.”
Instead of getting angry, Snuffy’s eyes widened with pure amusement, and he burst into laughter that drew the attention of the entire circle. “God, you really are a breath of fresh air,” Snuffy chuckled, completely ignoring your glare.
He smoothly stepped into the space between you and your manager, his large frame effortlessly cutting off the older man's grip.
Snuffy looked down at the manager with a razor-sharp smile. “Hey, mate. I need to borrow your star for a bit. We have some unfinished business from the last party to discuss. Go fetch yourself a drink.”
Your manager blinked, practically tripping over his own feet to please the superstar. “Of course, Mr. Snuffy! Take all the time you need!”
As your manager scurried away, you tried to turn on your heel, but Snuffy immediately stepped into your path, stubbornly shadowing your very next step.
He kept a distance so your palm couldn't reach his face again,"Get out of my way, Snuffy," you hissed, keeping your voice low as a paparazzi lens flashed to your left.
“I told you what I think of you.” “Oh, I remember,”Snuffy said, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he walked backward, perfectly matching your pace as you tried to escape to the balcony.
“ You called me disgusting and then you slapped me so hard my jaw was hurting for two days. My friend even joked about it. You’re very intriguing Ms. ‘…’ ”
You quickly snapped back, “I am a person, not someone for your massive ego,” stopping near the edge of the balcony, hoping the open air would drive him away.
“Go find someone who actually cares about your jersey number.” Snuffy leaned against the balcony railing, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “But I really want to know you.”
The arrogant, facade from the first night was completely gone, replaced by an attentive look “Sure you hate me, sweetheart.” He leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. “But I'm not going anywhere.”
“You can insult me, you can slap me again if it makes you feel better, but I'm staying right here tonight. I don’t care, I’ll wait for you.”
“ No sleazy managers, no hands on your waist. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable if that happens slap me again. Just me. And we can talk—wha’d ya say?”
You hesitated to agreed, but decided to give in—because if your manager found out you missed this opportunity, your entire career would crumble.
For the rest of the evening, he kept his word, and stayed with you throughout the day while he bought you drinks and kept on flirting until you found harder and harder to ignore to the point you went along with it and had fun.
After that night where the both of you got entirely drunk, you ended up crashing together, making out against the wall of his apartment in a haze. Tugging and pulling each other till you made your way to the bed, everything felt heavenly.
Then two of you woke up and just looked at the ceiling while you were humming and he was tracing your jaw.
And that was how an amateur model and a rising star athlete would be found dating, when the paparazzi caught you out together and making out in the alley way.
Just how long will you last? Was the question of the public.
The relationship was actually stable than, what the media assumed, your relationship with Snuffy was probably the “most” stable,one you had in that time of your life.
Because beneath the persona he showed the media and what they thought, he was a deeply caring guy who treated you like his absolute priority.
The relationship was stable and spent months dating each other till it became apparent that it wouldn’t work out.
Mick was still alive, but was actively destroying himself, skipping training and drowning his raw frustrations in a haze of heavy partying and substances.
Snuffy had tried everything to get his best friend out and save him from the edge, but he was just watching the person he considered a brother ruin his life began to drag Snuffy's own sanity.
One chaotic morning, the front door clicked open heavily, and the illusion of the sweet, reassuring partner you loved vanished completely.
Snuffy staggered into the entryway, his clothes disheveled, smelling strongly of cheap perfume and expensive liquor.
The exhaustion that had been building in your chest for weeks finally spilled over, your patience breaking entirely.
“Look at you, Marc!” you screamed, your voice cracking as tears of anger stung your eyes.
"You're supposed to be saving him, but instead you're letting him pull you right down into the grave with him! Are you trying to kill yourself too?!"
Snuffy let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shoving his hand through his messy hair as he stepped aggressively into your space.
His eyes were bloodshot, completely vacant of the calm warmth he used to give you. “You think I want to be like this?!” he roared back, his voice raw and echoing off the walls. "
“I can't stop him! Every time I look at Mick, I see the end of everything we built, If he's going down, I don't know how to stay afloat!”
"So you drag me down with you?!" you fired back, sobbing as you pushed against his chest. “I can't watch this anymore, Marc.”
“I can't stay here and wait for the phone call that tells me one—or both—of you are dead before everything is too late !"
Snuffy slammed his hands against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you, making you scared but he just leaned down and cry on your shoulder.
He held your waist so tightly it sobbing while muttering “I’m sorry” and kissing you with a frantic, trying to force the reality of Mick’s ticking time bomb away.
He failed to save his brother Mick, finding him dead on the floor, surrounded by alcohol and substance’s torn him apart.
Just like what you said, it was too late.
The news of Mick’s tragic death hit the football world with a blow, but it completely ruined Marc Snuffy.
The brotherly bond they shared, the shared dreams of conquering the sport together, and the reckless lifestyle they had indulged in had instantly turned into a suffocating guilt that Marc had to endure .
The realization that their shared ignorance and ego had directly led to Mick’s demise completely broke him.
That rainy night, you heard a faint, frantic scratching at your apartment door. When you opened it, you didn't see the charming, guy you liked.
You saw snuffy , trembling and collapsed onto his knees right on your welcome mat, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirt.
He was weeping so deeply that he couldn't even draw air into his lungs, his large hands desperately gripping your waist as he begged you over and over not to leave him alone
“Please," he choked out, his voice a broken, unrecognizable wheeze against your legs. "Please, don't walk away. I have nothing left. Just stay, please.”
“Just stay with me.” He muttered and you held him that night, while he kept on crying on your shoulder.
You had also been dealing with the suffocating pressure of your predatory modeling contract reached a breaking point, with your manager threatening to completely blackball your name from the industry if you didn't comply with them.
You were also drowning, and the career you had built was on the verge of absolute ruin.
The constant emotional whiplash became a weight too heavy to carry.
You were both sinking into the same grave Mick had dug. You had to save yourself.
“Marc we have to break up. We are destroying each other, Marc," you whispered one evening, gently but firmly prying his fingers off your waist as you packed the last of your things.
He just sat there looking at you, You remembered the exact rainy afternoon you packed your final bag in his place.
Snuffy had been sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, his large hands resting loosely between his knees, staring at the floorboards with completely hollow eyes.
“If you walk out that door,” Snuffy had whispered, his voice sounded entirely defeated, “I don’t think I’m going to make it out of this alive.”
Your hands trembled violently as you zipped your suitcase, a tear finally spilling over your eyelashes and hitting the suitcase.
You didn't turn around to look at him, knowing that if you saw him, it will make you cry even more.
“You will, Marc, I promise you that,” you replied, your voice cracking
“But you have to want to save yourself. Because I can’t afford getting dragged down with you.”
He simply stayed frozen on the edge of the mattress, watching the only person who loved him walk out of his life.
Then a heavy click of the front door closing behind you ended it all.
Years passed, and the both to survive.
You completely walked away from the modeling industry, and gave up your place as being renowned after dealing with countless harassments to get to the top and now found a ordinary life away from the exhaustion.
Marc Snuffy, change for the better and , used the agonizing pain of losing Mick and losing you as away to escape like what you told him. He could change and become better.
He quit the destructive partying, walked away from the toxic crowds, and poured every single ounce of his remaining humanity into a disciplined approach to football.
He became a world champion, a known legendary, and eventually, became the coach of the Italian team, Ubers.
One quiet evening in Snuffy sat in his dimly lit bedroom and his gaze wandered to a small drawer in his desk.
He slid it open, pulling out an old, faded Polaroid from his youth. It was a picture from one of those terrible, extravagant parties from a lifetime ago.
In the photo, you were sitting entirely away from the crowd, looking bored and while a young, Snuffy stood right beside you, sporting a giant, foolish grin.
A soft, melancholic laugh escaped his chest, a deep ache throbbing in his heart.
He didn't regret being where he is now, and he didn't regret saving his own life, but looking at your face, he realized you were the only real thing in a world full of fake noise.
He had to lose you so that he could grow up, and you had to leave him so that you wouldn't drown.
He gently traced the edge of the photograph before sliding it safely back into the dark drawer, “I hope you’re doing fine ‘….’ ”
･ ༝ ･ Michael Kaiser
Dating Michael Kaiser was never easy, and that wasn’t because he was difficult to love.
It was because he was absolutely terrified of being loved.
Almost every single night, you would wake up to the mattress trembling beneath you. Michael would have reoccurring nightmares that suffocated and haunted, causing him panic attacks that would abruptly come crashing down onto him.
Dragging him down, swallowing him whole.
His breathing would turn uneven and frantic, his chest rising and falling in desperate, ragged gasps.
His hands would instinctively reach up to claw at his own throat, or they would grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turned stark white, a desperate attempt to force himself awake or to punish himself for things he believed he had done wrong.
“Michael,” you would whisper gently, careful never to reach for him too suddenly. Because you knew that he’ll slap your hand away.
Instead of grabbing him, you would rest a warm, steady hand against his cheek, your thumb slowly brushing over the sharp, defined line of his cheekbone. “Michael… look at me. Open your eyes, Look at me.” You pleaded softly, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
His long eyelashes would eventually flutter open, his pupils blown and panicked until they finally focused on your face.
The moment he felt your touch and heard your voice, his body shudders and clinged onto you burying his face deeply into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.
He held you tightly with desperation that he could never express because he hates admitting that he was scared.
You simply ran your fingers through his soft, tangled hair, as you gently rock him from side to side on the mattress, pressing soft kisses against the crown of his head.
“You’re safe,” you would murmur over and over , just to soothe him “I promise you. You’re right here with me. No one can hurt you now.”
Some nights, whenever he had another episode, neither of you could fall back asleep. Michael would keep you up, refusing to let go, holding you close as if you might vanish if he loosened his grip.
You would spend those hours curled up together in the center of the bed, tangled in the blankets, hugging one another until the first rays of dawn began creeping through the curtains.
While, you could hear his breathing and his forehead pressed against your chest as he listened to the s beating of your heart.
“Does it ever go away?” he whispered one morning, his voice raw and completely stripped of the usual confident arrogance.
You tightened your arms around him, resting your chin on his head. “It will go away Michael, I promise that I’m not going anywhere.”
And Michael truly tried. He tried in all the small, quiet ways he knew how, even if he didn't have the vocabulary to say how much he valued you.
Whenever you would cook in the narrow kitchen, he would quietly slip up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist until your back rested comfortably against his chest.
As he would absentmindedly rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed light, lingering kisses against your neck and cheek.
“Michael, stop,” you’d laugh, squirming by how he has been peppering you with so many kisses to stir whatever was simmering on the stove. “You’re making it completely impossible for me to focus. I’m going to burn our dinner.”
A quiet, low chuckle rumbled against your shoulder. “No. Let it burn.” Instead of letting go, he’d only hold you a little tighter, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips every time your laughter filled the apartment. “I’d rather have this.”
Whenever the room or place was quite he would reach across the couch for your hand without saying a single word. He would instinctively thread his long fingers through yours, squeezing your hand tightly as though making sure you were still there.
Sometimes he would lean over just to steal a kiss before resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes to just breathe you in.
In his words, “you took his breath away.” And he loved you do much.
But it was hard.
The reality of his trauma meant he was often distant, brash, and sharp-tongued. And would lash out—he hated lashing out at you. He would snap over little things, any moment he felt too vulnerable.
And every single day, you tried your hardest to prove his doubts wrong.
You poured all your patience, your energy, and your warmth into him, trying to fill a void that had been dug out years before you ever met him. Anything for you to hold onto him.
In the end, Michael loved you completely. And you loved Michael.
But on his worst days, he became the very person he hated. pushing you away before you could see how badly he was falling apart inside. He was entirely convinced that if you stayed any longer, you’d only end up drowning in the weight of his baggage too.
That was true.
Yet, you stayed through all of it.
But eventually, the endless giving took its toll. You began forgetting how to take care of yourself.
It pained you so badly that you couldn’t fulfill your promise, to the person you loved but you were drowning with him. One rainy evening, the sky outside was pitch black and crying tears like the feeling you wanted to let out.
Inside, you quietly packed a small suitcase, your movements slow and deliberate.
Michael had just returned from a grueling training session. The apartment was unusually silent when the front door opened. He tossed his gym bag aside, tracking the quiet until he found you in the bedroom.
“…What are you doing, liebling ?”
For a long, moment, you didn’t speak at all and stayed silent . Then, you finally turned around to face him. Your eyes were red and heavily swollen from hours of silent crying.
“I can’t do this anymore, Michael,” you said, your voice barely holding together. Michael frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety hit his chest. He tried to laugh it off, adopting a dismissive tone “…What? What is this? Is this a joke?”
“I love you,” you whispered, a single tear spilling over your cheek . “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.“
Hearing those words, his tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He took a cautious step forward, his hands twitching at his sides. “…Then stop this. Put the bag down. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”
You shook your head slowly, stepping back. “I’ve been saying that for years, Michael. I’ve been holding onto that hope until I have nothing left inside of me.”
He took another step, his composure beginning to fracture. “We can try again, I’ll make time, I’ll—”
“We tried,” you interrupted softly. “I have given you everything I have to you…”
“I’ll do better,” he pleaded, his voice losing its steady edge, and started sounding frantic. “I swear to you, I will do better.”
“You always say that when it gets to this point.”
“I mean it this time!” his voice cracked, while chest tightened
Suffocating silence filled the room. You looked at him with eyes that still held so much affection and love that it almost hurt to look back.
“I’m tired, Michael,” you whispered. “I am so, so tired.”
Those three words completely shattered something deep inside him. He could see the exhaustion in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. He had drained you. “I’m sorry to fail you..”
You walked toward him until only a few inches separated your bodies.
You hesitantly, reached up and cupped his face one last time, your palm resting against the familiar warmth of his skin.
“I don’t blame you,” you murmured, your thumb wiping away a stray tear that had just slipped down his cheek. “I don’t blame you at all..”
His breathing hitched, a ragged gasp catching in his throat.
“I wanted so badly to save you, Michael,” you whispered, your own tears blinding you. “But I can’t save someone who doesn’t believe they’re worth saving. I’m destroying myself…I can’t—” you chocked on your words , “I hate this but Michael…I can’t be this way…”
Michael’s lips trembled violently. His large hand came up, slowly covering yours, pressing your palm harder against his face “…Please,” he choked out, the word barely above a whisper, entirely stripped of his pride. “Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”
You closed your eyes tightly, a sob catching in your own throat. If he had yelled, if he had gotten angry or thrown his usual arrogant insults, leaving would have been so much easier. You could have walked out on his anger.
Instead, he looked at you exactly like the frightened.And you leaned forward, rising on your tiptoes, and pressed one last, lingering kiss against his forehead.
“I hope one day you find peace, Michael. I really do.”
Then, using every ounce of strength you had left, you gently slipped your hand out from beneath his grip.
You picked up the handle of your suitcase, walked past him, and stepped out into the hallway. And left. The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
He stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom, staring blankly at the empty doorway. Surely, this was just a bad fight. You’d come back.
You always came back. You’d walk back in open the door again.
A minute passed. Then another. The silence in the apartment grew louder, echoing off the walls.
You weren’t coming back this time.
You were truly gone.
His knees suddenly gave out beneath him. Michael collapsed heavily onto the floor, starting to hyperventilate rapidly spiraling into a full panic. Letting out a guttural sob escaped his throat, tearing through the quiet apartment. He buried his face in his hands, rocking himself back and forth on the floor.
For the first time in years, there was no one beside him to brush their fingers through his hair.
The apartment felt unbearably, sickeningly quiet.
Everywhere he looked, pieces of you mocked his loneliness. Your favorite ceramic mug was still sitting upside down in the drying rack by the sink. The pictures you have with him all was still hanging in the room. Your scent still hung faintly in the apartment. Pieces of you remained scattered everywhere.
Except you.
Michael cried until his throat was completely raw, until his chest ached and he fell asleep right there on the hard floor.
The next morning, the world didn't care about what had happened; it still expected Michael Kaiser. The flashing lights of cameras waited outside the training grounds. Fans lined the barriers, screaming his name, holding up his jersey.
With Reporters crowded around with microphones, demanding interviews about the upcoming match.
So, he washed his face with freezing water. straightened his broad shoulders. And meticulously adjusted his hair.
And then, he smiled.
The exact same confident, blinding smile everyone adored. The same arrogant, sharp grin that convinced the entire world that nothing could ever scare him, that he was the king of the field.
No one noticed the slight tremor in his hands when he signed autographs. And no one noticed that when the interviews finally ended, the cameras turned off, and the roaring applause faded into the night...
He went home to an apartment that had never felt so utterly, terrifyingly empty.
he missed you dearly.
･ ༝ ･ Julian Loki
People always said that if you met the love of your life, it was because the timing was finally right and it was fated.
Julian Loki thought that was ridiculous. He would constantly make biting, sarcastic jokes about how idiotic those people were, scoffing at the notion of destiny as something entirely beneath him.
In public interviews, whenever reporters pushed with invasive, prying questions about his love life, he would simply deflect with a sarcastic comment, casually stating that he had a million things to focus on—and none of them was love.
He firmly believed first love was vastly overrated.
To him, too many teenagers mistook fleeting butterflies for destiny, making promises they could never keep, and swore forever without actually knowing what forever meant.
Then he met you.
Suddenly, he realized there was a right way to love, and he found himself quietly waiting for you to finally look back at him.
When you first met, he saw you standing there—around his exact age—and he was completely, instantly hit by what people called, getting lovestruck.
The two of you were so young, far too young to truly understand but you were in love with each other.
Julian was irritatingly competitive, even outside of football, always inventing ridiculous games just to win your attention. Or his complete pettiness taking over making you annoyed by how much he would tease you.
Yet, he was the ideal caring boyfriend, texting you the exact second he got home from long training sessions because he knew you’d worry about him. Or check on you every single time and would text you good mornings and good nights, he would always be there to listen to you.
You spent hours together doing absolutely nothing at all. He would take your hand at every single opportunity, rubbing gentle, soothing circles across your knuckles while the two of you talked about nothing and cuddled together.
It was ordinary when teenagers fall deeply in love. But too bad Julian is from a different world.
Because football remembered Julian Loki existed.
At an incredibly young age, elite scouts were already labeling him a once-in-a-generation prodigy. Blessed with an otherworldly, godspeed talent, for a young teen he went through the ranks at a terrifying pace.
By sixteen, newspapers were calling him the future of French football—even the world. By how much talent and skill he had while also giving his absolute best.
He became one of the youngest kid ever to achieve such status. He wasn't just a boy, he was THE Julian Loki.
With that title, it also came with heavy responsibilities that he had to carry .
The world of football was a brutal, it was somewhat like a meritocracy that demanded your entire soul, setting an impossible standard for someone so unbelievably young especially if you shown a gift, the top scouters made sure to grab the best one.
One time you came to visit Julian. The stadium was completely pitch black, except for the dim lights.
It was midnight.
And Julian had just finished a brutal double-training session, his skin still glistening with a thin layer of sweat, but the second he saw you sitting on the bleachers holding a thermos of hot cocoa, his exhausted expression completely melted.
Julian ran up yo you and slid onto the bleacher right beside you, bringing a sudden gust of wind with him.
"You're going to catch a cold sitting out here," he murmured, "I wanted to see you," you whispered, handing him the thermos.
Julian didn't take the drink. Instead, he wrapped his large, warm hands completely around yours, trapping your cold fingers against the warm metal of the flask. And leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours. “I’m sorry I have been distant.“
He let out a soft sigh, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “Well it’s for the better right?” You replied back, “for you to win a world cup? No?”
“Yeah,” then he pressed a slow kiss to your cheek, his lips were warm and slightly chapped from the winter air.
He stayed like that for a long time, just breathing you in, letting the quiet of the empty stadium.
When the public found out the young prodigy was in a relationship, boy, did things get crazy.
For better and for worse, Julian Loki was highly visible, and the brand of a clean, teen prodigy sold immensely well.
So when your relationship leaked to the press, it became a massive problem.
The public hit him with harsh criticism, dragging both of your names through the mud.
Julian had managed to sneak away from the national team’s strict training camp for just two hours.
He hadn't even changed out of his official French national team track jacket. The two of you were walking down a dimly lit, narrow side street near his apartment, your fingers tightly intertwined with his out of pure, comforting habit.
Julian was laughing at something you had said, his head thrown back, his thumb lazily tracing those familiar, soothing circles across your knuckles.
Then, the darkness of the alleyway exploded into blinding, white light.
Click. Click. Click-Click-Click.
The rapid-fire shutter of a camera shattered the happy atmosphere. In less than a second, Julian spun his body, using his broad shoulders to completely shield you from the cameras that ambushed the two of you .
He pulled his hood up with one hand, while his other arm forcefully wrapped around your waist, pulling your face tightly into his chest so the lenses couldn't capture your features.
“Don't look,” Julian whispered, his voice losing all of its previous warmth. It was suddenly sharp, laced with a cold, protective panic. “Keep your face down, ‘…’ . And walk okay?”
The thing about Julian was that he absolutely hated his privacy being invaded. He completely loathed it whenever it happened, that’s why he wanted to make things private as possible, and seeing you finally being targeted made his blood run cold.
A paparazzi photographer stepped out from the shadows of a parked car, the lens tracking your every move. “Loki! Over here! Who is the girl? Is she the reason your stats dropped in the first half last weekend? Look over here, Julian!”
Julian didn't answer the guy but you could visibly see that his jaw was clenched tightly while he kept his grip around your waist, guiding your stumbling steps forward as you blindly walked toward the safety of your apartment building.
Every step was punctuated by another blinding flash. And the paparazzi was relentless, crowding your space, shouting invasive, dirty questions about your relationship, treating your quiet love like a scandalous headline.
The moment you burst through the heavy glass doors of your lobby, the security guard rushed forward to lock the entrance behind you.
Outside, the photographer pressed his face against the glass, taking a few final, distorted shots before finally walking away.
Inside the quiet lobby, Julian finally let go of your waist. His hands were shaking. “Are you okay?” he asked as he reached out, his fingers to brush a stray lock of hair away from your pale face. “Did he touch you? Did they hurt you?”
“I'm fine, Julian,” you whispered, “I'm just... I'm just startled.”
“They're going to put your face in the papers tomorrow,”Julian murmured, his voice dropped and pulled you closer with an embrace.”They're going to tear your life apart just to get to me.”
The morning after the paparazzi caught you together, the photographs spread across the media like wildfire.
The headline was: FRANCE’S GOLDEN BOY SQUANDERING HIS GODSPEED ON A DISTRACTION?
The media they tore into the relationship apart. Sports commentators, talk-show hosts, and ruthless football critics openly questioned his maturity.
They criticized him for dating at such a critical time in his career, loudly demanding that he block out the noise and focus entirely on dragging French football into its next golden era.
They called him irresponsible for being with someone and quote and quote claimed,
“your relationship was a toxic parasite that would drain his generational talent.”
The public pressure built up immensely, and the noise grew deafening. Anywhere you looked was videos about you and tearing you apart by labeling you as a “burden”.
That was never true.
Julian tried desperately to balance the two worlds, but the weight was too heavy.
It couldn't be held, especially since he was also being forced by his corporate management and team executives to break up with you immediately.
They started to threatened his contracts, his starting position, and his entire future, they were desperate and determined for this “scandal” not to drag on.
The breaking point came on a miserable, rainy afternoon in Paris.
The air between you inside the small, cramped café was filled with an uncomfortable, suffocating quiet.
As you looked out the window, you spotted a paparazzi lens lurking nearby in the shadows, waiting to snap a picture of the young star and his “girlfriend.”
You already knew what the conversation was going to be before it even started.
And neither of you wanted to have this conversation.
You simply sat there, looking at the person you loved more than anyone else in the entire world, memorizing the sharp lines of his face.
“…I’m so sorry…” Julian whispered, his voice cracking as he looked down at his untouched food.
You gave him a small, heartbreaking smile, while you struggled to say the words. “I know.”
“I really tried,” he said, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears as he finally looked up at you. “I wanted to make it work,” he paused and continued on, “…but they won't let me keep you.”
“I know, Julian…I know.” You chocked on your worlds and quietly sobbed
The silence that followed felt impossibly heavy, pressing down on the small café table. Unable to bear the distance, you reached across the table, gently taking his hand in yours.
His fingers immediately intertwined with yours out of pure habit, his thumb finding your knuckles to rub one last circle.
“…Maybe…” Your voice caught, a heavy lump forming in your throat as you forced the words out. “maybe we just met at the wrong time.”
Julian lowered his head, a single tear slipping from his eyes and hitting the table. You were simply two people whose futures were pulling them in entirely opposite directions.
Julian squeezed your hand a little tighter, pouring all his desperate longing into his grip, gripping into you tightly not wanting to let go.
“I don't want to lose you,” he choked out, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “I don't know how to do this without you.”
A warm tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept your smile steady for him. “Its okay Julian..”
Another long, agonizing silence settled between you, the weight of the end crashing down. “…In another life,” Julian murmured quietly, his eyes locking onto yours, “I’d choose you every single time….No matter what…I promise…”
You smiled through your tears, you gently squeezed his hand back. Then after a long time being in that café, you knew you had to be the one to let go. You finally stood up from the table, breaking the connection, while neither of you looked back as you walked away.
Months passed.
Julian became “liked” again, people commenting that the breakup was the best decision—and it was almost forgotten buried by Loki’s goals and records.
Millions of fans chanted his name in packed stadiums, and thousands of young children walked the streets wearing jerseys with LOKI stretched across the back.
He still thought about you—sometimes
After the interviews he had to deal with, Julian would sit entirely alone in the locker room. And look down at his hands—the hands that used to hold yours.
And he’d find himself wondering what your life looked like now.
Whether you found someone to love. Whether someone was actually there for you every single time, holding you close, assuring you and giving you soft kisses on the cheek and holding your hand.
He genuinely hoped that you were okay and with someone who loves you. Because if anyone in the world deserved to be loved completely and unconditionally, it was you.
And in another life like he promised , you’d be together.
･ ༝ ･ Vivian Hugo
Dating THE Vivian Hugo was an absolute goldmine, and till this day, you still couldn't entirely believe how you had managed to bag him.
The young handsome prodigy, who had thousands and thousands of fans, and a member of the New Generation World XI, the midfielder player that plays for both Arsenal and the France U-20 national team.
On the pitch and the world people are often confused by him and come off as eerie. But when it came to you, Vivian was a helpless, utterly obsessed lover boy who simply enjoyed being by your side more than anything else.
You were a highly popular lifestyle vlogger—one of those specific, internet girls whom people absolutely loved and admired for being effortlessly cool.
Your comment sections were a safe haven full of people praising your aesthetic, your personality , and how effortlessly nice and authentic you were.
And right there, alongside the millions of ordinary fans who watched your videos, was Vivian.
He genuinely liked the content you posted. Who would have known? The the detached quiet footballer, secretly found you incredibly funny, deeply intriguing, and entirely magnetic.
Boom, density when he first watched your video and felt a thump in his heart.
He watched your vlogs in the locker room, on team buses, and late at night in his empty hotel rooms.
During an interview, he mentioned your name which your fans went wild on by how the Vivian Hugo knew about you.
Eventually, Vivian decided to just shoot his shot. Bypassing all the formal PR controlled accounts and didn’t even announce it to them and sent a direct message straight to your personal account.
The next morning, you woke up, rolled over to check your phone, and completely froze.
Your eyes nearly popped out of your head and screamed seeing the top of your notifications was a verified badge and a message from the Vivian Hugo.
You were a massive fan of his, having watched him play and even attend his games, you instantly freaked out, accidentally dropping your phone flat onto your face.
His first message was surprisingly direct,
“Your video are funny, I like them very much. Do you like football?”
And that single message opened the a new relationship .
Because of the two of you being far apart the relationship between the both of you started out completely long-distance, meaning it was mostly through text messages, late-night FaceTime calls, and voice notes.
The more he talked to you, the more he revealed the a helpless, deeply affectionate guy who was completely hooked on you.
“I don't like being separated from you,” Vivian mumbled into his phone late one night, with his thick voice while laid in his bed .
He stared at your face on the FaceTime screen, “I can’t be there with you, mon cherie.”
His comment made you laughed, leaning your chin on your hand. “You’ll have to wait, Vivi. You have a massive match this weekend, plus didn’t your manager said to keep it hidden?”
Vivian let out a dramatic sigh, burying his face in his pillow before peeking back up at the camera with an uncharacteristically needy pout.
“Don’t worry about that cherie,. Pack a bag. Fly out to Paris tomorrow. I'll buy the ticket right now. Please? If you're sitting in the stands, my passes will be more accurate. Mon cherie . Come see me."
You couldn't resist him when he was like this. So you flew out, and the moment you met in person, he straight up hugged you and couldn't keep his hands off you, always draping his arms around your waist or burying his face into your hair.
On a quiet afternoon, you were trying to film a casual vlog you haven’t posted for a long period since you came to france for a visit your fans new you were going to watch a football game but why france…specifically?
Soft launching was what people speculated or you were just there because you were a fan.
You had just started talking to the camera when a massive, weight settled completely over your back. Making you gulp while you stared a thr camera
Vivian rested his jaw right on your shoulder, staring directly into your camera lens with his signature blank, unbothered expression. “Vivi, I'm trying to film,” you laughed, leaning your head back against his chest.
“Say hi to the vlog at least.” Vivian didn't look at the lens. He slowly turned his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver by how soft the kiss he left was.
“Hello, people on the internet," he murmured lazily, “ please wait for a few moments and stop looking at her. She is currently occupied by me.” He jokingly said.
“Vivian!”you scolded, hitting his arm playfully, though you couldn't stop the massive smile from breaking across your face.
He let out a soft chuckle, He didn't care about the camera recording everything. He shifted his weight, his large, calloused hand reaching up to gently cup your jawline.
His thumb traced a slow, soothing circle across your cheekbone, “Look at me mon cherie,” he whispered
You turned your head, your lips just centimeters from his. “You are so pretty,” he murmured, his thumb moving to gently swipe across your lower lip.
Before you could even reply to him, Vivian leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, slow kiss.
He loved you so much.
But as the public soon found out and fully realized that the well loved French midfield was in a serious relationship, things took a sharp, dark turn.
There were strangers who you assume were football fanatics. began to send messages to you.
Because you were a public vlogger, your platform was wide open for them to exploit and hate on you.
They started to invaded your privacy, flood your direct messages and comment sections with hate. Leading you to private your accounts and close off the comment section
They cruelly criticized your appearance, tearing apart your face, your body, to the point you even started getting death threats.
They questioned your intentions, calling you an opportunist who was just using an elite international athlete for clout and views.
Some agreed and labeled you a distraction—someone entirely unworthy of his attention.
Every time Vivian noticed the toxic comments, he would defend you publicly on his own accounts, firing back at the trolls, he had made multiple statements and so did his team.
But it kept on going.
“Vivian, please, don't reply to them,” you whispered one night, your voice cracking as you tried to pull his phone away.
You were sitting on his lap on the couch, but he was tense as a board. “You're only feeding into it. It's just going to make them meaner.”
Vivian tightly wound his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest so hard your hearts beat as one.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his voice dropping into a frustrated tons. “No. They don't know anything about you. They need to stay in their lane.”
But his public defense was a double-edged sword. Every time he spoke up, the internet only grew more vicious. They claimed his obsession with you was proof that his focus was slipping, and they blamed you for dragging down his career.
Soon, things started to take a toll on your mental health from the constant harassment and fear. You stopped checking social media entirely, your stomach twisting into knots whenever your phone lit up. You went silent, not posting didn’t state anything…you completely avoided it.
It continued to follow you everywhere You became entirely terrified of the paparazzi, constantly pulling your hood low and looking over your shoulder whenever you left the apartment, crying in the car because you felt trapped and barely even leaving the house.
You still had loyal fans who sent sweet messages of support, but they were entirely drowned out by the endless ocean of online hatred.
Eventually, you stopped recognizing yourself. Your happiness with the world had completely withered away. Turning you into a shell of the happy version of yourself.
One Tuesday evening in your shared apartment,
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the dark screen of your camera.You hadn't recorded a single vlog in months.
Vivian walked into the bedroom, fresh from a shower and the second he saw you, his sharp, serious gaze softened.
He immediately crossed the room and sank onto the mattress behind you, wrapping his long, arms tightly around your waist.
He burying his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a low, content murmur as he tried to pull you completely into his space, just like he always did.
He knew that you’ve been getting worse and he was worried about you and often reminding you to eat, shower, and even helping you stay motivated by whispering positive things, reminding you who you are and how loved and important you are.
it pained him to see you be like this especially knowing that it was his own fame that caused you to be in this position.
But this time, you didn't lean back into him. You stayed completely rigid.
"Mon Cherie ?" Vivian murmured, his voice dropping into a low, questioning rumble against your skin. He shifted, his large, calloused hand reaching up to cup your jaw, gently turning your face so he could look into your eyes.
“What's wrong? Did the internet say something again? Tell me?”
You gently took his wrist, pulling his hand away from your face. Tears blurred your vision, spilling down your cheeks as you looked at him
"Vivian," you whispered, your voice cracking painfully in the quiet room. "I can't do this anymore."
Vivian froze. His arms tightened around your waist out of pure, confusion mix with panic, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes . "What do you mean?
"We aren't fine," you choked out, a heavy sob escaping your chest. You stood up, breaking away from his embrace, and pointed toward the full-length mirror across the room.
“Look at me, Vivian. Just look at me. I don't even know who I am anymore..”
You looked at the him tenderly, “I have to," you said softly, stepping closer to him one last time. You reached up, your small hands gently cupping his sharp jawline. And pressed a faint devastatingly kiss to his lips—a final seal to a love that was being torn apart. “I love you so much, Vivian. But..I can't stay."
Vivian didn't fight you. He simply lowered his head, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he let out a broken sob. Wrapping his fingers around your wrists, squeezing your hands one last time, pouring all his desperation into his grip before slowly letting go.
How long has it been? It has been a long time..
Vivian Hugo became exactly what the global sports world predicted he would become, and more.
He still found himself checking the internet, and saw your old vlogging channel had recently posted a video again.
He discovered that you had finally returned to the internet, months after the breakup, once the paparazzi noise had completely died down.
You were vlogging again. but now you completely told the public that you were going to start quitting due to many reasons. And at the very end you flashed the same smile he was so fond off.
Vivian stared at the glowing screen of his phone, a bittersweet, heartbreaking smile tugging at the corner of his lips as a quiet tear hit the glass.
He closed the app, and pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders as he walked out into the empty, cold night.
Maybe next time, fate will take pity on the both of you and reunite again.
Noel Noa Had a Glow up and he did it with that eyeliner .
Also…sorry if it sucked, I’m not really fond of the way I executed and worded half of these works (◞‸◟).
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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