a chuckle startles him out of his thoughts, his coach’s grating voice teasing him beyond what the heat allows him to handle. “whatcha lookin’at? is it that girl again?”

bunny just nods.

“creep,” the man follows up, just as humorous still, “just talk to her instead of starin’. you’ve been doin’ it for weeks!”

lavinho slaps bunny’s shoulder, as if pushing him to get up. “don’t get enticed by the sweets, though. i need you in tiptop shape!”

“she’s too soft,” bunny sighs, “i’d break her.”

the older man bursts out laughing, pushing bunny even more, “just go! i bet girls like that enjoy a little roughousin’.”

being so polite all the time truly does work in one’s favor, bunny thinks to himself. he enjoys being underestimated, it gives him the benefit of the doubt. it’s good that lavinho thinks he was joking, even if he wasn’t.

knowing the fool wouldn’t let up, bunny gets up from the bench and makes his way over. at least he’s got an excuse this time, not that he’ll tell you the details of it.

your little apron, pink as always, flails in the tiny gusts of wind flowing through the nearby trees. a few flour stains here and there, paired with a bit of it on your cheek, you’ve never looked cuter to him. all up in your element, talking to people like it’s no problem, like they’re not draining all your energy by just being in your presence. his heart, usually devoid of much besides dread, fills up as you take notice of him approaching, your smile widening.

“hello, bunny!” oh, you know him by name. how sweet of you. and a little gut churning. “would you like a pastry? i’ve got some cinnamon rolls left~”

he shakes his head, stopping a few steps away, “no, thank you. i’m on a diet.”

your little nod, and the fall of your expression as you can’t hide the bit of disappointment has a smug little smile creeping onto his face. “besides, i don’t think it’d be as sweet as you anyway.”

your lips purse, clearly not very impressed. it does nothing to deter him, though. he’s already here. might as well.

“what’s with the look, amor?” he steps closer, leaning down so your faces are equal level. “i’m just being nice, aren’t i? are you afraid of getting burnt already?”

your breath hits his face as you huff, his smile only widening at your defiant expression, “i’m not as soft as i look.”

oh? how curious. the surprise he feels cannot be understated, his eyes widening marginally. you definitely don’t look like you’d have much defiance in you at all, much less with his face right before yours. most people cower when he walks past. his imposing height, the menacing aura he carries as your school’s star striker, while his face is mostly obstructed by both a cap and the hood of his hoodie. his smile is usually creepy at best, but it somehow has droves of women attracted to him. he quietly hoped it’d be the same for you, but maybe having to work for it this time will end up being worth it.

never did he think working for it would mean this.

being late to practice because he’s helping you scrub dishes, elbows deep in soapy water. he’s so concentrated on doing it well it kind of pisses him off. not to mention it’s now apparently your turn to be the smug asshole as you supervise him with your hands propped up on your waist. “the whisks are the most annoying, but you can do it, can’t you? hmm? sir master striker?”

he bites the inside of his cheek, “of course, ma’am,” he musters through gritted teeth. 

how’d he get here? no fucking idea. he’s not a man who submits, ever. he tramples over people and their dreams weekly when he evens them with the ground with each win. so why is it that a singular look from you has him nodding his head, rushing to obey whatever you just demanded of him? he could get any girl he wanted right now, and not have to put up with this bullshit-

“thank you, bunny~ you’re such a good boy.”

oh. right. that’s why. 

⊹ ࣪𓍢ִ໋⋆🍰ೀ⋆

it’s not like you did it on purpose.. or maybe you did. another annoying prick approaching you to take advantage of your politeness was never more than a brief inconvenience on any other day, but when it’s someone like bunny, you just couldn’t help yourself from at least trying to put him in his place. the idea of reducing someone like him to his knees was thrilling, to say the least.

so outwardly dominant, you didn’t expect him to fold as quickly as he did, but it sure was a whole lotta fun. 

after he approached you while on break from his training, he’s become more vocal when in your vicinity. you’re not oblivious; his staring did eventually become a cause for concern so it was more than relieving when he finally did make his move. as irritating as his cockiness may be.

the memory is still fresh in your mind, how a singular dare managed to tangle him under your spell

“i’m not as sweet as i look,” you would've crossed your arms had you not been holding the tray. “besides, you don’t look like my type at all.”

that seemed to peak his interest. with brows raised, he smirked down at you then, “what is your type, amor?”

with narrowed eyes you scan the man who’s oozing confidence in spite of the initial rejection. he knows he’s of interest to you, even if he supposedly ‘not your type’. that truly does make him even more infuriating. you tilt your chin upwards defiantly, the urge to knock him down a couple pegs only strengthens. 

“someone who knows their place.”

in no way did you ever imagine he’d find his place so easily. now, walking next to you with his hands occupied by grocery bags full of stuff you’ll be needing for your next baking adventure, he is very insistent on avoiding eye contact. even if his hand does brush yours very unapologetically every now and again.

“you’re so helpful, bunny,” you praise, “i never expected you to be so… eager.”

“‘m not eager,” he mumbles under his breath, “this is just the polite thing to do.”

you hum, giggling under your nose, “whatever you say.”

once inside your apartment, he sets the bags down on your kitchen counter. he’s supposed to leave, and you’re waiting for him to do so, and yet, he lingers awkwardly. timid movements rustle the bags as he ‘inspects’ them.

“thank you for your help,” you eye him curiously. 

he nods, yet doesn’t make any moves to actually leave. eyes darting between you and over your carefully curated space, his feet shuffle, lips forming what one could consider to be a pout. not that he’d admit to it if you asked.

with a curious head tilt, you question, “did i forget anything?”

“no,” he grumbles, eyes now focused on the ceiling as he leans his hips against your counter. 

how curious. you prop your hands up on your hips, brows pinched. “then why are you still here?”

“nevermind, just forget it,” he runs his hand over his face, quickly trying to walk past you. you don’t let him, blocking his path as you sidestep at the same time he does. engaging in a dance of sorts, while locking glares onto one another.

you shake your head, sticking a manicured nail into his sternum. “i don’t think so, mister. you’re usually so outspoken! what the fuck happened?”

a few heavy breaths leave him as he stares you down. for a moment you consider him being angry with you. the frown paired with flared nostrils would normally indicate irritation at the least but to your knowledge you’ve done nothing to be on the deserving end of it. it was him who caught you on the way to the store, smugly insisting he’d help because you totally couldn’t carry all that heavy stuff on your own, all while having no idea what you were even going to the store for. 

“you’re the one who wanted to help, i don’t know why you’re acting like this,” your tone accusing, you feel a bit of anger sparking in your chest. “stop being weird.”

the heat creeping up his chest, his neck and eventually to his face and ears is comical enough to nearly draw a laugh from you, but the annoyance wins, and thus you stifle the humor down. finally, he graces you with a response; one that draws the need to laugh all over again.

he murmurs, pulling his cap further down his face to hide his eyes, “y’didn’t call me a good boy…”

your brows shoot up so fast it only makes him even more embarrassed. he turns away from you fully, leaning down onto your counter while you finally burst out laughing, “that was it?”

tears form in your eyes while you clutch your belly, “i can’t believe it!”

needing to find your own stability again by leaning on the wall, you blink away the remaining tears while you see bunny with his eyes screwed shut. his face is somehow redder than his eyes, and if you thought he was avoiding eye contact before, he’s just straight-up pretending you don’t exist now.

“aww,” you coo at him through your remaining giggles, your knees a little weak as you approach him. arms wrapped around his middle, you feel him stiffen as you hug him from behind. “for someone dominating the field week-in-week-out, you sure are a softie~”

“don’t tease me,” he makes a, albeit futile, attempt at regaining the upper hand. and yet, the chance of getting what he wants looms heavy over his needs, like some dog having a bone dangled in front of their face. he sounds pathetic, he looks pathetic, but above all: he’s so fucking cute you could gobble him up. 

“naww,” you rub his defined abs with your thumbs, “it must be so scary, no? letting someone else have so much control over you..”

luckily, he slowly relaxes in your hold, the strained breaths turning into sighs of relief as your hands travel to his sides, massaging them gently. your voice lowers to a soft whisper, “it’s okay, i’m not actually making fun of you.”

“you sure?” he musters a chuckle, looking down at you over his shoulder. “i’m having a hard time believing that.”

you nod, head leaning against his back. “yeah, i’m sure.”

a few beats of silence pass, the frantic beating of his heart slowly but surely calms down. it brings a ghost of a smile to your face, and you sigh. arms squeezing him a little tighter, you press a kiss to his back, murmuring a small, “good boy.”

a shiver runs through him, a shaky breath not far behind. one of his hands comes up to rest over yours still on his side. he intertwines your fingers, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckle. “thank you,” he whispers.

it’s hard to believe who you’ve got so pliant in your arms right now, but here he is. the school’s most popular athlete, or just guy in general, melting at the slightest bit of praise from you. 

“would you like to stay a little longer?” your voice is muffled as you speak into his chest, but he seems to understand you perfectly as he places another kiss to your knuckles, nodding.

“yeah,” he whispers, bringing your hand down to his abdomen. he slides it down a little further, the bulge forming under his sweatpants making a smirk spread across your lips. especially when his tone turns just a tad bit whiny as he looks over his shoulder again, “i need your help.”

⊹ ࣪𓍢ִ໋⋆🍰ೀ⋆

lips locked onto yours, his legs spread wider while your hand works under the fabric of his sweatpants. his back pressed to your chest on your plush bed you rub his boxer-clad bulge with a perfect amount of pressure that completely devastates his senses. 

your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him further back as you swallow his cute whimpers. you run a nail along his bulge, from the tip down to the base where you finally dip your hand into his boxers. his lips part from your in a startled gasp, his eyes flutter open to gaze up at you with need you’ve never seen before.

“please,” he whispers, “i need you.”

who are you to deny him when he begs so sweetly?

with one decisive movement you pull down both his pants and his boxers. his cock, fat and proud, shoots up to hit his belly. the precum leaking from the tip stains his shirt as he gasps at the cool air hitting his sensitive dick.

your hand wraps firmly around the base, squeezing him tightly while he throbs. more and more pre runs down from the crown and down to your hand, the slick aiding you as your hand finally moves upwards. 

“that’s right,” you whisper into his hair, noting how his gaze is transfixed on your ministrations further below. “does it feel good, sweetheart?”

he nods, one of his hands reaching back to pull you even closer to him by the nape of your neck. he seeks any form of stability as you rub small circles over his slit, hips bucking to chase your touch.

 “answer me.”

“yes! f-fuck-” he bites his lip, nearly drawing blood. “so fucking good…!”

with tight, purposeful strokes you reach from his weeping head to the base, the copious amounts of slick he produces cause your hand to create the filthiest wet noises that have heat creeping up your own face. 

“isn’t it so good?” you nibble on his ear, “giving yourself over to me?”

the sting of when you bite down has him throwing his head back over your shoulder as he scrambles to get even closer. tears gather at his lashline he doesn’t allow to fall just yet. 

“yes, yes, yes-” he babbles, hips recklessly thrusting up into your hand. any other time you’d scold him, edge him maybe. 

but he’s making such good progress. it must’ve taken a great deal to submit like this when usually he’s the one in control. you can’t fault him for losing himself all too much. at least this time.

his heels dig into the sheets as he uses your hand to get off. his whines get higher and higher in pitch, until finally-

“cum for me, amor.”

the neediest, sweetest moan echoes through your room as ropes of white shoot out of his cock onto your hand and his chest. his hips stutter while his eyes roll back. 

you stop the movement of your hand, now merely squeezing gently while the last bits of spend ooze from his tip. with a soft kiss to his temple and his cheek, you whisper: “such a good boy. my good boy.”

vivien went on a hunger strike that day which lasted approximately an hour. the apples were simply too juicy. it was hard to resist- you see, vivien has always loved juicy stuff and you always had some apple juice in a little carton with you for lunch. vivien thought it was destiny, then. (and totally not a coincidence and the fact that children usually enjoy sweet things.)

the story brings a dramatic tear to the, now adult, eyes of vivien. next to him, his teammate julien couldn’t be any less interested. “that’s what got you distracted? a girl from over 15 years ago that threw barbies at you? i wish i had some right now, you’re making me want to throw something, too.”

charles giggles away behind them, “is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? you think you’ll meet her again or something?”

“exactly that,” vivien refuses to entertain his childish teammate and friend, “we’re meant to be together, and that’s why i’ll wait as long as i need to.”

he often wonders what life has been like for you. if your smile is still just as bright, if you’re still just as much of a know-it-all. if you have a boyfriend. 

that last point makes him grimace.

the open field is bathed by the spring sun. the temperatures aren’t too high, but enough to work up a sweat if the wind slows down enough. as the trio steps onto the grass, on their way to join their fellow national team players, they note a new figure standing next to their coach.

“oh yeah, wasn’t there supposed to be some new manager?” julien questions, eyes already set on the person as they get closer and closer.

vivien nods, “right. i just hope they won’t get in the way.”

thoughts of you are quickly overshadowed in favor of the upcoming qualifying rounds for the world cup. the three of them need to bring their a-game, if the four world cup wins are still something they wish to achieve. which, it very much is.

as they come to a standstill next to the rest of the team, vivien eyes the new person with half-interest. more-so ready to get the introductions over with so he can hear what the coach has to say. though, the longer he looks at their new manager, the more his heart speeds up. the same eyes, the same mouth- even the same way you used to stand whenever you gave a presentation..!

he says your name in unison with the coach, more to himself than to anyone else, but it doesn’t go unheard by his friend. julien raises a brow, looking between you and vivien. he nudges the midfielder, “you know this one? she’s cute. you could’ve introduced us-”

palms sweating, vivien wipes them on his shorts. it’s hard to believe that it really is you, but there is no mistaking you for anyone else. unless you’ve got a twin, who goes by the same name. 

do you recognize him? will you still have the urge to throw stuff at him? he doesn’t have a lot of time to ponder on those questions when their coach dismisses you again. it is worth a raised brow when he sees you look up at the older man, eyes full of determination. a silly sight, especially when all he asks is for you to get the cooler from the canteen so they could all have some chilled water during training.

and yet, even for something so simple, you nod with vigor, and off you go. 

vivien hears a chuckle coming from julien, “cute. looks sweet, and very eager to please.”

the taller man can’t help a corner of his lips from inching upward. you always used to be like that, just… not for him. 

but now that he’s in a position to ask things from you it’s a whole different story. he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but you not remembering him might just work in his favor here. that is, if you do. or don’t. his brows pinch in confusion. 

either way, julien’s interest doesn’t cause any jealousy, surprisingly enough. building in his gut is an excitement akin to the one he experiences on the field. it’s an excitement he only experiences when he plays with julien. so while they start their laps around the field for their standard warm-up, vivien gets an absolutely wonderful idea.

“can i tell you something crazy?” vivien asks, running alongside julien.

julien rolls his eyes, “what, another anecdote about the barbie thrower?”

when he’s met with no real answer, merely vivien’s soulless eyes staring back at him, he groans, “do i have another choice?”

“it’s her.”

that has julien’s neck snapping back, eyes darting between where you left earlier and his destiny-driven friend. “that’s the barbie thrower? you’re fucking kidding.”

vivien kind of wishes he was. he’s thought of reuniting with you so many times, and none of them were anything like this. especially not when the reunion mixed julien into it all. 

but, thinking about it now, meeting julien has always felt like part of his destiny as a football player. maybe their connection goes further, and maybe it was always meant to be you three. his friend’s interest in you right from the get-go only solidifies that theory. both of them were taken by you as soon as they saw you, that simply cannot be a coincidence. 

so, vivien shakes his head, “not kidding. i don’t know if she remembers me.”

“let’s hope not. or- actually yeah, for me i sure hope she does,” julien laughs, “gives me a better chance.”

the sun is truly doing its best to make this as exhausting as it can. the wind nearly gone, it’s now just a bunch of sweaty men with insane stamina which is now rendered near-useless. luckily, you’re back. hauling that way-too-big cooler just for them. they finish the lap, stopping at the little makeshift hydration station you’ve set up.

while he definitely wasn’t jealous thinking of you with julien, vivien’s chest squeezes tightly when he sees you handing out bottles to his other (very clearly interested) teammates. out of the corner of his eye he sees julien has already put on his most charming grin. or maybe it went instinctively, vivien definitely wouldn’t blame him. 

it was strangely cathartic, seeing julien so interested in you. as very popular players they had always had their share of women who’d do anything to even be near them, but never has vivien seen such genuine intrigue in his friend’s eyes. then again, julien has always been very… how does he put it? ah, yes. domineering. while it had no effect on himself, clearly it was something that appealed to a lot of women, and vivien has an inkling it may also appeal to you. 

vivien’s heart nearly beats out of his chest when it’s finally their turn. he searches for your eyes to meet, looking for any sign of recognition. and it’s exactly what he finds. crows feet form near the corners of your eyes as you focus in on him. the burgundy hair is hard to confuse, he thinks.

a voice he did not expect to have changed so much, yet one that fits you so extremely well fills his ears and his heart. 

“vivien? it’s been so long,” he hears you giggling, “sorry, i don’t have anything to throw at you this time.”

he hears julien snort next to him, while his eyes continue staring you down. it’s honestly getting a bit uncomfortable. in your hand is the cold water bottle, one he has still not taken and it sounds like it’s getting increasingly harder for julien not to burst out laughing. 

your eyes find julien, your expression so innocently curious it has his heart doing flips. with a slap to the back of his head, vivien finally takes the bottle from you, “thank you. and i guess you could’ve thrown the bottle. thank you for uhm.. not doing that.”

“though he would’ve definitely deserved it,” julien adds. “name’s julien, by the way. it’s wonderful to meet you.”

vivien says your name at the same time as you, again. it sounds so pretty, and rolls off the tongue so easily, so naturally. so meant-to-be. it’s yet another confirmation to him that the wait was worth it, and all the feelings he had for you back then come surging back just as strongly. hopefully no hunger strike will be necessary this time.

woefully, training has to continue and they’re forced to bid you goodbye. for now. 

it’s hard to ignore julien’s grin, so he doesn’t. “we’re not talking to her anymore. why are you smiling?”

that’s met with an eyeroll. “dude, you don’t know anything about girls, do you?”

vivien shakes his head, “never needed to pay attention.”

“clearly,” julien sighs, passing the ball to him while they continue their drills, “she’s perfect. like, actually perfect. wanna bet we can get her to do anything we want?”

vivien’s brows pinch, “how do you know that?”

there hasn’t been much indicating what you’d be like in a private setting, at least to vivien. 

julien deadpans, “did you even see how she lit up when coach praised her for getting the cooler? sure it’s just one example but she’s a sucker for orders and praise i can just see it!”

vivien huffs, “i don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

the smirk that spreads across julien’s face says enough. game on.

‧₊˚☁️⋅♡𓂃ִֶָ࣪☾.

it’s a tough balance to maintain, julien thought at first. speaking to you any time he got the chance to while not ticking you off to something being wrong. whether that be a quick ‘good morning, miss manager’ or a cheeky ‘cute skirt’. though, he quickly finds, you’re.. to put it plainly, very very naive. 

combined with you, expectedly, taking orders without stopping for even a second to consider them, made easing you into more and more scandalous situations a cake-walk. 

on one of the hotter mornings, julien rests on the grass while vivien is off to the bathroom. his eyes drift to you, where you gather the empty bottles left by others and dump them into the recycle bin. he’s learned that you’re not always very aware of your surroundings, and thus must not be doing this on purpose… but every upskirt shot he gets of you whenever you bend down sure makes him question whether you meant for him to see the absolutely adorable polka dot panties you’ve got hugging your plush rump. it really hasn’t been that long since you’ve started working here, and he’s already this affected. the stirring in his shorts has him biting his lip. he’ll really have to do something about you soon.

the first chance julien gets is a week later. he makes sure to be the last one left in the locker room. he lingers, just in case you’ll be the one sent to tell him to hurry up.

and as always, he’s right.

a timid knock on the door has him sitting up straight on the bench, “come in.”

there you are. the sight of you makes his heart skip a few beats. all shy smiles and a dress he figures is meant to be modest but with proportions like that it’s hard to tell. “miss manager, my apologies for lingering. i’m just a bit, hmm, lost in thought?”

hook, line and sinker.

your eyes widen and you nod along, “i see. is there anything i can do for you?”

how sweet of you to be so concerned. and of course, an act of service is the first thing you ask about. he’s got you all figured out.

julien stretches his neck to the left and to the right, making sure to exaggerate enough. his voice is slightly strained, eyes half-lidded when they land back on you. “i’m just so beat after all this training for the world cup, you know? i a little worried all this exhaustion is going to weigh in on my performance on the field.”

he sees you panic slightly, and he has to force the corner of his lips down so he doesn’t end up smirking. of course, a dutiful manager wouldn’t want their players exhausted. the team’s poor performance will reflect badly on you, too. how will you get your fill of praise then?

“so, maybe there is something you could do,” he beckons you over, his chest warming up as you scramble to follow his direction, “my legs are really, really tense. i use them the most, right?

“would you mind massaging them for me?”

you visibly hesitate, your eyes jumping between his legs and his face, “shouldn’t i call a masseuse? i think they’re better suited for stuff like this-”

julien doesn’t pout, but he does the next best thing he knows works. his tone drops a few octaves, “i think a massage from a sweet girl like you will do wonders, ms. manager.”

maintaining eye contact, he reaches for your hand. slowly but surely he guides your more and more plaint form onto your knees. “right. that’s good. really good.”

“a good manager knows how to take care of their players,” he chuckles, “and you look like you know what you’re doing. how fortunate am i to be taken care of by such a devoted manager?”

your eyes flutter shut briefly before they widen back again. all the praise, the expectation and the promise of more is getting to you. julien can no longer help his smirk, which is now easier to hide away when your fingers finally make contact with the supple skin on his right calf as he can explain it away as relaxation. 

the sigh of relief he lets out sounds like something that could be included in those boyfriend asmr roleplays charles showed him a parody of some time ago. not that he watched those. or maybe he did, just to get a feel for what women liked to hear. never did he think it’d come in this handy because while you’re still on your knees, your legs press together. perhaps it’s a bit early, but the way your fingers dig into spots he really wasn’t lying were sore, even more praises spill past his lips while his grip on the edge of the bench tightens. “good girl.”

you pause briefly before resuming, your face turned away in what he assumes is shyness. as you move to the other leg, he decides it’s time to push it a little further.

“thighs too, please,” he urges, tone just as deep as before. and it also has the same effect as before, since you nod so eagerly he worries you might sprain your neck. “do you give massages often? you’re really good~” 

he drags the sentence on purpose. if someone were to hear him outside the door right now they might think you’re participating in a whole other type of activity. well, in a few minutes time they wouldn’t be wrong. 

his hardness is already straining against his boxers and shorts, for now still hidden away beneath the hoodie he’s pulled down so it won’t scare you away too quickly. it’s when you look up at him again, eyes wide and similar to how he saw you look at the coach the other day, your gaze is searching, searching for approval, for more praise. you don’t leave it at that, though.

“is it helping?”

had julien been a lesser man, he’d throw you right onto the bench and have his sweet sweet way with you. gaze so doe, so eager, so utterly at his mercy. and to think that all it took for you to get there was just a few well-timed and well-tuned words. darlings like you have always been his favorite.

so he nods, one of his hands reaching up to cup the back of your neck. his thumb rests right above your pulse. “it is. you’re really good at this, miss manager.

“but i can’t help feeling… stressed, still. a good manager knows how to help with that too, don’t you?”

his grip on your neck tightens as he brings your face closer between his legs. your knees shuffle against the floor as you try to accommodate the switch in position. the heat emitting from your face warms the inner part of his thighs. it’s then that he pulls his hoodie up, and the look of shock on your face is nearly enough to make him bust untouched. 

“you’ll continue being good, right? i’d hate for our sweet manager to lose her position because her star player is out of commission," he drawls, already prepared for having to play into your sense of duty. 

however, you quickly prove it’s not even necessary. your need to be good, to be praised is so strong he doesn’t need to guilt you into anything. a simple order is enough. oh, he’s going to have so much fun with you.

hips buck up into your touch when your delicate hands first land on his bulge, making him hiss. your cautious gaze earns you nod, permission to continue, and you do. shorts and boxers pulled down, he grins as you rub your thighs together once more, staring at the monster that is his cock. any worries that you won’t be able to take it, into your mouth or otherwise, are long gone from his mind. if he asks, you’ll do it. 

julien doesn’t know how it’s even possible, but he feels himself get infinitely harder when your lips make contact with his tip. thighs tensing together with the grip he still has on your neck, he has to bite his lip to prevent himself from making any embarrassing noises you seem to have an easy time pulling out of him. 

your lips wrap around him as you take the first bit into your mouth. tongue swirling while you suckle on him so gently warms his chest unfamiliarly. it’s no matter, he firmly guides you further down, the pleasure bubbling in his gut builds way faster than what he’s used to. 

“fuck-,” he sighs, taking a couple deep breaths to steady himself so his orgasm doesn’t wash over him right this instant. 

but then he meets your eyes, which seem to have been focusing on him for quite some time already. he doesn’t have the words to describe how you’re looking at him, except maybe that you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen. as if on autopilot he guides you up and down his cock, the tiny slurps, the sucks and the little pop when you lose the suction all drive him a sort of insane he has a hard time getting used to. in a way, it seems like you’re the one in control, and he does not like that.

so his second hand joins the first on on the back of your head, and he thrusts. your gags are like music to his ears, and he relaxes knowing he’s regained at least some of his control back. with your hands bracing yourself against his thighs he pushes in a little further with each thrust, your eyes screwed shut while tears stream down your soft cheeks. had he been conscious enough, he’d grab his phone to take a picture in an instant. but alas, his memory will have to do.

a voice echoing down the hallway startles him, but knowing who it belongs to only has him going harder. your nails dig into his thighs, looking between you and the door, it doesn’t seem like you heard much over the constant slapping of his balls against your chin. 

so when the door opens, and vivien hugo gets an eyefull of julien throat-fucking his first love, the latter can’t help it when his orgasm finally does rock through him, and the heavy, creamy ropes of spend fill your throat and slide down into your belly.

julien keeps your head down, softening dick still lodged as far as it can be inside your throat while he keeps eye contact with the stunned vivien. no words are said, and you’re none the wiser as you try to keep yourself conscious by breathing through your nose, but nothing really needs to be said, does it?  it really was that easy to get you to obey him, and now vivien knows it, too.

‧₊˚☁️⋅♡𓂃ִֶָ࣪☾.

that is not how you expected your first week with the french national team to go. 

but julien was so sweet to you, it has you warm all over whenever you recall it, or even when you get as much as a glimpse of him while they train. so… right now. 

sat next to the coach on yet another startlingly hot spring day, you observe the master striker with hawk-like focus. noting down everything you can, from the way his legs move, whether he looks strained or if there’s any sign of distress on him anywhere. a bit of pride spreads in your chest when there’s no signs of any of those things. it means you did good. that the massage worked, and that you successfully relieved his stress. if you’re lucky, he’ll thank you again today. 

the thought of more affirmations causes an involuntary giggle, making the coach look over curiously. “something funny?”

back straight like a candle, you shake your head vehemently, “no, sir! not at all.”

he eyes you a second more, then looks back to the team. not sparing you another glance, he ushers you away, “get me a cup of coffee, black-”

“with two sweeteners,” you finish for him, already getting up. now it’s his time to chuckle, and the ‘smart girl’ muttered under his nose has you beaming as you basically skip over to the break room. crazy how much you can learn in a week. 

though, helping the players and the coach is not the only task you’ve got. unfortunately. tidying the storage room, possibly one of the worst tasks since all the equipment is usually just haphazardly thrown in there, is also on the list. 

stacking cones, finding all the disc cones among the rest of the crap you never even knew was of any importance, counting whether all of it has actually been gathered, gathering what they forgot. it’s tiring to even think about. 

but it’s their sighs of relief, their thanks when they come in the next time they have to train and find everything neater than they’ve ever seen it before that keeps you going. you’re so useful! 

the process of getting there, though, doesn’t really get easier because of it. once again you’re stuck in that cramped room with a bunch of mess. sweat forming at the brow, it’s useless to try and wipe it away as it returns mere moments later anyway, right back in your eye. 

you can hear some players still on the field, bickering and continuing their training beyond the coach’s instructions, continuously pushing themselves to the limit to make sure they’re in top shape. it’s admirable- a knock on the door.

the person doesn’t wait for an answer, they probably know you’re in there. a head of burgundy hair emerges from behind the door before the rest of his body follows. “good afternoon.”

the strange formality is humorous at best, a little uncomfortable at worst. you smile anyway, “hi, vivien. can i do anything for you?”

he nods, closing the door behind him, “yeah.”

you blink, he blinks, you blink at each other as you wait for him to elaborate. the look in his eyes is slightly haunted, especially when he looks down to your lips. eventually, he clears his throat, “i’m stressed.”

“would you like a massage? i gave one to julien-”

well, it turns out the only thing getting a massage would be your cunt. your chest pressed to the door of the storage room while he drags the tip of his cock over your pussy. steadily stroking your clit and down to your entrance. 

with your skirt bunched at your waist, panties shoved to the side your entire backside is on display for him. his eyes snap to your face, and only then does he finally push inside, laser-focused on your expression which only becomes more and more lewd with each inch he manages to force inside your cunt.

“that’s right, chérie,” he pants, the restraint in his voice adds something so erotic to it all it has your eyes rolling back, “i can feel the stress just melting away.”

it feels good, being useful. and what feels even better is his cock hitting your gspot head-on with each thrust he finally allows himself to indulge in. the moans slipping past your lips echo against the door, so he quickly stifles them by putting his hand over your mouth. “can’t have everyone knowing how good you’re being right now. they might get greedy.”

targeted? maybe. not like you’re in the right headspace to question it. your brain nearly melts out of your ears with each delicious stroke of all the sweet spots inside your tight cunt. he only becomes more and more relentless with his thrusts, his hand prevents you from chafing your cheek against the door. your moans have not stopped, though. and they get even louder when he spits on his other hand which he then brings to your twitchy clit, rubbing surprisingly steady circles on the bud.

the double stimulation has your body spasming in his hold, spit coating the inside of his hand while your mouth hangs open behind it. your hips weakly push back against him, chasing even more of the already overwhelming friction. with his chest pressed against your back as he ruts into you as if his life depends on it, he overwhelms all your senses. 

the hand on your mouth presses tighter, angling your head so you can look up at him. eyes hazy, you’re struggling to keep your focus. what you can see is that his own eyes are fixated on your face, strained breaths hit the apples of your cheeks while he uses your body to blow off steam.

tears gather at your waterline as his voice reaches your ears through the lustful haze, “such a perfect girl, aren’t you?”

you nod as much as his tight grip allows, crying harder when he continues, “all these years i’ve missed you, and now i have you.-” he angles his hips even better, the newfound pleasure nearly knocking you off balance, “you’re just as perfect as you were back then,  chérie.”

you try your best to warn him, hands gripping tight onto his forearm as you claw at it. your orgasm fast-approaching, you tap insistently against his arm. 

but it’s no use, it seems, he’s just as lost in it all as you are, and before you know it, a white-hot flash overwhelms you, legs shaking, eyes crossing. a steady stream of liquid squirts down to his balls and his pants which he only pulled down marginally to free his cock. your cunt spasms wildly, milking vivien for all he has to give. a warmth spreads inside you paired with something akin to a whimper in your ear. 

“good girl, such a good girl,” he rambles on, forehead leaning against your shoulder. his softening dick slips out, his cum following close behind. both of his arms hug you tightly against his chest, holding you up while you come down from your high. 

“wow,” you giggle breathlessly, “did it help?”

you feel him nod against your back, “i think i just ascended, chérie.”

a more insistent knock than vivien’s from about an hour ago startles you both. hesitantly you call out, “who’s there?”

“someone curious as to why the storage room sounds like it’s haunted by a pair of whimpering and moaning ghosts.” oh. it was julien.

‧₊˚☁️⋅♡𓂃ִֶָ࣪☾

the silence inside of vivien’s hotel room wasn’t familiar to either him or his friend currently occupying the other side of the couch. it’s been about a week since vivien’s had his turn with their pretty manager, his childhood crush, and ever since then a weird sort of air has hung around the two men. one that even their younger companion, charles, couldn’t get his head around. luckily, he’s absent from this strange ‘meeting’.

“for someone who called me over to talk, you sure aren’t taking much of an initiative,” julien jokes, “you normally talk so much, this is kind of uncanny.”

and he’s right. for the first time in a while vivien is at a loss for words. for years he’s imagined what it’d be like to talk to you, how he’d woo you, and how perfect of a boyfriend he’d be once he inevitably got you to be his girlfriend. fucking you in a storage room a week after he’s seen you take his friend’s dick down your throat was never something he imagined, and still doesn’t know how to deal with.

seeing that vivien is making no moves to start talking, julien takes it as his opportunity to do so. “i was right, was i not?

“she takes orders like it’s nothing and soaks up praise like i’ve never seen a woman do before,” julien marvels. “honestly, at first i was ready to be like ‘oh, well if i perform badly it’ll be your fault yadda yadda’ but that wasn’t even necessary! i just had to be smart with guiding her and she did it!”

a smirk spreads across his face, “besides, you saw it for yourself.”

vivien can only nod. he did see it. experienced it too. 

“want me to tell you what it was like?” vivien asks, finally looking up at his friend. “i did what you did.”

“you fucked her face?” he’s met with a shake of the head. “you had sex with her?”

then vivien nods, “right. it was good.”

“just good?” julien chuckles.

“phenomenal,” the red-head whispers, “phe-no-me-nal.”

a beat of silence passes while the two hold eye contact. julien then asks the most important question of all. 

“you waited so long for her and are now just… okay with me saying and doing all this?”

vivien doesn’t answer right away. it is true; he’s waited so long for you only to watch you deepthroat his friend. and yet, just as he did when he was first made aware of your presence and identity, he can’t bring himself to feel jealous. 

you were destined for him, as much as he was destined to play football with julien. both of you are his destiny, be that one way or another. and while he doesn’t particularly view julien in a romantic light, if you were to do so… as long as he remained in your life as well, all would be good.

so vivien nods, telling julien as much. “you’re both destined to be in my life. if anything, i mind sharing her with you the least.” 

that has julien’s brows raising, “are you implying a throuple?”

“i’m implying i’ll be fine with anything she chooses,” vivien corrects him, “as long as it’s one of us.”

“of course,” julien laughs, “sick fuck. what if it’s neither?”

vivien leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. it’d look comical if the words that left his mouth next weren’t said in a tone so bone chilling it even rattled someone like julien. 

“then we make it so it’s either.”

the younger man can’t say he disagrees with that approach.

as for a plan? well, there’s only theory testing until something sticks. they only have so much time they can stall before and after practice, since the stadium does have opening and closing times. so, the next best thing? vivien’s hotel room. especially since they can’t risk being seen out with you in a non-professional setting. too many fans who could, and would, say something upsetting to their new- or not so new, sweetheart. 

plan set in motion, it’s a few days later when vivien catches you at the end of your standard storage room clean. heat creeps up his neck and face as he remembers your teary eyes, glazed over with mind-numbing pleasure. beyond impatient to bring that look back onto your face, he knocks on the door frame. “hello there.”

your startled expression has his lips twitching upwards. arms crossed over his chest, he leans his shoulder on the frame, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

“oh, it’s okay!” you wave him off, “i’m almost finished, if you have a moment.”

he’d give you a lifetime, if you so allowed. or even if you didn’t. besides, the sight of you bending over in that little sundress he believes the coach only allows you to wear because he, too, enjoys the view is definitely appreciated. 

just as you put away the last ball into the rack, your brilliant smile nearly knocks the breath out of him. “right! how can i help?”

somehow, someway you manage to look marvelous even under the glaring cold lights of a storage room way too cramped for such a big stadium. blinking fast a couple times he manages to finally get something going. though, your doe eyes, full of curiosity and excitement as you anticipate what he’s going to ask of you certainly don’t make it any easier.

“the stadium closes soon,” he states. your brows twitch upwards, but you nod along.

“right.”

“right,” he nods, “i still need help.”

“with?”

off to the side a groan echoes. with quick steps following, julien appears next to vivien, a look of frustration prominent in spite of him trying his best to disguise it.

“we’d like to invite you for dinner,” julien says for him, “we’re still really nervous, you see.”

the concerned expression that takes over your features has vivien cooing internally. you’re so sweet, always so concerned for them… not to worry, he’ll make sure you never have to worry again, as long as you agree to be theirs.

unsurprisingly, you agree right away. 

just as the security goes around telling people to scram, vivien and julien usher you into the latter’s car. situated comfortably in the passenger seat next to the driver, julien, vivien sees you marvel at the expensive interior from his spot in the back. “you look like you’ve never been in one of these.”

“because i haven’t!” you bounce a little in your red leather chair, “it’s all so clean and stuff. my car is far from this comfortable.”

julien smiles at you, his tone unusually chipper, “you could have this a lot more often, amour.”

the term of endearment spills past his lips with so much ease that if vivien wasn’t privy to what was actually going on, he’d assume you were julien’s long-time girlfriend. or at least someone he dearly cherished. not just a girl who’s only recently become his object of… well, obsession, really.

both vivien and julien have been working overtime trying to find out everything they possibly could about you. every social media account, where you moved when you left him when you were both 7. everything they’d need to know about just how you like to live your life, and everything you might need once you stay with them. 

it was also definitely helpful to know that there was no man present in your life that could potentially intercept their little plan.

in spite of the rather bold endearment julien threw at you, you’re still too busy marveling at the car’s interior and the confusion on his friend’s face at your lack of a reaction is humorous enough to draw a chuckle out of him. 

they both share a look through the rearview mirror; your lack of attention on them confirms that they might need to employ a different kind of tactic.

‧₊˚☁️⋅♡𓂃ִֶָ࣪☾

if julien’s car wasn’t impressive enough, the opulence of vivien’s hotel room is even more so. “why a hotel room?” you question, leaving your shoes by the door. the whole space is lined with gold detailing; not to mention the whole thing is a separate living room, bedroom and you assume there’s a bathroom somewhere as well. and yet, amidst all this opulence, it’s the chocolate fountain that catches your attention.

“i play for an english team,” vivien explains. “so i’m only here for the qualifiers, and until we all leave for the world cup.”

the explanation is no use, you’re long since distracted by the fountain of life. you’ve already worked away two fresh strawberries oh-so conveniently stored next to it. third one is already under the stream. with a mouthful, you can’t help gushing about the rich flavors, “woah, i could stay fed on these forever!”

your mouth full of the sweet treat, the look the two men share behind your back goes partially unnoticed. except for the split second in which you see them in the reflection of the gold-plated painting frame.

you turn your head, fourth strawberry between your teeth, “what was it you needed help with?”

both guys stare at you, one more fondly than the other, and a beat of silence passes only broken by the crunchy bite of the strawberry. julien then smiles, “it can wait. we can rest for now, can we not? you worked so hard, mon chou.”

you simply nod along, licking your fingers clean, “sounds good.”

the couch is probably the most comfortable thing you’ve had the pleasure of sitting on, and the warmth of the two men sitting on both your sides just add onto the already sleepy feeling that has been creeping up on you since you even set foot in julien’s car. he’s right, you do work hard! the sound of vivien getting back up from the couch has you looking over. he’s changed so much since you were kids. sure, he still has that monotone expression of his that used to irritate you to no end while he was preaching about you being meant for one another, but he’s definitely grown. a lot. 

“what’d you like, chérie?” he asks, grabbing three glasses from the bar. “we’ve got water, cider-”

“just water, please,” you melt into the couch even more, “those strawberries were really sweet..”

your eyes flutter shut, your body unconsciously leaning towards the man who’s still on your left. when you open them again, facing julien, you find him already looking down at you. head propped up on his arm, arm leaning on the backrest. “sleepy girl, aren’t you?”

you nod, leaning in when his other hand comes up to cup your cheek, “very.”

“we’re really happy with you, y’know,” vivien speaks up, the glass clinking against the hardwood coffee table as he sets down your requested water. “we’re really lucky to have such a sweet, helpful manager.”

heat creeps up your neck, ears burning. “thank you,” you mumble, cheek smushed into julien’s hand. vaguely glancing at the table, you manage to grab your glass, bringing it to your lips. it’s cold and refreshing enough to wake you up a little. you gulp down a bit more before you set the glass back down, your back once again against the backrest so you wouldn’t be so rudely turned away from vivien. 

the couch seems to just swallow you whole as the awake feeling passes pretty much as soon as it registered. the warmth from being sat between the two men who don’t really seem to understand the concept of personal space also doesn’t help. a touch to the top of your head has you looking for the source, and you find it in vivien, whose gaze is so intense it’d cause you to cower in any other scenario. and yet, right now, embraced by them both, which you have no idea when it even happened, you find yourself leaning in more and more into the affection. a pout forms on your lips, confusion marring your thoughts. “so.. what did you need?” 

being sleepy has never stopped your willingness to help, and the smile you see spreading over vivien’s face triggers that eagerness all over again. sitting up straighter, you tilt your head curiously. “that’s why i’m here, no?”

“yeah,” vivien nods, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “it is.”

from behind, julien’s hand reaches over to turn your head. before you can question it, his lips are on yours. a flurry of emotions passes through you. the excitement of being needed, the lust building from his scalding hot touch is all too much for your hazy mind. but what is vivien if not a gentle giant. his hands find your waist and his lips settle on your neck. at least you figure that’s the case since you’re pretty sure it’s julien who’s kissing you right now. 

with gentle, ushering touches you’re shifted onto julien’s lap, his hands traveling up and down your sides until they settle on your soft breasts. he massages them, drawing the sweetest noises from you all while swallowing them. the parting of your lips gets taken advantage of immediately, julien’s tongue meets yours gently yet firmly. 

his hand intercepts vivien’s onslaught on your neck by cupping the nape, tilting your head upwards. breaking away from the kiss, he looks down at your fluttering, hazy eyes and spits. his golden eyes widen as he watches you swallow it down without even being told to. “oh, mon chou…”

behind you, vivien seems impatient to get in on the action as well. as if a mere doll for them to maneuver, you’re turned around again as your lips are claimed once more, this time by the red head. it doesn’t seem to be the end of being manhandled as you’re forced to hold onto vivien for dear life when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. in any other scenario you may have been outraged at how easily he does it, but the muscles rippling beneath your touch and his shirt give you a sense of security. you can only figure the destination is the bedroom as your back hits the third of the softest surfaces of the day. the mattress dips on the other side as well, julien not far behind. 

while vivien’s tongue explores every corner of your mouth, a chill passes over your abdomen. warm hands push up the hem of your dress, then continue exploring your legs and especially- your inner thighs.

vivien’s hands aren’t slacking either, your tits haven’t been touched this much… well, ever. in between the overwhelming affection over both the lower- and top part of your body, your gut churns with heat. the amount of slick pooling from your cunt would be embarrassing any other day, but right now you’re barely left with half a mind to care. especially not when you hear jullien choke on his breath, the usually controlled master striker brought to his knees near the edge of the bed as he’s faced with your slicked-up pussy. the panties are rendered useless, the white fabric now sheer due to the arousal dripping from between your puffy lips. 

your hips buck into his touch as he runs a finger over the soaked fabric, whispering a stunned: “dude, you’ve got to see this.”

albeit begrudgingly, vivien separates from you and the heat of your kiss, a string of saliva still connecting you while his void eyes eat up the sight of you already so fucked-out. “how are you this gorgeous?”

your neck and face are already burning up, and the reverence in his gaze only makes it worse. “vivi..!” you whine, already needy for him, or julien, to kiss you again. you’re not awarded that privilege just yet.

instead, vivien gets off the bed, eyes zeroing in where julien has already been rubbing his thumb over with the hope of easing even more slick out of your heat. both men now wide-eyed and impossibly hard, share a look. “i’m going first-” they both start at the same time.

you try to close your legs, desperate to ease the insistent ache they’re making no moves to sate, only for an iron grip to keep holding them open. perhaps it’s because they pity you, or are both way too desperate themselves, one of them peels the sticky fabric off of you. you don’t have the energy to even prop yourself up on your elbows, but even unable to see what’s going on, you can feel them both near where you need them most. 

with a thud, vivien joins his friend on his knees, and they both take charge of holding one leg up to expose your fluttering pussy to their hungry eyes, and even hungrier mouths.

none of the men you’ve ever been with have wanted anything to do with eating pussy, so the sensation of two tongues licking and mouths sucking nearly has your soul leaving your body. the warm, wet muscles glide over your clit, pushing the hood up so the other can get better access- it all has your eyes rolling back so far into your skull they might just get stuck.

“f-fuck-,” you babble, drool slipping down the corner of your mouth, “‘s too much..!”

one of them nips on the inside of your thigh, and it’s julien’s voice that reaches your ears, “silly girl. i thought you wanted to help? we’re busy de-stressing, are we not?”

the question is directed at vivien, you imagine, as his voice follows, “we are. just be good, okay? we’re trying to focus.”

they both return to their ministrations, now with the addition of someone’s fingers prodding at your entrance. the sheets next to your head are really put through the wringer as you claw at them, seeking any kind of stability amidst what you imagine drowning in pleasure is like. just as two digits slide right into you with no resistance whatsoever, even more slick gushes right out of you as your first orgasm of the night rocks through your body violently. the men are forced to hold you down with all they can as you thrash, tears spilling over your cheeks while they help you ride out your orgasm with both tongues and fingers alike. 

“good girl,” vivien purrs, “i missed how stunning you look when you cum.”

the pleasure soon borders on painful as they don’t let up, sucking two more orgasms out of you that exact same way. each time wringing a steady stream of slick down their chins and hands.

you’re damn-near passed out, and yet just as they press their final kisses to your cunt, you hear fabric hitting the floor. as you force your eyes to open, the image of two naked men who could definitely be sculpted by the gods themselves stand at your feet. your body wrung out and pliant, covered in a layer of sweat laid before them while they eye you like you’re the finest of desserts. while already familiar with what julien’s cock looks like, his size is still beyond impressive. and scary. you’ve already felt what it’s like having vivien inside of you, and the thought of experiencing it again has your used-up pussy throbbing again. 

too tired to move, the men take pity on you as vivien lays on his back, leaning against the headboard. carefully, they make you straddle him. 

vivien doesn’t waste a second before his lips are back on yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue. in a moment of tenderness, he holds you close, pressing your chest to his while he lays you down on him completely. one arm held over your waist, his free hand lines his dick up with your weeping core. with clear restraint, he pushes in, mumbling praises against your lips, “oh, chérie.. you’re a dream, aren’t you?”

“the sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted,” he sighs, “now taking my cock like she was always meant too.”

“you mean only pussy you’ve ever tasted,” julien can’t help poking at his friend.

it all flies over your head, your brain melting out of your ears as vivien starts moving. both his hands hold onto your hips as he does all the work, merely holding you in place so you’re comfortable while taking the horsecock he knows he has. “such a perfect pussy, just meant for our cocks.”

behind you, you feel julien spreading your asscheeks, and a bit of spit lands right between your holes before you feel a finger prod into your pussy, right next to vivien’s dick. albeit heavily subdued, your heart skips a beat as a bit of panic sets in. you’re already stretched to the brim, sure he’s not thinking-

but he is. the tip of his cock soon replaces his finger, the heavy pressure overtakes the pleasure for a second before he pops in, a deep sigh leaving both men while a fresh batch of tears runs down your hot cheeks. 

“o-oh my god-,” your mouth hangs open, the fullness clouding all of your remaining fullness. you only get a moment of respite before both men start moving again, not a single spot inside your tightness remains untouched while they both fight for who gets closer to your cervix.

“that’s right,” julien pants, hands kneading your ass while he uses them as leverage to thrust deeper and deeper. “made for us, aren’t you mon chou?”

you can only nod, your toes curling from the pleasure while you bury your head between vivien’s pecs; something he doesn’t let you get away with for long. he nudges your head upwards with his thumb, locking your lips once more. 

the heat on your back increases as julien leans over you, pressing his chest to your back. he hits deeper and deeper- or is it vivien? you’ve lost the distinction. no matter where you want to look, one of them is there. the smell of their colognes mingles together, making everything around you so distinctly them.

no one was prepared for how intense this whole exchange would be, and neither of the guys is able to hold back form speeding up as their respective orgasms creep up on them. julien reaches over, squeezing your breasts while he speeds up alongside vivien. his strained voice brushes right over your ear, “gonna cum, yeah? you’ll let us cum inside, right? you’re good like that.”

lips still on vivien’s, you somehow manage a nod. the waterfalls on your cheeks have not stopped. more and more tears drip down to your chin and onto vivien’s chest. julien seems unable to hold himself back from licking up your tears, his pace intensifying as he tastes your overwhelm on his tongue. 

vivien cups your cheeks, pulling you away from him. “need to see you, okay? wanna see you as we fill you up, chérie.”

you nod, the knot in your belly releasing at the same time as it does for julien. the sight of your face contorting in mind-numbing pleasure, together with knowing you’re being filled by julien- vivien cums too. a deep groan comes from behind you while vivien’s familiar whimpers spill past his lips. 

there’s not a single bit of coherence left in your mind while you’re being filled with the last spurts of cum vivien and julien have to give you. they keep you like that until their softening cocks slip out on their own; your spasming cunt pushing them out. 

your soft, used-up body lands on vivien, whose hands are on every part of you at once it seems. another pair of hands spreads your cheeks again and the shutter of a camera echoes through the room. 

you vaguely hear vivien in disbelief, “really?”

followed by julien chuckling, “if you saw what i’m seeing you’d be commissioning a life-sized painting. i’m just doing you a favor.”

‧₊˚☁️⋅♡𓂃ִֶָ࣪☾

the weight of your sleeping body on his is so comforting, vivien has a hard time laying you back onto the sheets instead. “run a bath, won’t you?”

“already on it,” julien throws over his shoulder as he enters the ensuite. 

vivien’s gaze has never left you. instead, it’s been traveling down every crevice, every fold and every little bruise their tight grips on you have left. unable to withstand the urge, he gently spreads your legs again, now met with the mess they made. white spend oozes from between your legs in copious amounts, coating your puffy and swollen folds in their cream. his mouth waters at the sight, he nearly gives in to the need to clean you up with his mouth- but julien is back. 

begrudgingly, he turns to julien. “what do you think?”

“yeah, she’s ours,” julien shrugs, as if merely stating a fact. which, he was. “i’m not even entertaining her choosing just one of us. unless it’s me, i guess.”

his nonchalant statement has vivien’s eyes narrowing briefly, and he’s ready to question how serious the ace is about who he believes is the love of his life- but there’s a glint in those golden eyes, and it’s enough to placate him for now.

his eyes find you again, as have julien’s. your tearstained face is akin to a renaissance painting, and neither of them can look away. the bath being filled and ready fades to the back of their minds as vivien runs a hand over your damp forehead. “you really were made to be mine, weren’t you, mon cœur?”

it’s not matter that you can’t hear him, you’ll learn soon enough that your duties are going to be far from managerial from now on. all that’s left to figure out is how to get you to resign. 

“getting her fired will make her upset,” julien speaks up, as if reading vivien’s mind. "it's best if we convince her to resign.”

vivien pinches your cheek gently, “i don’t mind her getting upset. she’s going to stay with us either way, we can make her forget.”

the striker chuckles, “and i thought i was the cruel one.”

this time, however, it’s entirely different. 

unbeknownst to your father, you’ve long since found a lover. well, he was a friend first and foremost, but recently you’ve finally acknowledged the comfort and safety you felt while with him, the light he brings into your life, and you’ve made it official. 

your sweetheart, meguru. 

amidst your busy, high-class life of being your father’s precious accessory he was the much-needed moment of respite. his bright, carefree smile was capable of making your entire week. the thought of having to be married off to someone of your own ‘social status’ as your dad so kindly put it, you’ve been terrified of introducing your little bee to him. the possibility of him forbidding you from seeing him again was a great, everpresent threat.

and the even bigger threat was sitting right in front of you. his aquamarine eyes boredly scanned you every once in a while, merely humming whenever your dad made some kind of innuendo about how good of a fit you and him would be.

unlike the previous candidates, he doesn’t bother making this as hard as possible. something tells you he might just go along with it instead. 

if this ‘sae’ gives your dad enough of an impression that he doesn’t mind marrying you, it’s game over. you know you won’t have a say, and that’s beyond terrifying. 

blood running cold, you muster a smile towards the guest, “it’s so nice having you here, truly.” 

the polite, well-read character you’ve been taught to put on was truly exhausting. 

sae nods, eyes focused on you- or not really. he kind of looks like he can see right through you, which is unsettling on its own, it leaves you feeling bare. it’s as if he knows exactly what’s running through your mind, yet he makes no moves to make this any easier for you. it leaves you feeling helpless, truly on your own in defending your own right to choose a lover. a choice you’ve already made, and set in stone.

your father’s choices truly are… something. this uninterested, blank-faced man doesn’t even hold a candle to the sunshine that is your boyfriend. you wish to grimace, but you know you’d be chastised immediately. so you don’t, instead it seems your only choice is feigning illness.

you frown, clutching your belly over your satin dress, “forgive me, gentlemen. i seem to have eaten something that does not agree with me.”

you turn to sae, “it was a pleasure meeting you, but i must retire.”

not daring to spare your, likely furious, father even a glance, you walk off quickly towards your room. you lock your door and bite your lip. your eyes already sting, tears threatening to smudge your makeup. the pristine sheets crinkle as you take a seat, head buried in your hands. if only your sweet meguru was here. 

well… he can’t be here, but you can certainly go to him. it’s a risk, for sure, but you can always just lock your door and tell your dad you fell asleep. it seemed to work the hundred-or-so times you’ve done it before. 

decision made, you change into something way more comfortable than that tight, suffocating piece of cloth and open your window. with a little try-harding, you manage to climb onto one of the sturdier tree branches and off you are. already texting your boyfriend while trying to watch out for anyone who could possibly spot you.

🐝˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

the sight of his home alone already takes a world of weight off your shoulders. as the sky darkens around you, you hurry towards the door, already trembling at the chilled air. 

his mom opens the door seconds after you knock and her face lights up at the sight of you, “hi sweetie! meguru is in his room waiting for you.”

her excitement every time she sees you is probably the most affection you’ve ever received from a parental figure. it never fails to bring tears to your eyes, “hi, miss bachira.”

she brings you into a hug, closing the door behind you. she’s got a few paint stains on her, some of them definitely transferring onto your clothes, but that’s merely an afterthought as you lean into her. you close your eyes, finally relaxing a bit. 

“did they make you meet someone again?” she asks, caressing your head gently, “you must be so exhausted.”

never in a million years did you think your boyfriend’s mom would be sympathizing with you, rather than chastise you for essentially dating outside of her own son. given, she’s known you as meguru’s best friend first; she has no reason to assume you’re doing this on purpose. 

you nod, making her coo at you, “poor thing, when will that old fool leave you alone, huh?”

she lets go of you, rubbing your shoulders before she ushers you upstairs, “you can always come here whenever things get too much. i’ll even lie to the police if they come looking.”

you giggle at her cheeky wink, “thank you. really.”

meguru’s bedroom door looks akin to the gates of heaven themselves. you don’t even knock. the hinges creak as you open the door, immediately greeted by your sweetheart of a boyfriend preparing his bed for a game night. pillows thrown onto a neat little pile to lean and cuddle in, blankets laid out and enough sugary snacks to give you cavities that same night.

“megs!” you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped around his neck. 

he shrieks, following it by a bunch of excited giggles. “my sweet flower!” his arms wrap tightly around your waist as he tackles you onto the bed. his nose buried in your neck, he blows a few raspberries onto the sensitive skin. 

you try to push at him, laughing at the ticklish sensation, “enough- megs, enough!”

he’s still giggling away, but obliges. now hovering over you, he pants as he looks over you sprawled under him. “i missed you.”

you reach up to cup his cheeks, bringing him down for a kiss. you mumble into it, “missed y’too.”

his weight presses down onto you in its entirety, the pressure working away the last of your stress. he’s like a little weighted blanket.

lips parting from yours and foreheads pressed together, he grins, “the monster missed you too.”

“i’m sure he did,” you smile softly, nuzzling your noses together. “i’m so glad to be here.”

meguru has always had this effect. all of your worries melt away the second he’s near. it’s only gotten stronger since he’s become your boyfriend. his insatiable need to provide you with as much affection, both verbal and physical, has fixed things in you you didn’t even know were broken. 

never once did you question his devotion to you, but sometimes it’s even a bit concerning how his whole life seems to revolve around you, or his only other interest, football. 

with one last kiss pressed to your cheek, he rolls over to lay next to you. the physical contact is not broken though, his hand holds yours so tight you might lose feeling in your fingers soon.. while you both stare up at the ceiling, big smiles on your faces, the inevitable question falls from your boyfriend’s mouth.

“who was it this time?”

the atmosphere shifts, the warmth of the orange-ish lights in the room suddenly rendered useless as the question holds a cold edge you can’t help shivering at. 

your own grip on his hand tightens, “some itoshi guy.”

the silence that follows is more suffocating than that whole dinner. you bite your lip, glancing over at meguru. shifting closer, you lay your head on his chest, hugging his waist. “it scared me, megs. he seemed so… okay with it all.”

you squeeze him tighter, voice dropping to a whisper, “i left as soon as i could.. i didn’t want to be there.”

his hand wraps around your shoulders, holding you close. he doesn’t say much, thumb rubbing over your arm. 

you’re inclined to look over, wondering if he fell asleep, only for him to finally speak up.

“i don’t like that you have to be scared all the time.”

it’s an eerie, unsettling tone you haven’t heard from him yet, and it has you tensing up in his hold. you don’t get a chance to question it though, as he continues.

“you’re mine, okay? i won’t let anyone get in the way.”

🐝˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

an earful from your dad is exactly what you expected, and also exactly what you got when you returned home the next day. something about ‘scaring off your future husband’ and whatnot. 

it’s sickening, how entitled your father feels to making decisions about your very adult life. there’s a limit to everything, and today you seem to have reached yours. 

“i don’t want some boring dude like you!” you snap, pushing away your breakfast plate. all appetite was lost anyway the moment he opened his mouth. “has it ever occurred to you that i have a brain? a brain very capable of making decisions on my own?”

the way your dad’s had tightens around his glass looks tight enough to break it. and yet, he doesn’t yell. instead, what he does is much, much worse.

“right,” he snorts, though the tension between his brows betrays his efforts to hide his anger, “women can’t make these decisions rationally. you’re just swayed by your emotion, not to mention you’re definitely not smart. what, did some guy promise you a fairytale? do you wish to ride off into the sunset with some prince charming?”

his mocking tone gets more and more condescending with each word, “wake up, you brat. i’m trying to find someone who’ll put up with you and not drag my name down. do you know how difficult it is to describe you to a man without making you look annoying and spoiled? be grateful i’m even trying.”

sure, your dad’s been mean to you before. more times than you can count. 

but this? he’s never stooped this low. 

you want to cry, to scream, anything. and yet, you’re rendered absolutely speechless. your tongue tied into knots, eyes stinging and your chest nearly caves in from the pressure. it’s not the end of your torture, though.

“some good news, though,” your father sighs, “mr. itoshi has agreed to a second meeting. given how you oh-so-conveniently disappeared yesterday.”

oh. so he knows.

“it’s this weekend. make sure to look somewhat presentable this time. that dress from yesterday was barely passable.”

he doesn’t give you the joy of storming off, instead he leaves first, calling for someone to clear the table. one of your maids, one you can’t even remember the name of, shoots you an apologetic smile. she must’ve heard your father and his… whatever that was.

she takes your plate, and you mumble a small thanks. if only your meguru was here.

the next day you barely even manage to get out of bed. the only thing even remotely motivating is the smell of pancakes slowly creeping under your door and into your nose. feet dragging, stomach aching from the dread of being faced with your dad again, you waddle into the kitchen. 

though, the moment you pass the threshold, you’re stopped dead in your tracks. normally, you’d be delighted to see any other expression on your dad’s face instead of that dreadful smirk he usually wears. 

but his face entirely drained of color is not something you’d imagined.

he’s sat at the kitchen island, a glass of wine already poured at the asscrack of dawn while some other maid rushes around the kitchen, likely the one responsible for the delicious smell contrasting the energy in the room.

against your better judgement, you speak up. “everything alright?”

it takes him a while, but your dad finally answers, “that meeting on saturday is no longer happening.”

relief floods over you for a brief moment, before it gives way for something even more unsettling. “why?”

hands shaking, he shoves his phone in your direction over the island top. right there, big and bright,  a headline that sends chills down your spine reads: “MILLIONAIRES SON, FOOTBALL PRODIGY SAE ITOSHI PASSES AWAY IN CAR ACCIDENT.”

first thought? at least you won’t have to marry him. second thought? oh my fucking god. 

“that’s… unfortunate,” is all you muster, wide eyes snapping back to the stunned man who’s now gulping down his wine like its water. “i’m sure his family is devastated.”

it seems you’re not deserving of a response as your dad orders the maid to refill his glass, you wonder how many he’s already had if he went through this one so quickly. so, you snatch a plate of those pancakes and hide away in your room again, the conflict between relief and sympathy rages on as you recall the guy. he may not have looked like ideal husband material, but it’s not like he deserved a fate this cruel either. 

music plays idly in the background as you munch away at the last pancake, and your thoughts as usual drift back to your boyfriend. sure, you saw him yesterday, but how can a day be good when meguru is not in it? especially now, you’d imagine there’d be some kind of relief for him too, knowing now that at least for now the threat of you being married off is gone. 

a pit of dread forms in your gut. right, wonder how long it’ll take for him to find someone else. maybe you being difficult will work in your favor this time around. though, your father’s words ring in your ears clear as day. annoying and spoiled. as much as it helps you postpone the inevitable, having your own parent see you this way is not very comforting, especially when speaking of you as if you’re some product he has a hard time selling. 

looking through your room for any sort of distraction, your eyes land on a bee plushie. of course, all roads lead back to your boyfriend. he got it for you years ago, and the fluffy thing has only gained more and more meaning since. 

the fur is pleasant beneath your fingers as you grab it, hugging it tightly to your chest. 

sneaking out sounds really good right about now, but with your dad drunk out of his mind there’s a few dangers to doing so. if he decides to come up to your room and doesn’t hear anything he’ll likely break the door down, finding that you’re gone which will probably lead to a supervised housearrest. 

mgeuru’s mom joked about the police thing, but if that scenario were to play out, it likely would no longer be a joke. 

and yet, what is supposed to be your safe haven, your room which has always been the only place you could take a breath inside this entire house now feels a lot worse to be in than sitting right next to your dad as he downs a whole bottle.

the decision is easily made after that. 

you shoot meguru a quick text: 

you: are you busy?

as per usual, he never makes you wait long for an answer.

megs<3: never too busy for you :D 

megs<3: whats up?

you: i wanna go out pls

you: meet me at the park?

megs<3: yippie!

megs<3: i’ll be right there!!!!

megs<3: i love you!!!!

you grin, quickly moving on to get dressed. the window creaks slightly as you push it open, and with a tiny leap of faith you’re on the branch. the amount of times you’ve done this got you quite skilled at this whole climbing thing. it definitely helped whenever meguru wanted to climb into some tree at the park to kiss in. 

landing on the grass, you dust yourself of and take off towards the park with a pep in your step at the thought of your sweetheart.

🐝˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

it’s always been hard, knowing that at any moment you could tell him that you were getting married. still, he doesn’t know the exact moment where the sympathy turned into anger in your stead. 

what he does know is that his feelings for you have been there from the very beginning. he remembers meeting you clear as day. he was 7 years old, sat under a tree, knees scraped after some bullies pushed him, again making fun of him and his monster. and then, as if an angel had descended from heaven just for him, you sat down next to him and pouted at his knees as if you were the one injured.

“what happened?” your sweet, but squeaky voice reached his ears.

he could only shrug then, way too mesmerized by someone talking to him for any reason other than to make fun of him. when he did finally come to, he sniffled, “just a bunch of meanies. they were laughing at my monster!”

he saw your eyes widen, and for a moment he worried you’d freak out. 

however, the look of fascination that followed has kept him going ever since. you’ve been inseparable since then, and he’d count the day you agreed to be his girlfriend to be the second best day of his life. right after meeting you.

so color him surprised when you came to him the very first time it happened, tearful about how your dad has been talking about marriage. how scared you were that it was going to be one of those assholes you were forced to hang out with whenever your dad’s friends came over. you fell asleep crying in his arms that day, and while he’s never seen himself as someone capable of hating, your dad sure looked like the perfect first venture into it.

all the guys you had met thus far he could live with. he trusted when you said they looked to be just as uninterested in marrying you as you did with them. until now. 

mr. sae itoshi, the first time since the start that he’s seen and heard you be worried. a good boyfriend would do something about that, wouldn’t he?

bachira giggles to himself as he twirls the cutting pliers on his fingers, the dead of night isn’t usually on his favored list of times of day, but for this, it’ll have to do. 

rich people sure are dumb, careless, too. a mere article about someone’s favorite restaurant, their car spotted in the parking lot. just a few snips here, a few snips there and they’ll no longer be a bother to the love of his life. 

now, how does one go about… neutralizing their (unknowing) father-in-law?

bachria just can’t help his grin, you were always meant to be his. he’s just making sure everyone else knows it, too.

His head whipped around so fast his neck almost snapped. His body had barely the time to calm down and now shot his entire blood south again as he watched you running towards him.

Your hair a complete mess, the Spain jersey with his name hanging off one shoulder and your soft body bouncing with each step. You were already crying.

“Bunny!”

He opened his arms and you launched herself into him. He caught you easily. Plush thighs wrapping around his waist as you kissed his face all over.

You felt it, but for now the celebration was more important.

“You did it,” you whispered against his lips. “You won.”

“I won,” he echoed, sounding like he still couldn’t believe it.

Another kiss followed, then another. Teeth clashing, tongues licking and the cameras and teammates celebrating fading into nothing.

He was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He was also so hard his cock hurt.

She buried her face against his neck. “I screamed so loud I think I scared the people sitting next to me.”

“Won’t be the only time you scream today, corazón.”

“Bunny!” you squealed laughing into his neck. But then your expression softened. “I’m so proud of you.”

That sentence almost broke him. You had never stopped believing in him. You laughed, cried and cheered with him.

“Oh, don’t you start crying too,” you laughed.

“I’m trying not to.”

“Liar.”

“I’m absolutely lying.”

The celebration that followed was a lot. The teammates and him running around in flags. Singing with the fans and applauding them for the support. Them chanting ‘Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!’ while you filmed it in the background.

Eventually the medal ceremony began. One by one the players climbed the podium while fireworks in red and yellow and glitter filled the sky. The golden trophy gleamed beneath stadium lights.

When Bunny stepped forward, the FIFA official placed the gold medal around his neck. It was cold, but it was also real.

He touched it with trembling fingers. World champion. His winning goal.

Was this real life?

The trophy celebrations lasted forever as they hurled the trophy up. Photos. Kissing the golden trophy. More hugs and confetti.

At some point he finally escaped the chaos and found you again standing near the edge of the pitch. And mierde, the way you watched him - soft, proud, his.

You looked at your Bunny.

Without saying anything he slipped the ribbon over his head. You frowned. Then gasped as he gently placed the medal around your neck.

“Bunny.”

“You wear it.”

“No, no, no. It’s yours.”

“It’ll always be mine.” he rested his forehead against yours. “But I don’t get here without you.”

“No, no. Put it back on,” you immediately reached for the ribbon.

He caught your hands. “I’m serious.”

“Bunny.”

“You sat through every terrible match.”

“There were… a lot,” you choked out.

“You celebrated every goal like I’d won the lottery,” he whispered “You stayed awake until three in the morning when we played overseas.”

“You called each time.”

“You reminded me who I was whenever football made me forget,” his thumb brushed away another tear rolling down your cheek. “So wear it. For me.”

“I didn’t score.”

“You just made sure I always could.”

A bubbly sob escaped you as you hugged him tightly. In return he lifted you until your feet left the grass.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“I love you more.”

After an hour or maybe more Bunny dragged you towards the tunnels where the changing rooms are. Usually families aren’t allowed in here.

But Bunny had been twitching, throbbing and leaking since almost two hours. He thanked everyone for the broad designs of the shorts so no one hadn’t spotted it. Or they did and ignored it.

“Bunny, we can’t—“

Somewhere in the background Ramos is shouting. But his voice fades away more and more as Bunny lead you deeper into the catacombs.

You’re filled with need too. Your cunt had creamed since Bunny went forehead to forehead with an Argentinian player. Even more so after the winning goal.

Now he presses you face first against the wall. Back arched your plushy ass looks all round and delicious. Bunny would eat that, but this had to be a quickie.

His big hand slapped against the wall next to your head as he reached around to fumble with the button of your pants. He was impatient.

“Let me,” you whispered as you pushed your jeans and panties down.

They dangle around your knees like an offering. Those blue panties drenched in your need and Bunny wanted to suck the fabric clean of it as your sweet musky scent filled his nostrils.

“Here, Bunny.”

Oh, you knew what he was thinking.

He caged you in further as he dragged his shorts down and slapped his cock against your drenched folds. The sound was obscene, echoing through the tunnels.

You were sure his teammates heard.

“Cariño,” Bunny choked out as he shoved inside you.

There was no time to adjust he plowed into you with frantic thrusts. You went cross eyed from the sheer pressure, pleasure. Thighs shaking as he owned your body like he had owned the field, the goal.

The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the narrow corridor, underlined by your strangled moans and Bunny's guttural breaths against your ear. His hips slammed into you with a rhythm that matched the roaring chant still echoing from the stadium above.

"Fuck! Cariño—" his voice cracked as he buried himself deeper, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other flattened against the cold concrete beside your head. "You feel that? That's what you do to me."

You couldn't form words. Your forehead pressed against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. His cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you with each brutal thrust, sending shockwaves through your lower stomach until you felt like bursting.

"Answer me." his teeth grazed your earlobe before clamping down gently, a possessive gesture that made you gasp.

"Yes—yes Bunny!"

He rewarded you with a deeper angle, the smacking of his hips against your ass had the skin turned red.

The smell of sweat and grass and sex mixed in the stale tunnel air. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed. Footsteps. Laughter. His teammates were close.

"Let them hear," he growled against your neck. "Let them all know exactly who I'm fucking tonight."

Your orgasm built like a wave during extra time. Overwhelming, destined to break you apart before Bunny would put you together again.

Your fingers scraped against the wall, searching for purchase as your body began to tighten around him.

"That's it," he urged, his rhythm turning sloppy, desperate. "Come for me. Now."

The leader spoke now - the one who commanded the field, now commanded your cunt. Your body.

It was an explosion of pure ecstasy as your walls clenched down around him. A broken cry escaped you as you rode the highs of your pleasure. You almost missed as Bunny followed you desperately. His hips stuttered as he emptied his balls deep inside you.

The guttural moan that vibrated against your spine prolonged your orgasm until you almost blacked out.

For a long moment neither of you moved. His forehead rested between your shoulder blades. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin. Your legs felt like jelly. Then he pulled out slowly and you felt his release trickle down your inner thigh.

“I’ve wet wipes in my purse,” you whispered breathlessly.

“No.”

He reached down and caught the few pearls of salty release with your panties. Then shoved the fabric half into you.

“Keep it. I want you to smell like me when we celebrate with the team later,” he tilted your face back and kissed you softly.

“Whatever my world champ wants.”

all it took was a pair of shorts you purchased recently to have a group of girls glance over and giggle while you approached. not yet deterred, believing yourself to be quite likeable, you introduced yourself anyway.

“i didn’t know they made these in your size,” one of them laughed, completely disregarding your introduction. 

another one can’t help but add, “did you even try them on before buying? i can’t believe you saw that and still thought it looked good! your legs are nearly tearing the seams!”

it seemed like everyone’s eyes were on you as the girls’ laughter echoed through the halls. the sound soon reduced itself to an insistent ringing in your ears as you whimpered an apology before walking off quickly. at this point it seemed like the walls had eyes, eyes that followed you all the way to the bathroom where you spent the next hour agonizing over what you initially thought was a miniscule adjustment in your wardrobe, made merely to fit the increasing temperatures. does it really matter that much? you sniffle, only now noticing how your thighs widen as you sit down on the closed toilet lid. the addition of the little stripes both on the inner- as well as the outer side of your exposed thigh now look a lot less cool than you were told they did by alexis. 

too embarrassed to go back, utterly demotivated from trying to make any more friends, you ditch the rest of the school day. you can only hope alexis won’t scold you when he comes back from his football bootcamp later today. 

જ⁀➴ ♡

the moment your room’s door clicks shut and you fall face-first onto your bed, the faucet in your eyes opens fully. of course, the first time you try to make friends outside of alexis it goes south so badly. he’s warned you about this, told you so many times that ‘people are jealous of sweethearts like you, they’ll be mean. you don’t deserve that.’ you believed him then, but somewhere along the way you really did start craving a connection with someone else. 

the friend groups that formed during lunch or the people who sat together in class made you jealous. all you had was alexis, and you didn’t even share classes with him! 

but as a good little sister would, you stayed away. after all, he was always right outside the door when the bell rang, ready to pick you up and bring you to your next class. he always kept an eye out, making sure you weren’t talking to anyone. 

and you should’ve kept it that way, because he was right. people were mean, girls were mean, and everyone looking while you were being berated was mean. 

a few sobs in you remember you’re still wearing that wretched piece of cloth that got you here in the first place. you kick it off, leaving you in a tanktop and some random panties alexis bought for you the other day. 

you flop back onto your bed, aching for alexis to be back already. the alarm clock on your nightstand tells you it shouldn’t be long, but any minute is a minute too long for you already. 

but of course, what is alexis if not the best. 

before you can even properly glare any tearful daggers at your closet, a knock on your door echoes through the room. he doesn’t wait for you to answer, he simply walks in with a bag in his hand, closing the door behind him.

he’s all smiles at first, greeting you happily while he unpacks a bag of snacks onto your desk, “i’m so glad you’re already home! did your classes end early?”

then he turns to face you when he hears no answer, and his face pales immediately.

he’s by your side in seconds, pulling you onto his lap. he’s always been very touchy. he’s got you straddling him, your head tucked under his chin while he rocks you gently, “what happened? did you get hurt? did you fall? i told you to tie your shoelaces better-”

he stops in his tracks fully when he hears you mumble, “you were right.”

“right? about what?” his voice softens considerably.

you sniffle, “people are mean. really mean.”

you feel his whole body stiffen. of course he’s not happy you rebelled against what he’s been teaching you for years, but he’d be stupid to think you’d never even try.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, “i should’ve listened.”

his hands on your waist dig into your flesh uncomfortably tight, fingers likely to leave round bruises later on. tone clipped, he sounds so scarily serious you’re inclined to believe he’s been replaced by someone else. your sweet bro didn’t speak like this to you, ever. “what did they say? and who was it?”

you don’t know their names, as they didn’t exactly seem keen on introducing themselves, so you shrug, “i dunno… i wanted to introduce myself, so i did.. but then they laughed.. and said all these mean things about my shorts and my legs..”

tears well in your eyes again and your voice cracks, “no one’s ever been this mean to me.”

a beat of silence passes where the quiet is only interrupted by your pitiful sniffles. that is until, through gritted teeth, alexis speaks up, “i’ll make sure it’s the last time.”

a small smile ghosts over your lips while you nuzzle into his neck, “thank you, lexi. you’re the best.”

your eyes scan idly over your room while you remain in his embrace, until you land on the same pair of shorts that brought you here in the first place. you grimace, “might have to get rid of those, though.”

alexis perks up, “huh? why? i thought you liked them.” he straightens you up, making you look at him while you hold onto his shoulders.

you shrug again with a sad smile on your face, “i do.. but my legs ruin it.”

that has him frowning deeply, his eye twitching, “what did you say?”

you look back to him, tilting your head curiously, “my legs, they’re… big. and also have a bunch of stripes on them.”

you state it in a manner so matter-of-fact it’d convince anyone of it being the truth. and yet, alexis looks like he’s about to cry. though, before you can ask about it he’s already running his hands over the bare skin of your legs. all the way from the hem of your panties down to your knees. his voice is shaky as he asks, “you mean these? the cutest thighs i’ve ever seen? why are you saying these things like they’re negatives?”

with eyes wide you stare down at your near-tears brother. your hands fly to cup his cheeks, “alexis? why- why would you cry about that? i can just wear some longer stuff, maybe i can buy a few more pairs of sweatpants-”

his cheeks are already lined with tears, but before you can even try to find out why, his lips are already on yours. eyes like saucers, you’re rooted in your spot as he kisses all over your lips and cheeks before he forces his tongue inside your mouth. he’s frantic with it, and soon the comfort and the closeness has you melting into him. your first ever kiss! 

your hands snake behind his neck, wrapping your arms around it while you press your chest fully to his. 

you can hear him whimpering, his hands hurried over your thighs and hips. 

he switches from tongue-fucking your face to more gentle, soft-paced kisses while he mumbles, “stop- please stop talking like that.”

tears are still running down his reddened face as he pulls away, panting. “please let me show you what i see.”

well, how can you refuse? he’s looking up at you with so much adoration, desperation… besides, you’ve just confirmed that it’s best to listen to him. so you nod, and in the blink of an eye you’re laid out on your back and sprawled under him.

his eyes take in your vulnerable, pliant form before he lowers himself down on the bed to press kiss after kiss to your stomach right where your tanktop has rolled up. he whimpers in time with your relieved sighs as the tension in your body slowly melts away. 

it does catch you off guard slightly when you throw your head back, only to snap back to look at him when he nips at your inner thigh. “lexi-ugh!” 

“sorry, sorry, sorry-” he apologizes, panicked, “just needed a little bite.”

he makes up for it though, the myriad of kisses that follow have you melting back into the bed. 

soft praises spill past his lips, none of which are unfamiliar to you by now. alexis has had this long term habit of praising you into the high-heavens ever since you could remember. 

however, this time they were definitely of a different nature. 

“wanna have my head buried between these all the time.” 

“i’d mark them all up, make sure people knew who you belonged to.”

“i’m gonna decorate them, have people know how beautiful i think you are.”

kisses and pecks soon turn into more languid, intimate sucks. his lips go over every single square centimeter of your thighs, be that near your knees or right on the apex, right where your little pussy moistens with every vulgar kissing noise. 

his touch has always brought you the most comfort, as has yours to him. it’s not often you’re the one in need of cheering up, but whenever you are, you know you’re in good hands. your sweet alexis is always ready to give back what you so selflessly provide him. 

never before has his gratitude and soothing looked like this, but with the pleasure coursing through your veins, you can’t find it within yourself to really care. 

what you do care about it the ache slowly building in your core, and the slick seeping through the thin fabric of your panties. 

you reach down, threading your fingers through his hair and tug.

you tug him upwards until his mouth is level with your cunt. with a pout you look down at him, “it hurts there. can you help?”

you’ve never seen someone tear through fabric this easily.

and now, in your own apartment, in the background of your youtube videos. it was a very natural progression, from starting a few fanclubs online as your interest shifted from team to team, to eventually making full-on reviews while mostly glazing your favorite face card at the time. 

you’d earned a sizeable following, made up of mostly women. the men tended to question (rather rudely) whether your interest was genuine, and if you weren’t just openly thirsting over their hardworking athletes. regardless, your videos garnered you enough of a following to allow you to move to barcelona. now you could watch the matches in person, your videos taking on a much more genuine tone as your appreciation for the culture surrounding it grew.

however, recently you’ve been entirely locked in on one person. one man who’s captured your attention to the point of near-madness. every time your eyes found him, your body heated up dangerously. from his tall, muscular frame, to his chiselled face lined with a scar you ached to run your lips across.

bunny iglesias, your undefeated number one obsession for the last 3 years. never before have you stayed so interested in one singular player. and it didn’t look like anything was about to change any time soon.

as the video progresses, you talk more and more animatedly about one of bunny’s passes to lavinho, of course not forgetting how he brushed his hair out of his eyes after he scored the first out of his three goals that match.  

it’s when you replay some of the footage that you pause at someone who isn’t bunny.

“oh!” you clap your hands with a sweet smile, “sae itoshi~ he’s so good too. not better than bunny, though. i loved his assist for leonardo luna, he’s really skilled!”

you’re visibly shaking in your seat as you rewatch the final goal of the match, scored by your bunny. “see that?!” you gush, “that’s why he’s my favorite. he’s so amazing!” 

your squealing and giggling is something you love leaving in your videos, many people have left comments about how cute it was and how contagious your excitement was. it was truly such a beautiful corner of the internet that you’ve managed to create. all because of your boy-crazy, or rather, bunny-crazy nature. 

“right~ this was such a wonderful match, and i’m so happy i got to see it in person!” you swing your legs back and forth, swaying in your chair a bit. “next week there’s a barcha meet and greet! of course i’m going. i really want bunny to sign my jersey!”

“see you guys again soon, i’ll make a video afterwards, as always~ bye bye!”

now to editing, reviews like this are best uploaded as soon as possible.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

lavinho’s house is loud. bunny knew this, and yet still somehow agreed to come. music blasting from the speakers while the two of them lounge on a couch that’d easily fit over 15 people. his red eyes devoid of.. anything really, focus on the ceiling while his senior yaps away about the recent match. his excitement palpable, his pride oozing off of him in spades. scrolling through his phone grins maniacally and scoots closer to bunny and passes him his phone. 

“ever seen her before?” he questions, eyes darting between him and the woman on the screen. 

bunny squints, examining the title ‘barcha vs re al review & commentary’. “why would i care?”

lavinho laughs him off, “dude, she’s like your biggest fan! a cutie, too.” he presses play.

the next minute that bunny is subjected to your grating fascination feels like it took years off his life. which, honestly works in his favor. the smile on your face has his gut churning, the food he consumed about half an hour ago threatening to come back up. 

yet, he chuckles along with lavinho, “a pretty face, for sure.”

“dude, i watched some of her vlogs, she’s hot as fuck. maybe she’ll be at the meet and whatever,” the older player ponders, “wonder if i can get her number. she looks like a good time.”

bunny has long since tuned him out, trying to keep his nausea at bay. the joy in  your voice, the happy aura you exuded even through a screen incited a type of disgust he hadn’t felt in a long time. that spark in your eye was as vomit inducing, as it was fascinating.

fascinating enough for him to be scrolling through his phone that same evening, torturing himself with every video you’ve ever made. dedicated as he was, he started at the oldest public one, which happened to document the start of your infatuation with him. 

as the videos progressed, your descriptions of him shifted from shallow ‘hot’ and ‘attractive’ to slightly more introspective  ‘skilled’ and ‘quick on his feet’. something that hasn’t changed was your undying elation whenever you spoke of him. your smile only got brighter with every video, and sometimes you’d even (what he assumed was) forget to edit out you fanning yourself as it all just became too much and overheated your soft body. not like he was paying attention to that whenever he watched your vlogs. which showed your whole body. usually dressed in some tiny skirt which he also totally didn’t pay attention to. until he did. 

he grimaced, already dreading the moment he may potentially face you at the fanmeet lavinho mentioned, one he totally forgot about. 

his eyes dart to his bathroom door, maybe if he finally stopped being a coward, he could finally pull through and not have to go to some stupid fan meet at all.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

but the day does arrive, luckily for you. camera in hand ready to snap a few pictures and maybe some footage, donning your trusty ‘iglesias’ jersey, you set off to the venue. the walk there, in the scorching sun, is aided only by the sea of barcha adverts left and right as a last minute extra promotion of the event. 

as bunny’s biggest fan, you must be there first, though. your feet take you there at a speed rivaling the fastest speed-walkers on earth, the camp-nou stadium comes closer and closer. little skirt swishes around your thighs, flimsily held down by the slightly-too-big jersey. 

your gigantic smile has a few people looking at you weirdly, but you pay them no more mind than a brief wave. if you’re having a good day, you might as well brighten a few others.

a line has already formed, but it’s definitely not too bad. especially given it’s still two hours until the doors open. you choose to watch some recent match replays, it would make for good conversation material.

though, any and all things you could’ve thought of didn’t matter the moment you were face to face with the one and only bunny iglesias. thoughts evaporated the moment his soulless red eyes met your glossy ones. forced to fan away your tears before you became a wreck, you smile brightly at him while you introduce yourself. “i’m s-such a big fan!”

you didn’t anticipate being so nervous. not at all. and yet here you are, stumbling over the most basic sentence he’ll likely be hearing all day today. 

his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s enough for you anyway. 

“what would you like me to sign, muñeca?” he takes the cap off of his marker, his tone barely differing from monotone. 

you immediately hold out the bottom of your jersey, face heating up. “i should’ve probably not worn it, huh? that’d be easier.”

he merely shrugs and signs it anyway, “you’re far from the only one.”

you nod, hands shaking as you feel the brief warmth of his near you. you examine his face, especially the scar. it’s pretty and pink-ish. you’ve read some comments from people who thought it was ugly, how it ruined his pretty face, but you couldn’t disagree more. he wears it well. so well, your lips itch to soothe any discomfort those comments may have caused him, had he seen them.

you don’t even realize he’s already done, now just eyeing you boredly while you basically eat him with your eyes. as if burned, you let go of your jersey, letting it fall back against your thighs. “i’m sorry! and thank you!” you ramble, moving to the next player. and the next. and after another five, you land right in front of lavinho. 

he’s sporting a smirk so cunning you shrink into yourself slightly, but smile nonetheless. “hello!” you introduce yourself, and he repeats your name to you while chuckling.

he signs a piece of merch you’ve placed in front of him, a barcha flag, and makes sure to touch your hand with his as he gives it back. “you’ve got that little youtube channel, no? real cute.”

you nod, face heating up all over again, “right! do you watch it?”

“how else would i know?” he winks. “you’re always so happy, it’s infectious. even showed you to bunny the other day.”

your eyes widen, “really? what did he say?”

“he’s a buzzkill, first and foremost,” he shrugs, “said you’ve got a pretty face. that was it.”

ah, of course. 

“but!” he smirks, “i certainly think there’s more to you.”

what do you call this? some sort of divine intervention? security tells you to move along, and even lavinho can’t do anything about it. animatedly complaining to the guard while you wave to him with a small, uncomfortable smile. 

even though the stadium is an open-roof establishment, exiting it still felt like a breath of fresh air. well. only thing left to do now is make your promised video. 

ringlight on, signed jersey and other signed items laid out in front of you, you start recording.

“hello everyone!” you smile wide, cheeks hurting, “i just came back from the event, and as promised i’m here to tell you all about it!”

unable to help yourself, you pull up the jersey first, fists clutching it so hard your knuckles start hurting. “i got it signed! my bunny jersey! personally signed!” you squeal and giggle. the usual works whenever you talk about bunny. 

“he was really nice to me, even though i was like, ugh- insanely awkward!” you scrunch your nose before you remember the most important detail. “wait, you guys-! he actually held this in his hands! oh-em-gee!”

you sniff it, giggling maniacally. “holy shit!”

“oh, i’m never washing this again.”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

bunny’s lip is pressed tight between his teeth, phone nearly cracking from the deathgrip he has on the poor thing. echoing in his dark room is your voice, laughing and squealing about him. his brows furrowed while he fists his cock angrily. 

whether he’s angry at you or at himself, he doesn’t wish to think about. what he does know is that his current predicament is a hundred percent your fault. whatever it is that you put in your videos, be that your skimpy outfits, or just his jersey, has stuck to him enough he can’t help seeing your stupidly cheery face even when he closes his eyes. and that perfume you wore while at the stadium, it was so sickly sweet he had to try his best to not send you away. 

and yet, here he is. in his bed, jacking off until the skin of his dick is raw. his eyes laser-focused on your face and his torso already covered in two loads. nothing is enough, there’s simply too many videos about him that you’ve made. too much content of you basically worshipping him to get through. and all of it makes his dick so hard he feels like dying. nothing new there, though.

with a few last strokes as you sniff the jersey, he cums a final time, his dick finally giving up as it softens. 

bunny pants heavily, staring at his now dark phone screen. what the actual fuck are you doing to him? and how can he make it stop?

he sluggishly walks over to his bathroom and switches on the shower. a good question, does he even want you to stop? 

the cold water soothes over his heated skin, though it does a piss poor job at actually washing away the partially dried cum off his chest. he can’t help agonizing over the fact that for the first time in a while, someone has affected him. sure, he still can’t wait until the sweet embrace of death graces him, but with you by his side.. worshipping him, loving him.. the wait may no longer be so agonizing. 

he closes his eyes, and as expected, the image of your sheepish smile from where you were sat a mere few centimeters away from him is right there. how disgustingly cute. that spark in your eyes, how full of life you seem to be, both on- and off screen. truly appalling. 

his next match is next week. surely you’ll be there too. you said you always are. and certainly, you won’t mind a ticket upgrade.

the next day he tells his team to send you a vip ticket. doesn’t specify why, and by now they know not to question him.

much to his own chagrin, the days leading up to the match are no different for him at all. his cock weeps anytime he hears your voice through the speaker of his phone. the hours of content now reduced to rewatches as time slips through his fingers and washes away with each cooling shower. finally, something to do instead of agonising over his pathetic life. 

the crowd cheering as he enters the field holding a child’s hand is background noise, his focus entirely on the vip section of the stands. 

lo and behold. you’re right there. eyes bright, hands clapping as you shout your lungs dry, he’d recognize your voice anywhere by now. 

bunny’s mood sours and brightens at the same time, if that’s something that was even remotely possible. the former because your voice screeches through the noise of the crowd, standing out in the most obnoxious way, and the latter, because that jersey he signed that you were sniffing in your video is hanging off your frame so deliciously it makes him want to bend you over and flip up that tiny excuse of a skirt up and take you in front of everyone. 

alas, he’s got his god-forsaken match to play. the darned whistle blows, and off he goes. a pass there, a defender getting in his way here, another pass from lavinho, and unsurprisingly to everyone present, bunny scores within the first 10 minutes. 

he sends a cheeky smile to the camera, throwing up a peace sign before his eyes find their way back to you. there are tears running down your soft cheeks already, you poor thing. he immediately regrets looking over, because the sight of your wet face has his groin stirring like it never did before. 

the young striker's eyes widened. oh, he just found his new favorite expression. people crying has always brought a ghost of a smile to his face, but on you it’s like an entirely new concept. now, if only he can manage to wring those tears out of you in a different context. that is something worth living for. 

the rest of the match he has to actively stop himself from searching you out. if your emotional state got him that distracted at one glance, it could cost him dearly. 

so, goal after goal, with one in between by lavinho, and two lucky ones from the opposing team, barcha wins. 5-2. 

only then does he dare another look in your direction, a mere few feet away from your section. your eyes are already set on him, the wonder and the admiration oozing from you in both sobs and claps and screams of joy. 

in spite of the overwhelming amount of press that will no-doubt capture this moment and plaster it everywhere they can while his pr-team tries to control the damage- he winks. right while making eye contact with you. the camera’s already focused on him, capturing the moment in real time. the stadium erupts in another wave of cheers, while he sees you freeze in your place. aren’t you just so awfully adorable.

without looking back, he’s off to entertain the celebrations for as little as his team lets him get away with before he’s on his way to the locker room, his ear already talked off by his manager about the ‘inappropriate interaction’. 

bunny waves him off, instead instructing him to make sure you get to him. “locker room- whatever you can manage. let me know where she is. i need to speak to her.”

he hears a frustrated huff behind him, and smirks as the footsteps get further and further away; while the sweetheart plaguing his mind is only getting closer and closer.

but when bunny finally exits the locker room, you’re nowhere to be found. there’s not even a call from his manager that you’ve left before he could get to you. 

the scowl on his face has even lavinho backing off from his usual teasing, especially after the stunt he just pulled. “easy there, tiger. what, i thought you weren’t all that impressed with the girl?”

of course, the old fool can’t help himself. “don’t even start,” bunny dismisses him, tone clipped. the cars to take them home are in sight, reporters crowding the exit for one last feature, one last question they’ve all heard before. he brushes past them, mics ignored and overlooked.

his mood entirely ruined, plan in shambles- oh.

he steps inside his car, and aside from the driver, there’s a very, very nervous figure. guess his manager came through better than he expected him to.

bunny can’t help the wide smile from spreading across his face, “hello there, muñeca.”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

the moment you register that wink, your world stops. the noise of the crowd blurs into background white-noise, and all you see is bunny’s eyes focused right on you. and then just as fast, his back is turned and he walks off. leaving you there, stunned and with your heart racing. even if you hadn’t been a fan of him before, this certainly would’ve cemented you as one. 

as if the tickets weren’t enough. 

wrapping up another video, a simple vlog where you expressed your excitement for the upcoming match, you receive a new email on your business account. 

something something ‘mr. bunny iglesias’, something something ‘vip tickets’. had you been holding something it would’ve clattered to the ground. 

the sound that escaped you then had your neighbors worried enough to knock on your apartment door, believing you might have just been murdered. 

luckily, you were most definitely not. although you might as well have died and come back alive with the violent surge of emotions coursing through you then, as well as now as you watch bunny’s figure get smaller and smaller as he approaches his teammates. 

the celebrations rage on around you, while the less invested leave the stadium in droves. you have half a mind to record anything, being so close to bunny kind of sabotaged your recording efforts. why would you stare at him through the lens of your camera when you can, and did, stare at him from the very front; too busy screaming your throat raw to record. 

when you did finally come-to, it was really only briefly. a firm grip on the shoulder, you’re now faced with no other than mr. manager. bunny’s manager. he looks less than thrilled, his voice strained as if doing this was fully against his will, “he wants to see you.”

your immediate assumption would be some sort of corridor, maybe an office as you trail behind the speed-walking man. “uh- sir? may i ask why?”

 ï’ve got no bloody idea.”

you get neither of those options. instead, you’re ushered into a car before he slams the door. the car is then driven to the exit where you wait anxiously for bunny to show up. it’s honestly a bit too much all at once, tears gather in your eyes and you sniffle. it’s not only the prospect of being semi-alone with bunny, but being personally asked to show up is such an otherworldly concept in and of itself. 

you pick at the hem of your skirt as you examine the car. the seats are a comfortable, red leather, the windows obviously tinted, and a wall-like construction to separate the passenger from the driver which is currently pulled up. you have no idea who’s behind the wheel and maybe that’s for the better. there’s no need for anyone to see you crying to yourself, makeup probably smudged a bit already. 

as time passes, your excitement grows the longer you’re kept in suspense. your lip more and more raw the longer you chew on it, nerves buzzing. what will you even say?

until finally, the door clicks open. a very annoyed bunny steps inside, and briefly pauses once his eyes land on you. his posture now much more relaxed, a wide smile spreads across his face, “hello there, muñeca.”

it takes a superhuman effort for as little as a small wave, his body so close to you it’s hard to even breathe. “hi…”

his eyes scan you head to toe, darkening when they settle on your soft thighs which are barely covered by the poor excuse of a skirt you tend to wear. he then looks back to your face, smile softening into a subtle smirk, “why so nervous? you’re usually so… outspoken when it comes to me.”

your tongue ties as his body leans closer. a hand on your thigh has you malfunctioning briefly before you muster a quiet: “it’s different.”

“different how?” he immediately questions, his face mere inches away from yours. “i have to say, your excitement is cute, but this? this sweet, sickening shyness-”

he leans in until your lips nearly touch, his voice dropping to a breathy whisper, “it’s doing things to me, and i hate it.”

he tilts his head to the side, eyeing you with a faux pout, “it’s been keeping me up at night, you know? it’s stressful, and it may impact my performance… what if you lose interest in me then? i don’t know what i’d do if i lost the support of my biggest fan.”

the tip of his finger traces your jaw, down your neck and the neckline of the jersey, “it may just make life.. a little less worth living.”

then just as fast, he’s back in his own seat, a nearly pleasant smile on his face as he chuckles, “you’ll help me fix it, won’t you?”

stunned doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re experiencing, but it’s soon replaced by a sinking dread. a fear you didn’t know you could experience outside of some really good horror movies.

you find yourself nodding insistently, hands folded as if you’re begging, “o-of course!”

there’s no world you can imagine yourself enjoying if bunny wasn’t in it. he’s been the center of your life for the last three years, and you’d be damned before you let anything happen to him. besides, if it really is your fault, it’s only fair you help him out. however that help might look like. 

his smile widens, although it does not reach his eyes, “i knew you’d be good.”

it doesn’t matter if he meant it as a compliment, you take it as one anyway as your chest warms, same with your face and neck. your hand covers your mouth, disbelief still clouding your mind. 

soon, the car moves in a direction entirely unfamiliar to you, the way richer part of barcelona you’ve never stepped foot in. your attention, however, isn’t focused on the outside long. a hand on your thigh recaptures it, making you look back at bunny curiously.

the look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve seen before, in anyone. his red eyes don’t usually show any emotion, be that on the pitch or during press interviews, yet what you find is nowhere near empty. instead, combined with a small smile, a deep-rooted tiredness gives way for interest. curiosity. excitement? his brow twitches, and you feel a nail dig into your thigh, almost painfully so while his grip tightens. 

a warmth pools in your belly, he’s so close, way more attractive than you’ve ever seen him. even the sweaty, shirtless paparazzi pictures from a few months back didn’t get you going nearly as much as his touch currently is. his hair still slightly wet from his shower, black tanktop clinging to his muscled torso, and god… his scars. all of them look like they’re aching for some love, and you’d be damned if you let this chance slip by. 

“we’re almost there,” he says, though it sounds mildly like a warning. 

you tilt your head, leaning into him unconsciously, “where?”

a corner of his lips quirks up an easily missable bit, “my apartment.”

his hold switches from your thigh to your hand, the imprint left by his nail drawing a bit of blood. before you can even mention it, he’s already tugging you out of the car, the tiny drop runs down your leg. “bunny-”

“got a bit carried away,” he brushes you off, he squeezes your hand, the pressure on your knuckles causes you to grimace briefly. 

but that is all forgiven and forgotten once he gets you in the elevator, both of his hands on your hips as he makes you face him. there’s a tone to his smile now you can’t put your finger on, but neither do you want to when he leans down to press a few kisses on your neck and up to your ear. a shiver runs down your spine, the tickling pleasure has your hands scrunching his tanktop in your hands. “a-ah~”

your eyes flutter shut while he starts to softly suckle on the skin right under your ear. though with each suck it’s like he gets hungrier and hungrier. he switches spots, the previous one already bruising. your knees buckle, but he holds you up, hands switching from your hips to your ass as he squeezes.

“bunny..!” you moan, and you feel him stiffen for a second before he resumes, harder and greedier than before. he kisses up your jaw before he plants a hickey there too. 

then, the elevator door opens and you’re startled out of your haze. bunny doesn’t seem too bothered, but he still stops. his eyes are barely open; you’d say he’s drunk if you didn’t know any better. 

he then grasps your hand again and drags you along to his door, his steps large and hurried, and very hard to keep up with. you’re out of breath by the time you get to the door, which unlocks and slams shut behind you in a split second. you don’t even have the time to process your surroundings before you’re pressed up against the nearest wall, his lips on yours in a display of lust you’d never thought you’d be on the receiving end of. his hands cup your cheeks, keeping you in place while he forces his tongue inside your mouth. his whole build somehow manages to completely dwarf you, and his hands soon get bored as they travel down to your chest, one of them lingering to squeeze your throat. the surprised sound you let out has him smiling into the kiss, though it’s more tongue-sucking at this point. and still, he goes down further, pinching your nipples which are so hard they poke through your flimsy bra and jersey.

the lack of air has you light-headed, the pleasure of him feeling you up clouding the remaining sense you’ve got. his presence is so intense in and of its own, the heaviness with which he’s rooted in his spot, keeping you pressed between him and the wall makes it impossible to push him away even the tiniest bit for that little bit of relief. 

just as you feel yourself getting weaker, he pulls away, panting. his hands hold you up by the waist, his eyes scan over your already fucked-out face with an eagerness that feels entirely unfamiliar to even someone like you, who’s been dutifully analyzing him for the last 3 years. 

you don’t even know how you get to the bedroom, splayed out on your back while he sits back on his haunches. he examines you like some experiment, fingers tracing from your jaw, down to your neck, over your covered breast and hardened nipple, down your soft belly and then over the junction between your belly and thigh where he lingers a few centimeters above where you actually need him most. his touch is featherlight, combined with the fabric still covering you it’s easy to think you’re imagining it. and yet he’s there, watching your face for every twitch, every microexpression and with every noise you make his own expression gets tighter and tighter. if you had any clarity left, you’d be inclined to question why he looks like he doesn’t really want to be here. 

suddenly, your skirt is gone. it falls down to the floor where bunny dropped it haphazardly. he leans over you a little more, bunching your jersey around your waist. your sweet, pink cotton panties with a little bow are on full display, the wet patch on the gusset giving away how your body aches for him. as if your whole body being so pliant for him didn’t do so already.

your brain is nearly melting out of your ears when his hands reach your inner thighs. still nowhere near your soaked core, which he can definitely see get wetter and wetter with each caress. you want to be embarrassed at how clear your need for more is, small whines and whimpers spill past your lips any time he gets even that tad bit closer.

until finally, he pushes at your thighs, spreading you open for him. he pushes them down, almost folding you in half before he runs his thumb over the ruined fabric of your underwear. from your twitchy clit to your fluttering entrance. he presses a bit harder there, almost pushing in with the fabric still in between. 

it has your whines increasing in volume, head thrown back at his teasing. “y’re so mean..!”

“mean?” he questions, “you’re the mean one, looking away from me while i try to make you feel good. eyes on me please, muñeca.”

his tone sounds just disappointed enough for you to look back immediately, cheeks flushing with heat as you bite your lip, “i’m sorry.”

“good. remember you’re doing this for me, yeah?” he smiles sadly, “i don’t want to feel bad anymore.”

“of course.” the guilt eats you alive. he’s being so nice to you, and you can’t help being impatient. calling him mean? that was too far. tears gather in your eyes, “i’m really sorry.” 

he leans his head against your thigh, his fingers running up and down your clothed slit while you shudder. he looks as if you kicked him, “you’ll still help me, right?”

you nod, eyelids fluttering from the pleasure. “y-yeah.. ah!”

your eyes widen as he slides your panties to the side, fingertips making direct contact with your throbbing clit. he rubs agonizingly slow yet precise circles over the bud, all while maintaining eye contact. he watches you intently as he speeds up and slows back down. he then sits back up, slides his fingers down to your entrance, and pushes two fingers in to the knuckle. 

his eyes widen as your hips buck and eyes squeeze shut, the moan you let out so is pornographic it’d make a virgin cream his pants immediately. 

the relief of finally being filled, especially when he curls his fingers immediately has your head spinning. 

unfortunately for you, it’s taken away just as quickly. your cunt now empty and fluttering and leaking copious amounts of slick makes you cry out, “bunny! please, please, i need it!”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

bunny hoped getting you under him would solve this nearly crippling disgust he felt around you and your content. the fascination that kept him coming back for more bordered on an addiction, one with a sick and painful aftermath as his cock screams for rest after he’s jerked off for the 7th time that day. 

but nothing could’ve prepared him for the up close view of your tearful eyes. your cunt spread open for him, neck and jaw lined with bruises and the tiny wound surrounded by dried blood on your inner thigh makes his head spin. his patience has run dry. the moment he felt you envelop his fingers in your needy heat, it was over. 

he basically rips his clothes off, and in one slick thrust, his fully hard, abnormally thick dick is forced all the way inside your pussy. his heart soars, filling up the otherwise empty space. 

but oh, the tears streaming down your cheeks, the frantic spasms of your cunt as you try to adjust and the sobs. oh, the sobs. he can’t decide whether he wants to look at your cunt or your face more. both are wet, extremely so. though the tears running down your cheeks is what he’s been after this whole time.

your cries are like a balm to his scattered soul, the way you claw at his arms, his chest, begging and trying to be as close to him as possible. it’s all too much. he knew this would relieve him, even if only temporarily, but not even his wildest dreams could’ve prepared him for the absolute euphoria of seeing you cry up close. 

bunny leans down, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands bracing on the sides of your head. he feels your arms wrap around his torso, and he could damn well start crying too. 

and he almost does, once your lips make contact with one of the scars on his shoulder. in between your sobs of pleasure, he feels you whimper as you kiss along the marred skin. his hands grip the sheets underneath, eyes widening. “oh, hermosa..”

he nearly chokes, eyes glossing over for a second before he forcefully blinks it away. whatever you just did to him, you may just start wishing you hadn’t. 

he looks down at you, where you’re still going at it, trailing kisses wherever you can reach as the force of his thrusts push you up and down the bed. overwhelmed with emotion, bunny leans down and captures your lips with his again. he can’t have you getting carried away, the pressure on his chest grows rapidly on its own even without your help.

he feels his own cheeks getting wet as he continues kissing you, dutifully swallowing your moans while his cock somehow only gets harder. 

somewhere in between his assault on your mouth he hears you mumble that you’re about to cum and it has him pulling away immediately. he needs to see your face while you fall apart. he speeds up, encouraging you, “come on, give it to me.” 

your cries gradually get more frantic, higher in pitch before he feels a warm liquid spray his abdomen. your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and your mouth hangs open so obscenely he can’t help wishing to stuff his cock inside there too. even more tears stream down your cheeks and your cunt squeezes him so tight it forces his own orgasm out of him. his balls tighten, and he grips your waist to keep you locked onto him as he spills inside. “f-fuck-!”

his whole body is white hot with an emotion so new to him it leaves him speechless. he waits until you come-to, but it seems the whole ordeal was intense enough for you to knock you out cold. your breathing slowly evens out while he stays buried inside you, plugging you up. 

with gentle hands, he caresses your body up and down. from a brief massage on your thighs to using his shirt to wipe down your sweaty forehead. he leaves the tear stains though. he thinks they make you look absolutely gorgeous. 

from wanting to vomit at the sound of your stupidly cheery voice to jacking off to your videos nearly 24/7 to now wanting nothing more than to wring out every noise you could possibly make. 

bunny is truly baffled at what you’ve managed to do to him, his heart finally doesn’t feel like a void, and the thought of you leaving feels like ripping that all away. 

he smirks, the first bits of white escape around his softening cock. there’s a myriad of ways to keep you here. and he intends on using any method that sticks. 

he cleans you up; his version of it is to take his cock out, push the cum back in with his fingers and pull your panties back over your cunt. he gives your pussy a loving pat for good measure.

he’ll let you sleep for now, and he’ll join you soon. but first, a few arrangements are to be made.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

you wake up with your body sore, the only comfort being the big, warm body spooning you. you rub your eyes, the area between your legs is uncomfortably sticky and your face heats up as you remember why. never in a million years would you have thought you’d ever get to sleep with the bunny iglesias, and yet, he sought you out himself. 

that’s obviously a detail you’ll omit in your new video. 

you take a moment to enjoy the body heat, while you replay yesterday over and over in your mind. you’d never taken a cock that big before, and you can’t get over how little resistance your cunt provided. he really just does turn you on that much. 

bunny stirring behind you has you laying entirely still, hoping he’ll think you’re still asleep to stay here just a minute longer. 

“good morning,” he mumbles into your neck, his hoarse, speel-ridden voice slicking your cunt all over again.

you yawn despite yourself. hoping to hide your disappointment you mumble a small and sleepy: “good morning.”

you wait for him to send you away, any type of ushering out the door, but instead, he just pulls you back closer, “sleep well?”

“huh? oh, yeah. very well, actually.”

“good,” he murmurs, caressing your thigh.

it’s almost as if he’s fallen back asleep, leaving you in a frankly uncomfortable silence as you’re unsure how to proceed. 

deciding to take matters into your own hands, you lift his arm from over your waist and lay it back down on the mattress gently. you manage to find your skirt, which is very easy given his clean bedroom floor, and put it on. with one last look at his handsome face you step out of the room, finding your shoes scattered over the hall. you hadn’t gotten a good look at his interior back when you came here yesterday, but he’s got an impressive amount of recording equipment yet to unpack in his livingroom. you’re almost jealous. equipment like this would elevate anyone’s content into virality for the quality of the footage alone. 

you put your shoes on, and walk towards the door with a sigh. 

huh?

the door won’t open. all the inside locks are unlocked, though.. maybe it’s just the regular key lock? you look around the hall and find a bunny keychain with a few keys. right! one of them must be it. 

but right as you slide in the first one, someone clears their throat behind you. humiliation flushes over your whole body and you’re paralyzed in your spot. slowly you turn around to face none other than the only other person in this apartment, bunny.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asks calmly, his smile icy cold. devoid of any of this morning’s affection.

“just.. home?” you try to respond normally, but even such a straightforward and valid answer feels ridiculous under his scrutinising gaze. 

his whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. had you actually blanked you would’ve missed it. his smile entirely gone, exchanged for the saddest you’ve ever seen a man. his brows furrowed, lips forming a pout you’ve got to admit is very endearing. 

but the worst part is his voice, cracking at every other word, “you’re leaving me?”

your eyes widen, “w-what? what do you mean? this was just me helping you out, right? didn’t i make up for… whatever it was you wanted?”

he takes a step closer, a conflict of emotions rises within you. panic, but sympathy too.

he reaches out his arms, as if inviting you for a hug, “i’ll be really, really sad if you go.”

you can’t help taking a step closer, voice hesitant, “b-but, i can come back, right? i don’t have to leave forever…”

he sniffles and shakes his head, “i don’t think i’ll survive. just the thought of you leaving makes me want to- it makes me want to-.”

“makes you want to do what, bunny?” you ask carefully.

there’s tears in his eyes now, “i have these pills in my bathroom…,” he chokes.

your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, panic overtaking your whole system. you nearly run into his arms, “no, no! i’ll stay, i promise i’ll stay.”

you bury your face in his chest, heart nearly beating out of yours. 

just as you thought a crisis may have been averted, his giggles reach your ears while his hold on you tightens, “i’m so glad you’re staying! i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

all the blood drains from your face and down to your cunt when he leans in even closer so he can whisper into your ear, “we’ll be together forever, mi vida.”

hermosa = pretty

mi vida = my life