Saeswife1

there wasn't any teasing, no dramatic reaction, just the smallest lift at the corner of his lips that disappeared almost as quickly as it came. somehow, that tiny expression meant more than any compliment he could have given.

he walked over as if nothing had happened, reaching up to smooth a wrinkle near your shoulder before gently pulling the collar straight. his hands were careful, almost automatic, making sure the jersey sat comfortably on you instead of awkwardly slipping to one side.

once he was finished, he gave your shoulder a light pat and quietly continued on his way, leaving you blinking after him until he paused a few steps later.

without turning around, he simply said, "keep it."

it wasn't because he didn't need another jersey. he had plenty. he just liked seeing you in something that belonged to him.

every time you wore it after that, whether you were waiting for him after training, curled up on the couch, or wandering around his apartment with the sleeves hiding your hands, hugo never said much. he'd only glance at you for a moment before his expression softened ever so slightly, a quiet kind of pride settling in his chest.

to everyone else, it was just his team jersey. to him, it looked exactly where it belonged.

michael kaiser

it had started as a problem you hadn't thought through very well.

laundry day had a habit of sneaking up on you, and by the time you finally dragged the overflowing basket into the washing machine, you realized every comfortable thing you owned was tumbling around inside with it. your pajamas, your favorite oversized hoodie, the shorts you always wore around the apartment—everything.

after searching every drawer twice in hopes you had forgotten something clean, you let out a quiet sigh before your eyes landed on the back of one of michael's jerseys hanging neatly in the closet.

it was the only thing left.

when you pulled it over your head, it swallowed you whole. the fabric slipped past your hips, the sleeves falling well beyond your wrists, and the neckline rested just enough against your collarbone that you kept tugging it back into place without thinking.

it smelled like him, faint traces of his cologne mixed with freshly washed cotton, and despite only meaning to wear it until your clothes finished drying, you found yourself curling up on the couch with a book, completely forgetting you were still wearing it.

michael came home much earlier than expected.

the sound of the front door opening made you glance up for only a second before returning to your page, assuming he'd head straight to the bedroom. instead, the apartment became strangely quiet.

when you finally looked over again, he was standing just inside the living room, one hand still resting on the strap of his bag as his blue eyes stayed fixed on you. for one rare moment, the usually confident striker looked completely caught off guard.

his jersey.

his name stretched across your shoulders, the oversized fabric making you look impossibly smaller than you already were, and somehow seeing something that represented him worn so casually by you made his chest tighten in a way he hadn't expected.

he had imagined it before—more than once, if he were being honest—but reality was somehow even better.

you immediately noticed where his attention was and looked down at yourself with an embarrassed laugh. "all my clothes are in the wash."

that was all the explanation he needed.

a grin slowly spread across his face, the kind that started off smug before melting into something much softer.

he crossed the room without another word, stopping right in front of you before gently tugging at the bottom of the jersey between his fingers as if he were admiring it. then he leaned down, pressing an affectionate kiss against your forehead before quietly mumbling that maybe laundry day should happen more often.

from then on, he'd "accidentally" leave one or two jerseys folded on your side of the closet.

he never admitted why, pretending they were simply easier to find there, but every time he walked through the apartment and caught you wearing one while making breakfast, folding clothes, or simply waiting for him to come home, he found himself smiling before he even realized it. no expensive outfit or designer dress ever managed to steal his attention the way his own jersey did.

seeing his name across your back felt oddly personal, almost possessive in the gentlest way, and if anyone asked where another one of his jerseys had disappeared to, he'd only shrug with a satisfied smile. everyone knew exactly where it had gone.

sae itoshi

the stadium was louder than anything you had ever experienced, thousands of voices crashing together every time the ball moved down the field, camera flashes lighting up the stands almost as often as the floodlights themselves.

you sat quietly among the crowd wearing sae's jersey, the oversized fabric slipping over your hands every time you pulled the sleeves down, his name resting across your shoulders where anyone paying enough attention could recognize it.

you hadn't thought much of it when you put it on that morning. it was comfortable, it smelled faintly like him after being washed, and it made you feel a little closer to him while he was out there.

sae noticed almost immediately.

he always scanned the stands before kickoff, never for long, never obviously, but enough to ground himself before the match began.

among thousands of faces, yours stood out without any effort.

maybe it was because he already knew exactly where you were sitting, or maybe it was because seeing his own jersey on you caught him completely off guard. for only a second, his usually unreadable expression softened, his eyes lingering just a little longer before he turned away to finish warming up as if nothing had happened.

to everyone else, it looked like another routine glance toward the crowd. to you, it was enough.

the match itself was exactly what everyone expected from itoshi sae. every touch was precise, every pass perfectly placed, every movement calm even under relentless pressure.

commentators praised his composure while the cameras constantly searched for his reactions, but they never found much. his face stayed as unreadable as ever, giving away nothing to the millions watching from home.

what they didn't catch was the brief moment after the final whistle.

as his teammates celebrated around him, sae's eyes drifted toward the stands again, finding you almost instantly. you were already smiling despite the distance between you, clapping harder than anyone around you, the sleeves of his jersey bouncing with every movement.

his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and although his expression barely changed, the corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest smile before disappearing just as quickly. it lasted no more than a heartbeat, but for someone like sae, it was everything.

later, once the stadium had begun to empty and the noise had faded into the background, you waited near the players' exit where families and loved ones usually gathered. sae stepped through the doors still carrying the exhaustion of ninety minutes on his shoulders, his hair slightly damp and his jersey sticking to him after the match. his gaze found you immediately.

he didn't comment on the result. he didn't comment on the reporters still calling his name.

instead, he stopped in front of you, looked at the jersey you were wearing one more time, and quietly reached up to straighten the collar where it had folded inward. his fingers lingered for only a second before dropping back to his side.

"it suits you," he said simply.

coming from anyone else, they would've been ordinary words.

coming from sae, they felt like the highest compliment he could give.

he walked beside you toward the car afterward, his hand finding yours without thinking. every so often, he'd glance at you from the corner of his eye, catching sight of his name across your back whenever the wind shifted the fabric.

he never admitted it aloud, but something about seeing you wearing his jersey after one of his matches settled the exhaustion in his chest faster than any victory ever could. it reminded him that no matter how loud the stadium became or how many people filled the stands, the only person he ever looked for was already waiting for him.

julian loki

every summer, loki's club hosted a charity event for children from local communities, turning one of the training grounds into something that barely resembled a professional football facility.

inflatable games replaced practice equipment, small football clinics were held across every corner of the field, players signed shirts and boots for hours, and families filled the stands just to watch their favorite athletes interact with the kids away from the pressure of official matches. despite his busy schedule, loki never missed it.

no matter how exhausting the season had been, this was one event he always made time for.

you had volunteered weeks earlier after the club reached out for extra help. by the morning of the event, staff members hurried around trying to organize hundreds of guests, and one coordinator quickly handed you a folded jersey with your volunteer badge attached to it.

"we're out of the staff shirts," they apologized with an embarrassed smile. "the players donated some extras for the volunteers. hope that's okay."

you didn't think much of it until you unfolded it. and it was loki's.

his number was printed across the back, his name stretching neatly above it, and before you could even ask if they had another one, someone was already calling your name from across the field because another group of children had arrived.

with no time left to change into anything else, you slipped it over your clothes and hurried off to work.

for the next several hours, you barely had a second to yourself. one moment you were helping little kids lace up borrowed boots before their mini matches, the next you were kneeling beside a crying little girl who had scraped her knee after tripping over a football.

you tied balloons onto benches, passed out lunches, wiped melted ice cream from tiny faces, and clapped louder than anyone whenever a child proudly showed off a goal they had scored against one of the academy coaches.

somewhere between all the laughter and endless running around, you completely forgot whose jersey you were wearing.

loki noticed almost immediately.

he had just finished signing a stack of footballs when his eyes wandered across the crowd, searching for the next group of children waiting in line. instead, they landed on you.

his jersey hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves covering half your hands while you crouched down to help a little boy retie the ribbon on the medal he had just won. his last name was printed across your shoulders, easy to recognize even from where he stood.

he couldn't stop staring for a second.

one of his teammates followed his gaze before breaking into a knowing smile. "looks good on them."

loki only hummed quietly, but the small smile that appeared on his face answered enough.

later that afternoon, one of the photographers asked all the volunteers to gather for a group picture alongside the players. you almost slipped away, figuring you didn't belong in the front, but one of the staff members waved you over anyway.

before you could choose a spot near the end of the line, loki casually stepped beside you as though it had happened by chance.

the camera flashed several times while children crowded around the players, laughing and holding up signed footballs. every now and then, your shoulder brushed against his. neither of you moved away.

when the event finally came to an end and families slowly began leaving the grounds, you started helping fold tables and carry equipment back inside. only then did you remember the jersey.

you hurried over to loki with an apologetic smile, carefully holding it out toward him after changing back into your own shirt.

"thanks for letting me borrow it."

he looked at the folded jersey in your hands before looking back at you.

"i wasn't."

you blinked.

he let out the quietest laugh. "they never asked."

before you could apologize for wearing it all day, he gently pushed the jersey back toward you.

"keep it." you frowned. "are you sure?" he nodded without a second thought. "it made the day a little better."

it wasn't because it was expensive or because he had dozens of others waiting in his locker. it was because every time he had looked across the field that afternoon, he had found you smiling in something that carried his name while making hundreds of children laugh.

somehow, out of everything that happened during the charity event, that was the moment he knew he'd remember long after the season was over.

don lorenzo

lorenzo had a habit of disappearing after matches.

while the rest of the team lingered for interviews, celebrated with supporters, or spoke with reporters, he usually slipped away toward the tunnel the second his responsibilities were finished. everyone assumed he simply wanted to avoid the cameras, and for the most part, they were right.

except on the days you came. which those were different.

you had arrived later than expected after getting caught in traffic, only making it to the stadium a few minutes before kickoff. in your rush, you had forgotten the jacket you'd planned to bring, leaving you shivering every time the evening wind swept through the stands.

by halftime, one of the club staff noticed and quietly disappeared before returning with an apologetic smile.

"lorenzo asked if you'd wear this." they handed you his warm-up jersey. and it was still slightly warm.

you stared at it for a moment before pulling it over your clothes, immediately sinking into the oversized fabric. the sleeves covered your hands completely, the collar slipped comfortably around your neck, and the warmth left behind from when he had worn it hadn't completely disappeared yet.

it felt less like borrowing clothing and more like borrowing a piece of him.

you never realized the television cameras had noticed.

throughout the second half, they occasionally caught you celebrating from the stands, smiling whenever lorenzo made another impossible defensive stop.

before long, social media was flooded with screenshots of you wearing his jersey, fans already joking that he'd somehow managed to smile more during this match than he had all month.

when the game finally ended, you waited near the tunnel with everyone else. the second lorenzo stepped out, still laughing with a teammate, his eyes found you almost instantly.

he stopped walking. his grin somehow grew even wider. his golden grills brighting you.

without caring that half the stadium staff could still see him, he wandered straight over, tilted his head for a moment as if admiring his own jersey on you, then reached over and lightly tugged at one of the oversized sleeves.

"looks expensive."

you laughed, looking down at it. "i was told to give it back." he looked genuinely confused. "who told you that?"

"one of the staff." he snorted. "they don't make that decision."

before you could protest, he casually slung an arm over your shoulders and began leading you toward the parking lot as though the conversation had already ended.

"it's yours now." you blinked. "lorenzo, this is one of your match warm-ups."

"yeah."

"aren't those important?" he shrugged. "not anymore."

to everyone else, it probably looked like another one of lorenzo's impulsive decisions. but the equipment manager wasn't surprised in the slightest.

he'd watched lorenzo ask for that exact jersey before the match instead of wearing a newer one. he'd watched him quietly tell a staff member where you were sitting during halftime. he'd watched him pretend it was a spontaneous idea when, in reality, he'd planned the whole thing from the moment he noticed you'd forgotten something warm.

he just didn't want you to be cold. he'd never admit that part aloud, of course.

instead, every time he caught you wearing it afterward—whether you were making coffee in the morning, curled up on the sofa, or opening the front door for him after training—he'd flash that unmistakable golden grin before dramatically announcing that you were lucky to own something so valuable.

the truth was much simpler. which was he liked seeing his name beside yours.

and if that meant finding excuses to leave more jerseys in your closet, then somehow another one always seemed to go "missing" after every season.

bunny iglesias

the date had been circled on both of your calendars for weeks, which was exactly why everything seemed determined to go wrong the moment the day finally arrived.

the outfit you had spent nearly an hour putting together was ruined less than twenty minutes before bunny was supposed to pick you up after you accidentally knocked an entire glass of iced coffee across the front of it, leaving dark stains that no amount of cold water was going to fix in time.

with your bedroom looking like a disaster from searching through every drawer and hanger you owned, panic slowly started settling in as you realized nothing else felt right.

everything was either too formal, too casual, or still sitting in the washing machine from the night before. after another frustrated glance around your room, your eyes landed on the jersey bunny had quietly handed you after one of his matches a few weeks earlier, telling you to keep it because he thought it suited you more than it suited him.

it was folded neatly over the back of your chair, and without giving yourself enough time to overthink it, you slipped it over your head. the oversized fabric immediately swallowed your frame, the sleeves falling over your hands while the hem reached far enough that it looked more like an oversized dress than sportswear.

you paired it with shorts hidden underneath and a pair of sneakers, quietly hoping he wouldn't think you had forgotten how important tonight was.

when the door finally opened, you barely had enough confidence to look him in the eyes.

you were already halfway through apologizing before he had even stepped inside, explaining between nervous laughs that your original outfit had been ruined and that this had only been a last minute solution because you hadn't known what else to wear.

bunny, however, wasn't listening very closely anymore. the second he saw you standing there wearing his jersey, his thoughts seemed to disappear entirely. his name stretched across your chest, the familiar number resting against your thighs as the oversized sleeves hid your hands every time you nervously fidgeted with the fabric.

for someone who always seemed to have something playful to say, he became unusually quiet, simply taking in the sight for a few long seconds before the widest, most genuine smile slowly spread across his face. there wasn't even the smallest hint of disappointment that you hadn't worn something dressier.

if anything, he looked happier than he probably would've been if you had shown up wearing the outfit you'd originally planned.

he stepped closer without saying much, gently fixing the collar where it had folded inward before smoothing an imaginary wrinkle near your shoulder, the careful movement making it obvious he was trying to hide just how much he liked seeing you dressed in something that belonged to him.

the rest of the evening felt almost effortless after that. the two of you wandered through quiet streets filled with little cafés and brightly lit storefronts, stopping whenever something caught your attention, sharing desserts with two forks instead of ordering separate ones, laughing over silly souvenirs neither of you needed, and taking blurry photos together that neither of you planned on deleting.

every now and then, someone recognized bunny, politely asking for a quick picture before wishing him luck for the rest of the season.

almost every single person glanced toward you afterward, their eyes naturally drifting to the jersey you were wearing before soft smiles spread across their faces as if they had quietly pieced everything together themselves.

bunny always noticed it. he noticed the double takes, the knowing smiles, the way people looked between the two of you before continuing on with their day, and instead of looking embarrassed or brushing it off, there was a quiet sense of pride in the way he stood just a little closer to you afterward.

he never pointed it out, never teased you for wearing it, but every so often you'd catch him looking at you instead of whatever was in front of him, his expression softening each time he noticed the oversized sleeves slipping over your hands or the way you absentmindedly tugged at the hem whenever you grew shy.

by the time the date came to an end and he walked you back to your front door, the jersey no longer felt like the emergency outfit you'd thrown on in a panic.

somehow, it had become part of every memory the two of you had made that night.

it carried the faint scent of the café you'd visited, a tiny smear of powdered sugar from the pastry you'd shared, and the warmth of the evening air after hours spent walking side by side.

as you reached for the hem, ready to apologize once more and promise to wash it before giving it back, bunny gently stopped you before you could pull it over your head.

his hand rested lightly around your wrist for only a second before he quietly shook his head, his smile softer now than it had been all evening. he told you to keep wearing it for a little longer, saying it looked exactly where it belonged, and the look on his face made it obvious he meant every word.

he had dozens of jerseys tucked away at home from seasons, matches, and training sessions that fans would probably pay a fortune to own, yet none of them had ever looked as valuable to him as the one hanging loosely from your shoulders.

from that night forward, whenever he thought back to your first real date together, he never remembered the restaurant, the desserts, or even the conversations that made the hours disappear.

the first thing that always came to mind was opening your front door and finding you standing there wearing his jersey, looking embarrassed over something he secretly thought was perfect from the very beginning.

teddy knight

you had spent the afternoon at his apartment while he sorted through old match footage on his laptop, occasionally asking for your opinion even though you knew he had already made up his mind before pressing play.

eventually boredom settled in, and while he was distracted with football, you wandered into his room looking for something comfortable to throw on after changing out of your clothes.

hanging neatly inside his closet was one of his jerseys, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of fabric softener.

without giving it much thought, you slipped it over your head simply because it was comfortable, the oversized fit reaching your thighs while the sleeves swallowed your hands.

it wasn't meant to make a statement or get his attention. if anything, you completely forgot you were wearing it by the time you wandered back into the living room, grabbing a drink from the kitchen before curling up on the couch like nothing was different.

teddy, noticed immediately.

he looked up from his laptop after hearing you walk back into the room, and for a moment his brain completely abandoned whatever match he had been analyzing.

his eyes stayed on you far longer than either of you realized, quietly taking in the way his jersey looked hanging off your frame, his last name stretching across your shoulders whenever you turned around, and the absentminded way you kept pulling the sleeves over your fingertips while scrolling through your phone.

a slow smile spread across his face before he even realized he was smiling, and without saying a single word, he reached for his own phone resting beside him.

you were too distracted to notice until you heard the familiar shutter sound, making you immediately look up in confusion.

teddy simply lowered his phone with the most satisfied expression imaginable, clearly pleased with whatever picture he'd managed to take while you were sitting there completely unaware.

you immediately asked to see it, convinced he had caught you making some ridiculous face, but the second he turned the screen toward you, your complaints disappeared.

the photo was surprisingly simple. you were sitting sideways on the couch with one leg tucked underneath you, lazily holding your drink while sunlight from the apartment windows spilled across the room, making the oversized jersey stand out against everything else.

you hadn't been posing, smiling for the camera, or even looking at him. you had just been existing, comfortable enough to forget he was watching.

somehow, that made the picture feel even more special. before you could tell him not to, teddy was already typing something with one hand, uploading the photo to his story with no dramatic caption, no explanation, just a small white heart and your figure wearing his jersey.

within minutes his phone began buzzing nonstop as teammates, friends, and supporters flooded the post with reactions, all of them immediately recognizing whose jersey you were wearing. teddy only laughed quietly every time another notification appeared, completely unbothered by the attention.

you buried your face in the sleeves the moment you realized thousands of people had already seen the picture, insisting he could have at least warned you first, but every ounce of embarrassment disappeared the second you looked over and saw how genuinely happy he seemed.

there wasn't any hidden motive behind posting it or any attempt to show off. he simply thought you looked cute wearing something that belonged to him and wanted to share the moment exactly as it happened.

later that evening, after the notifications had finally started slowing down, you caught him looking back at the photo again instead of the comments underneath it.

he zoomed in just enough to admire the tiny details no one else would ever notice, the way the oversized sleeves covered your hands, the sleepy expression on your face, and how naturally his jersey seemed to belong on you.

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.”

It was brutally hard to get scouted when you came from a poor area; you had to work twice as hard just to convince someone to look at you and pick you up for a club.

He didn’t have much to his name. Money was tight, his apartment was incredibly cramped, and his meals were painfully simple.

There were nights when he came home completely exhausted, dropping his heavy bag by the entryway door and sitting in absolute quiet because even he did not know if all his sacrifices would actually lead anywhere. He had to play football and also work a real job just to earn money.

But you stayed. You dated him because you found him to be reliable, and he charmed you to the point you fell deeply in love you spent your days working hard just to come home to that tiny apartment.

You would spend hours resting on the mattress, hugging his waist against your bare skin while he kissed you softly.

One dark night, with the window cracked open, he brushed the stray hair away from your face while you held him tightly beneath the blankets.

He looked down at you and quietly “ do you think I can make it?“ You looked back at him “yes noa, i know you could do it.”

Then you leaned into him for a lingering kiss, which he softly kissed you back and pulling you closer. That was the exact moment he realized he wanted you beside him forever.

The two of you married young, it was one spontaneous decision born on a random day while you were walking hand in hand across a bridge.

You did not bother telling your families; you just looked at each other and agreed to do it right then and there.

People would have told you that you were far too young, that his career was too uncertain, and that love alone was not enough to build a future, but neither of you cared.

You had absolutely nothing, yet it felt like you had everything because you had each other.

You immediately bought a cheap white dress that was on sale, found a secondhand veil at a small shop, and Noel simply wore one of the few suits he already owned.

He bought you a simple bouquet of flowers, and you both paid for the certificate, while you sealed your vows right there before walking home laughing.

When Noel Noa finally became famous, it happened slowly at first.

The world had finally discovered him, and the young promising striker had immersive talent that quickly transformed into a living legend.

The same man who once had to count every single expense was suddenly surrounded by immense wealth, flashing cameras, and a-lot of global expectations.

You were unbelievably proud of him, watching the man you loved achieve every single thing he had ever dreamed of.

You eventually moved into a beautiful, spacious apartment —the exact one he had promised to give you once he made it—and he would pepper you with affection to the point that you built a family together, eventually welcoming a son into the world.

Noel, with his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him, would watch his don crawl on the floor and crawl towards him babbling.

He reached out, his large hand engulfing your son’s tiny fingers, before his gaze flicked up to meet yours.

He slide a hand over your knee, squeezing it gently, a silent acknowledgment that this—the warm room, the sound of your breathing, the small child laughing between you—was the actual prize he was playing for.

For a while, your life felt absolutely perfect.

There were mornings when Noel would leave early for training but still make time to kiss your forehead before stepping out.

And there were nights when the three of you would sit together at the dinner table, where you would cook a warm meal and bake dessert while Noel quietly helped clean the dishes afterward while you took care of your son’s needs.

But having to move from Paris to Germany had been a struggle for you.

You only knew the language because you had taken it as a school elective years ago, which did calm your anxiety about raising your son in a foreign country while Noel's career has began to reach the ladders.

Yet, you managed. Noel made sure the inside of your new home remained entirely warm. On the evenings when he didn't have late meetings, he would come home smiling , took a shower and would change into soft sweatpants, walk straight into the kitchen where you were preparing dinner, and silently wrap his long arms around your waist from behind, burying his face into your neck just to breathe you in.

“You look tired,” you would murmur, leaning back into his solid chest while stirring the pot on the stove.

“Tiring day, the trainers are strict about conditioning,” Noel would reply, his voice a bit low, that rumbled against your skin. “But their methods are logical, they kept me in there for so long, wanted to see you two right away.”

He leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his hands resting securely on your hips. “More importantly, how was your day? Did you manage the market down the street?”

You would turn around in his embrace, looking up into his teal eyes with a soft smile. “I stumbled over my words three times, and I’m pretty sure I said the wrong thing when I asked them to cut the meat, but the man was patient and kind enough. Also, Noé kept trying to mimic the German words, which made everyone laugh.”

Right on cue, a bright, bubbly sound would echo from the living room rug. Noé, who was a toddler, was sitting among his building blocks, babbling happily in a French and German baby talk.

He was waving a plastic toy car in the air, his wide eyes fixed completely on his father.

Then suddenly happy and laughing seeing him come home.

Noel’s gaze would instantly soften a look that the public and the paparazzi never got to witness.

Noel would walk over to the rug, scooping Noé up effortlessly with one strong arm.

Noé immediately let out a loud, delighted giggle, burying his tiny hands into Noel’s hair and babbling a string of incomprehensible sentences as if he were explaining a very important story to his father

Noel listened with absolute seriousness, nodding along to his son's chatter.

“Is that so?” Noel murmured, a faint, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “A very efficient strategy, Noé.”

He carried the babbling toddler back into the kitchen, stepping close to you again.

With Noé settled securely on his hip, Noel reached out with his free hand, gently cupping the side of your face.

He leaned down and pressed a warm, deep kiss to your lips.

The moment he pulled away, he immediately shifted his focus down, planting a loud, affectionate kiss right onto Noé’s chubby, flushed cheek, which made the little boy squeal with laughter.

Standing there in the foreign kitchen, surrounded by the smell of home-cooked food and the sound of your son's laughter.

You had absolutely nothing to fear, because as long as the three of you were together, any place felt exactly like home.

On match days, your young son would look at his father on the pitch with wide, amazed eyes, pointing up at the field in pride and start saying “dada” and then would babble while you had to soothe his hyper-activeness and nod saying “yes, that’s dada, look at him” then you’ll kiss your son’s cheeks.

A problem would always be the paparazzi and the public eye always observing and obsessing over his private personal life. it always irritated Noel whenever the media tried to invade your privacy.

It was hard to get away from them.

You took family vacations to the ocean side of France, where he would chase the two of you along the shore, carrying you both in his arms as a complete, happy family.

You vividly remembered a summer afternoon back in the south of France, during a brief three-day break before the World Cup training camp commenced.

Noé was about four years old, completely exhausted from a day of chasing waves, and was fast asleep in the bedroom of the small coastal house you had rented to escape the public eye.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, cutting fresh fruit, when Noel walked up behind you.

Simply resting his chin on your shoulder, watching you cut the fruits.

“The club wants to extend the contract by four more years,” Noel stated flatly, his eyes fixed on the cutting board. “The financial compensation is substantial. It would secure everything for Noé future . And for you.”

You paused, the knife hovering over a piece of fruit. “Alright, does that mean, we’ll have to stay in germany?” You questioned while feeding noel a piece of fruit that you chopped.

“Mhm,” Noel murmured around the fruit, chewing it slowly as he leaned his heavy weight more firmly against your back. His long arms slid around your waist, his hands resting flat against your stomach to hold you flush against his chest.

“Four more years in Munich guarantees absolute stability for the rest of our lives, ensuring neither you nor noé will ever experience the financial instability I grew up with.”

You swallowed hard, looking down at the remaining fruit on the cutting board. “Im not sure i can stay in germany amd live in that house, i get pretty lonely and barely have any one to talk too andthat massive apartment house in Munich just feels like a very expensive cage. I only know the language from an old school elective. I can’t build a life out there when my entire world is just waiting for you to come home from a match.”

Noel stayed completely still against your back, his broad shoulders tensing slightly and turned you around slowly within the tight circle of his arms, forcing you to lean back against the kitchen counter so he could look directly into your eyes.

“I do not want you to be lonely,” he murmured softly, his thumb reaching up to gently trace the line of your jaw, his touch incredibly grounded and deliberate. “The contract is merely an offer. If the environment in Germany is causing you to be unhappy then I’ll tell them. We can look at options that return us closer to France, or a different routine.”

A small, smile touched your lips as you looked up into the face of the man who was currently considered the greatest striker on the planet, yet was willing to rewrite his professional trajectory just to fix the sadness in your voice. “Can you really just change it like that? Your managers will be furious.”

Before Noel could answer, a soft whimper broke the heavy silence of the kitchen. From the nearby bedroom, Noé had finally awoken from his nap, rubbing his eyes as his small footsteps patted against the hardwood floor.

Noel’s expression instantly softened, and effortlessly scooped the toddler up into his arms. Noé immediately rested his heavy, sleepy head against his father's broad shoulder, “papa”

Noel pressed a gentle kiss to the side of the boy's head, holding him close before looking back down at you, his eyes silently waiting for your final verdict on their future.

Looking at your husband holding your son so securely, a wave of guilt washed over you.

You knew how hard Noel had fought to escape the slums of Paris, and you knew what he is doing is his way of ensuring Noé would never have to experience that kind of life, ever.

You took a deep breath, swallowed your rising anxiety, and hesitantly agreed to stay in Munich for the extension.

You told yourself you could handle the massive house and the empty afternoons if it meant keeping your family whole under the life Noel was building for the both of you.

But months after returning to Germany, the crushing weight of the isolation completely broke you.

The massive house in Munich felt more like a silent and a prison than ever before, the foreign language isolating you from the world while Noel was constantly away at demanding training camps, high-stakes matches, and mandatory club events.

You spent your days staring at the pristine walls, listening to the echoing quiet, until you finally realized that your soul was entirely suffocating. You couldn't take it anymore.

The compromise you finally reached was a painful, bittersweet fracturing of your daily life.

You packed your bags and moved back to a secure, quiet apartment in Paris with little Noé, seeking the familiar comfort of your home country where you could finally breathe, while Noel stayed behind in Germany to fulfill the demands of his multi-million dollar contract.

He lived in Munich, completely burying his loneliness in relentless discipline on the pitch, while you lived a separate life miles away.

He would ride or fly to Paris on his rare days off just to hold you on the mattress and kiss Noé’s cheeks, but the distance had already begun to cast a long shadow over your marriage—marking the exact, quiet beginning of the drift that would eventually pull you apart for good.

The long-distance arrangement quickly solidified into a test that stretched on for four agonizing years.

The quiet apartment in Paris gave you happiness but it cost you the daily presence of the man you loved. Your primary connection to Noel became just daily routine of late-night phone calls.

Every evening, after his double training sessions in Munich, your phone would buzz at exactly nine o'clock. He never missed the timing, but a telephone line could not transmit the physical warmth you desperately craved.

“Noé is already asleep,” you whispered into the receiver one rainy evening, leaning your head against the cool glass of your kitchen window. “He spent an hour today tracing your face on the tv and kept on waiting for you at the doorstep. He keeps asking when the white airplane or train will be bringing you back.”

A long, heavy pause echoed through the line from Germany, punctuated only by the faint, clinical hum of Noel’s empty apartment in Munich. “My flight is scheduled for Friday at dawn,” Noel’s low rasp replied, his voice laced with a deep, exhaustion that he only ever revealed to you.

“I negotiated a thirty-six-hour release from the club’s weekend training to meet you two. I will be there before he wakes up.”

“Thirty-six hours isn’t enough, Noel,” you murmured, a tear finally slipping down your cheek in the dark. “You spend more time in transit than you do in this home.”

“It is the only time they let me,” he flatly stated, though his jaw tensed so hard you could practically hear the strain over the microphone. “Bear with me, please.”

The weekend visits were a chaotic blur of intense affection and underlying heartbreak.

Whenever the front door of your Paris apartment finally clicked open, little Noé would drop his toy blocks and sprint across the hardwood floor with an ecstatic yell.

Noel would immediately drop his travel bag, collapsing to his knees to catch the boy in his massive arms, burying his face into his son's hair while Noé was frantic and happy to see his father he always longed for.

Noel would lift him up high, pressing a deep kiss to his cheek, before his eyes immediately locked onto yours over the boy's shoulder.

He would wrap his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, and kiss you with a desperate, frantic intensity that tasted like pure loneliness and stolen time.

For those brief hours, the three of you would build blanket forts on the living room floor, bake sweet desserts together, and pretend that the outside world didn't exist.

Noel would hover over you on the mattress late at night, his bare skin warm against yours, tracing your jawline as if trying to permanently memorize your features before the sun came up.

But Noé's reaction to the constant back-and-forth became increasingly painful.

He was growing older, and he was becoming acutely aware of what was happening . Every Sunday evening, the atmosphere in the apartment would grow completely quiet and tense.

Noé would sit directly on top of Noel’s packed suitcase, wrapping his small arms around the handle and crying quietly, refusing to move so his father couldn't leave.

“Don’t go to Germany, Papa,” Noé would sob, his tiny fingers clutching the fabric of Noel’s pants. “Stay here. Play football in Paris. Stay with me please ”

Noel would crouch down, his and gently pried his son's hands away from the bag. And place a hand on Noé's shoulder, his voice completely flat trying to hide the fact that his heart was breaking.

“I can’t simply do that, Noé. It is my responsibility. This is for the better, papa loves you always and I will call you at nine.”

That was how it was, he comes and goes. By the time the four years of the contract extension finally concluded, the damage was completely absolute. The routine of phone calls and brief, agonizing visits hadn't saved your marriage; it had simply strained the two of you.

You tried to raise Noé in a peaceful, normal environment. But You never fully understood what went wrong with your family but the moment that framed family portrait accidentally broke, everything began to go south.

The actual conversation that led to the breakup happened back in Paris, inside the quiet living room of your spacious home.

Noé was older now and fast asleep upstairs.

There was no screaming just the suffocating weight of an empty marriage that was tiring you out.

You were sitting on the couch, staring at the space between you, when you finally broke the silence. “Noel, we can’t keep doing this.”

Noel paused, setting his tablet down on the coffee table. He looked at you, his eyes “Doing what?”

“Living like strangers,” your voice was quiet, completely exhausted. “You came home three days ago from the training camp, and we have barely spoken ten words to each other. I can’t keep moving on with you like this .” Your breath hitched and continued on,

“You are physically in this room, but your mind is always away, I am so lonely, Noel.”

Noel’s posture remained rigid, his shoulders locking. “I am doing my job. You know that, the legacy that I promised you and our son”

“I don’t care about the legacy anymore!” The sudden cracked tone in your voice made him flinch slightly. “I cared about the man who used to hold me under a blanket in a freezing apartment. I cared about the father who used to kiss our son’s cheeks until he laughed. I care about my husband who was there.”

“You’re barely even here Noa.”

A heavy, painful silence settled over the room. Noel stared down at his hands, his fingers tensing against his knees.

“The world demands everything from me,” Noel confessed, his voice dropping . “If I do not give it everything, I fail. I fail not just the world but my family .”

“Winning is enough for the fans, Noel. It isn't enough for a marriage,” you murmured, tears finally spilling over your eyelashes.

“I don’t know how to reach you anymore. And I don’t think you know how to let me in.”

Noel didn't deny it what you just said.

He couldn't. His mind knew the truth of your words, “So,” Noel whispered, the word tasting bitter in his throat. “What do you want to do?”

“We let each other go,” you replied softly, your heart breaking as you said the words out loud. “Before we completely ruin the beautiful memories we have left.”

Noel closed his eyes, a deep, shuddering breath escaping his chest.

He simply nodded, accepting the defeat with the same dignity he likes how he acted on the pitch, even though his chest ached with emptiness. “We will talk about this later.” Then noel went upstairs to your shared bedroom while a family framed picture fell down.

Midway the process of the divorce. Noel did not realize the shift at first; he genuinely thought everything was fine because there were no arguments or screaming matches.

Instead, it was just two people slowly and quietly drifting apart. The distance wore both of you out completely, and even your son began asking difficult questions about what was happening.

He was young, but he was old enough to feel that his parents were no longer the same people they were when he was a child.

To make matters worse, Noel’s rising fame meant the media constantly manufactured rumors about him dating other people, and the intense prying into your marriage even led to your son’s classmates mocking your relationship at school.

For a Noé, this meant that the simple act of leaving the house became an absolute nightmare.

Paparazzi would wait themselves outside the family property, thrusting flashing cameras and heavy lenses directly into his face whenever he walked to the car.

They would yell out aggressive, intrusive questions, completely unbothered by the fact that they were ruthlessly harassing a child just to get a reaction for the morning headlines.

The brutal harassment quickly came into his school life, the constant media speculation about his parents' deteriorating marriage became a weapon for his classmates.

“Hey, Noé, saw the news today,” a boy sneered during lunch break, tossing a tabloid magazine onto the cafeteria table.

“Says your dad is staying at a hotel in Münich with some model. Is your mom finally getting dumped?”

“Shut up,” Noé muttered, his fingers clenching the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white.

“Everyone knows your parents are totally fake,” a girl chimed in from the next table, offering a cruel, mocking laugh. “My mom says your dad only stays married for his clean brand image. Must be exhausting pretending to be a happy family.”

Another girl chimed in, “I heard from my mom that she’s so lonely that she began having a relationship with another man.”they all looked at him and sneered.

Noé sat entirely frozen, just feeling the humiliation and anger rushing to his cheeks.

He wanted to scream, to defend the warm, sweet home he remembered from his childhood , but the cold reality was that he couldn't deny their words anymore.

He had seen the empty space on his father's side of the bed. He had felt the suffocating silence that now filled their dinner table. And how his parents wouldn’t talk to each other and just stare at one another wanting to say something.

The mockery from his peers made him feel intensely isolated, it made him think his family wasn't real—they were just public figures meant to be picked apart.

When the school bell finally rang, Noé walked out of the school gates only to find a swarm of reporters waiting on the sidewalk, tipped off by the recent rumors of an impending divorce.

The moment his small frame emerged, the crowd surged forward, completely blocking his path home.

“Noé! Is it true your parents are drawing up custody papers?” a reporter shouted, pushing a microphone dangerously close to the boy's face.

“Look over here, Noé! Does your mother know about the latest photos from Germany?” another voice barked, the blinding strobe lights of the cameras causing the boy to stumble backward in panic.

Noé covered his face with his backpack, his chest heaving as tears of frustration finally spilled over his lashes.

He felt completely suffocated, he kept his head down, pulling his school jacket tight hoping that if he moved fast enough, he could slip past the intersection unnoticed.

He was just a kid trying to get home to his mother, but his father’s name made him public property.

Three reporters leaped out from a parked black van, their heavy camera lenses swinging toward him like weapons.

Before Noé could even think to run, they aggressively sprinted across the pavement, completely cutting off his path and pinning him against a brick wall.

“Noé! Look over here! Just a quick statement!” a man barked, shoving a microphone inches from the boy’s face and cameras were flashing blinding the poor boy.

“Is your mother packing her bags tonight? We have sources saying the lawyers are inside the house right now!” a woman shouted, her voice entirely devoid of empathy as she leaned over his small frame.

Noé stumbled backward, his back hitting the cold brick wall.

He brought his school bag up to his chest, using it as a fragile shield against the blinding, rapid flash of the cameras. The strobes lit up the dim street, making his vision blur and his head spin.

He was completely trapped, a child surrounded by ruthless adults who only saw him as a lucrative headline.

“Leave me alone,” Noé, his voice trembling violently as he tried to squeeze past them. “Please, I just want to go home.”

“Did your dad officially replace you guys in Germany, Noé?”The photographer stepped closer, the lens clicking aggressively right in front of the boy’s tearing eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing more than anything that his father would come out of the shadows and save him—but deep down, he knew Noel was miles away and entirely oblivious to the price his son was paying for his popularity.

Seeing a child pinned against a brick wall by a predatory crowd of adult journalists, two teachers raced down the concrete steps, shouting over the noise.

They aggressively forced their way through the wall of lenses, shoving reporters aside to wrap their arms around Noé’s trembling frame and drag him back inside the safety of the main building.

Inside the main office, the secretary immediately dialed your number.

You answered the phone only hearing the sheer panic in the teacher’s voice on the other end made your blood run completely cold.

When you arrived at the school fifteen minutes later, the media circus had doubled in size.

The moment your car pulled up to the curb, the paparazzi swarmed your vehicle, slamming their heavy equipment against the windows and completely blinding you with their rapid camera flashes.

You fought your way through the suffocating crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs as you pushed past the glass doors into the main office.

Noé was sitting in a corner chair, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his face entirely pale and stained with tears. He looked completely hollowed out. You quickly rushed and hugged him but he couldn’t even utter a word, completely frozen.

The teachers escorted you both out the back exit, but the reporters had already anticipated the move.

They surged forward, blocking the path to your car, shoving microphones into your face and shouting intrusive questions about Noel's career, the asset distribution, and the failing marriage.

You desperately tried to push Noé into the back seat, shielding his body with your own, but a photographer aggressively leaned over the car door, clicking his camera inches from your son's terrified eyes.

Something inside you completely snapped.

"Get away from him!" you screamed, your voice cracking with a desperate, terrifying rage that stunned the surrounding crowd. "He is a child! Have you completely lost your minds?! Leave us alone!"

You slammed the car door shut, locking it instantly. As you scrambled into the driver's seat, the sound of Noé’s muffled, sobs from the back seat filled the vehicle.

He was hyperventilating, weeping so deeply that he couldn't even draw air into his lungs.

Two days later, the fallout forced an emergency meeting at the school.

Noel Noa had been flown back from Germany while the corporate sponsors and team managers frantically trying to contain the massive PR disaster of his wife screaming at journalists on the evening news.

You sat stiffly in the principal's office, your hands tightly clasped in your lap, refusing to look at Noel as he sat right beside you. The air in the room was suffocatingly tense.

The principal closed the thick folder on his desk, looking at both of you with a grim, uncompromising expression. "Mr. Noa, Madam, I called this meeting because the situation has reached a critical breaking point. This institution prides itself on safety, but what happened on our sidewalk was an absolute failure of security."

Noel’s posture remained rigid,"The club is already processing legal injunctions against the specific media outlets involved. Security personnel will be assigned to the perimeter moving forward, for my son"

"This isn't some kind of thing that should be handled lightly!” your voice cut through with a tone of heavy with grief.

You finally turned your head to face him, your eyes blazing with tears. "I can’t keep this up anymore, Noé hasn't eaten a full meal in forty-eight hours. He refuses to leave his bedroom. He can’t sleep without me being by his side and he keeps calling for you, your own son won't even look out the window because he thinks someone is watching him."

Noel’s jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he remained silent.

"Your son has been completely destroyed," you whispered, the raw defeat in your tone turning the room freezing cold. "Your son barely even has friends any more, he comes home and starts asking me about us, We are done pretending. This marriage is completely over."

Noel looked from you to the principal, “let’s deal with this at home, not in-front of people—please.” He looked at you and the principal just went quiet seeing two married couple fight in-front of him that all he could do was cough .

The meeting ended in silence till the car ride home to your apartment, the moment you two entered the room, you started fighting again.

The heavy wooden door of Noé’s bedroom did very little to muffle the bitter, escalating voices coming from the downstairs hallway. It was the first time his parents had ever raised their voices like this, the house that was filled with warmth has been slowly falling apart.

Upstairs, Noé lay curled on his side beneath his blankets, pressing his hands over his ears, but the pain in his mother's voice and the unyielding weight of his father's tone cut straight through the floorboards.

“He is hyperventilating in his room, Noel!” you shouted, your voice cracking with a desperate rage that Noé had never heard from you before. “Are you completely blind to what your doing to him? He was hunted on a public street like an animal, and you are still standing there talking about public relations.”

“I am handling the reality of the situation, we can’t act rashly like you did.” Noel’s voice striked back, saying it with frustration. Making you scoff, “Yelling at reporters on national television does not solve anything. You just gave the media exactly the reaction they want to keep selling .I am trying to control the problem so we can protect him!”

“You think that’s more important , Noel? He is your nine-year-old son!” You let out a breathless, sobbing laugh.

“You think you can solve a broken family with that. You think if you just stay the master striker, if you keep winning matches, so that makes everything stay safe?”

“I grew up with nothing,” Noel confessed, “I know what happens when you fail. I have spent every single day of my life running so that we would never have to experience that life. Everything I have sacrificed, every camp I attended, every hour I spent away from this house was to build a life where he would be secure. Do not tell me I do not care about my son.”

“But you aren't here, Noel,” your voice returned, completely dropping its anger, leaving only a sound of hollow grief and silence that followed.

Upstairs, Noé buried his face into his pillow to muffle his own quiet sobs. The certainty he felt as a toddler in Germany, the vacations you all went too, wrapped in his father's strong arms while his mother laughed in the kitchen, was completely gone now.

He heard the faint, distinct sound of his mother’s footsteps walking away into the kitchen, followed by the heavy, his father’s footsteps walking up the stairs.

Eventually, the day came when you sat across from him in a completely quiet room with divorce papers resting between you. Both of you signed the documents in front of your lawyers, agreeing to shared custody. Noel insisted on giving you the apartment, promising to pay for your son’s entire future and giving you half of his career earnings. You quietly agreed, knowing you had nothing left to give him.

You both just stared at one another, Noel letting out a heavy sigh while you found yourself entirely unable to meet his eyes.

There was no bitterness in the room—only sadness.

When the lawyers finally left, the two of you sat in the heavy silence of the empty house, waiting for your son to come home.

You quietly broke the silence “I don’t hate you…I still love you.”

Noel looked down at his hands, his voice tight “I know…I love you too.”

After an agonizing pause, you confessed that you didn’t know what went wrong. His fingers tightened slightly against the table as he whispered that he still cared for you.

That was the absolute worst part of it all. You both knew the love was still there.

After the divorce was finalized, the public expected bitterness, a massive scandal, or a specific reason to blame someone, but there wasn't one.

There was just Noel Noa—a man who had successfully become everything the world wanted him to be, but had completely lost the one person who knew him before all of it.

Sometimes, he would look through his old photographs.

He preferred the old ones, the ones where he was younger, his hair was messy, and his clothes were cheap.

In those pictures, he was smiling genuinely because he had absolutely nothing to prove to the world, and standing right beside him was you—the person who loved him when he had nothing.

He would look at your wedding picture, watching you laugh as you kissed his cheek, remembering how beautiful you looked that day.

He would flip through the countless baby pictures from when your son was born, tracing the memories of the family they used to be.

A few years later three of you sat together in the private dining room of a quiet Parisian restaurant. Noé was a young teenager now, sitting comfortably between his parents.

There was only a quiet, deeply settled familiarity. You were older, and so was he. You both had changed significantly, but for a single, fleeting moment, he looked at you and still saw the young person who used to sit beside him in that cramped Paris apartment.

There was no media outside, no flashing cameras, and no predatory reporters lurking in the shadows. The outside world had finally moved on to chase younger prodigies, leaving the three of you with the one thing you had sacrificed everything to get: peace.

"Your father still doesn't know how to order anything besides that meal," you said with a soft, teasing laugh, pointing at the small cup in front of Noel. "Some things never change."

Noel let out a rare, low chuckle, the strict lines around his mouth softening completely as his teal eyes met yours. "I quite like it, then he stopped, “I’ll be going to Japan, Ego requested me to go check out his new plan, Blue lock.”

"That’s nice, send us pictures in Japan then" you shot back gently, your eyes crinkling with a tender.

Noé watched the exchange, a faint smile touching his lips.

He was watching his father quietly push the bread basket closer to you, and watching you naturally finish Noel’s sentences about his current coaching career, Lucas finally understood.

He couldn't help but wonder if, in another life—one where you and his father relationship wasn’t ruined by the media the teo of you could still be together.

He wondered if, in that other life, love would have been enough to save you. But this life was different.

They were no longer husband and wife, but they were the only two people who remembered the the past, where the dream began.

As the dinner wrapped up, Noel stood up to help you with your coat, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for a brief, respectful second just to ensure you were warm and gave you a faint kiss on the cheek.

He looked down at Noé, and hugged his son

"Take care of your mom for me," Noel murmured to his son,

"I will, Dad," Noé replied, pulling his mother close to his side as you walked toward the exit together.

You looked back one last time before stepping out and smiled faintly. Lucas also looked back at his father’s figure who was standing by the window alone, watching your retreating figures with a calm, peaceful expression on his face.

In another life, the both of you will meet again and again and someday maybe even grow old together like you wished for.

･ ༝ ･ Chris Prince

Chris Prince had always belonged to the world. Everyone knew his name, his face, and his brand. Chris prince was known to be a phenomenal football player, a global celebrity, a highly lucrative brand, and the second-best striker in the entire world.

Chris Prince could walk into any crowded room and immediately become the center of attention without even trying.

People absolutely loved him, falling effortlessly for his staggering confidence, his chiseled appearance, his booming charisma, and his talent.

Fame, news, photoshoots, modeling campaigns, high-end television advertisements—Chris did it all, winning awards and constantly being named one of the most attractive men on the planet.

Everyone wanted a piece of Chris Prince, and Chris absolutely loved it.

He thrived on the excitement and the trill of the public attention, it was an intoxicating feeling.

And then, he met you. It happened at an extravagant, high-profile celebrity party filled with athletes, models, or plus one dates and even people desperately trying to claw their way close to someone famous.

Everyone in attendance knew exactly who Chris Prince was, and everyone was begging for his attention, wanting nothing more than to be noticed by the star.

You were simply leaning against the bar an hour into the event, thoroughly tired from partying and wanted to take a break, you were taking a slow sip from your cup.

He saw you idly sitting alone with a tired expression when Chris casually strolled up to you, but you just looked at him like he was a regular human being, you were too tired to realize his face, but then when the sudden realization came.

You offered a little smile and said, "Hey, you're Chris Prince, right? Let's take a selfie real quick, my friend is a huge fan."

He came up close to you and struck a pose, and you smiled at him “thanks, my friend really likes you a ton,” you joked.

From there, you just started talking to him normally, making him laugh with jokes about your regular job and telling him stories that made him interested in getting to know you.

It completely hooked him, he began also talking you and the moment he was pulled away from you he help up his phone number for you to put in.

That’s all how it began, he mostly did his best to text you and show that he wanted to get to know you more as a friend, it took him a while but, the two of you started dating. You reminded him that you were just cautious back then, not used to someone being so consistently attentive.

It took time for you to realize he didn't have an ulterior motive and truly just wanted to know the real you. The daily check-ins, the random teasing he’ll so, and the questions about your day.

Chris fell so hard, he started calling you his “sweetheart”or “babe” and constantly dragging you into his world, holding your hand tightly and looking at you with a smile.

When he worked out in his private gym, he would playfully demand that you give him a kiss for every single push-up he did.

his chest bare and his muscles gleaming with sweat, insisting that he couldn't finish unless you weren’t right in front of him.

For every single push-up he executed, he would push himself up high enough just to steal a quick, breathless kiss from your lips, grinning like a kid when you laughed.

Eventually, everything became exciting .

He’ll bring you to massive victory parties, his hand wrapped around your waist while he’ll kiss your shoulder. Spontaneous trips across the globe, and sudden flights across international borders just because Chris had a high-stakes match in another country and he’ll bring you with him.

You stood in the VIP boxes of packed stadiums, you were watching alongside thousands of people chant his name,

Chris loved showing you his world, taking you everywhere he went, many pictures of you were taken by paparazzi and you were always right there beside him. held your hand tightly, guiding you through the crowd.

The public simply could not get enough of the way the two of you together.

Every time you stepped out of a venue or walked down a city sidewalk, it garnered immediate attention of the waiting photographers.

People online kept on saying how heavily reminiscent of the most iconic couples of the early 2000s.

Chris never let go of your hand, using his free arm to gently shield you from the crowd or guide you through a sea of reporters.

The internet fell in love with you, you didn’t know why but they admired you.

There was a viral photo of him leaning down to whisper something in your ear instantly became the definition of modern romance, proving that you both remained entirely wrapped up in each other. Multiple people were watching the both of you.

The cameras finally caught the moment the entire internet had been waiting for, It happened late one evening outside a quiet restaurant, away from the chaos but still within range of the lens.

As the two of you waited for your car, entirely lost in conversation, he reached out to pull you close.

The public completely melted over the sequence of images that flooded social media the next morning. The first shot captured him gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his expression softening, while you kept on talking and Chris just looked at you. The media dubbed him as “helplessly in-love with you.”

In the next frame, his hands cradled your face as he leaned down to kiss you—a lingering moment that made the bustling city sidewalk completely fade away.

Even as the car pulled up and the drivers opened the doors, your hands remained locked together.

By midday, the photos were trending globally, with people commenting and loving the both of your relationships, yes there were haters but it out weighed the amount of people that loved the both of you together.

If two people were happily in love then let them be.

The both of you stepped outside his private suite in the cold night air . He stood at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the sprawling, glowing city skyline.

Then a broad, brilliant grin spread across his face as he turned back to look at you, his eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "This is the life, isn’t it?" he said.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, stepping closer to him as you replied, “Yes, Chris.”Before the last word could fully leave your lips, he leaned down and pressed a deep, breathless kiss against your mouth.

In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you away from the glass doors and into the sanctuary of the shared bedroom.

He pulled the heavy, plush blanket completely over your heads, trapping the two of you in a dark, warm cocoon that felt thousands of miles away from publicists, contracts, and demanding schedules.

Hidden beneath the thick covers, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. He began to hum a soft, aimless tune, while laying his head down on your chest listening to your heart beat.

His large, warm fingers gently intertwine through yours, and playfully tracing the intricate lines of your palm before his touch drifted upward, tenderly outlining the curve of your jaw. "I love you," he muttered, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper.

Another memory was taken by a camera, during a summer vacation Chris surprised you with.

The camera on the yacht’s deck was propped up perfectly, capturing a scene of a couple who were in love.

The warm Mediterranean breeze swept across the water, catching your hair as you sat on the sun loungers. Beside you, was Chris who was clinging to your side

The recorded footage showed him leaning over with a lazy, adoring smile, gently feeding you a plump grape from the massive charcuterie board spread out between you.

Then leaned in right after, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to your sun-warmed lips, the sound of the ocean waves crashing softly in the background of the video.

Another recording was when a deep laugh that echoed over the water, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms.

As you shrieked and laughed, clinging to his neck as he marched straight to the edge of the yacht, counting down before playfully throwing you right into the sparkling water.

Then it captured him diving in right after you, the lens blurring for a moment with splashing water before showing the two of you surfacing, laughing hysterically in each other's arms.

The memory of your early years with Chris felt like a decade’s old.

You remembered one winter night in Manchester, he took a day off and Chris had been ecstatic. He dragged the mattress directly into the living room in front of the fireplace, building a massive fort out of every blanket and pillow in the apartment

Chris just spent hours simply holding you and had insisted on feeding you pieces of fruit, laughing loudly whenever you tried to swat his hands away.

You reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, and whispered that he was just a beautiful boy and he was your good looking boy.

There was another moment you remembered it took place right after a massive victory.

His team had just won the UEFA, and the stadium outside was practically shaking from the roar of tens of thousands of fans chanting his name.

The locker rooms were absolute chaos, packed with reporters, sponsors, and teammates spraying champagne. Chris had been the star of the night, holding the trophy high for the cameras with his signature smile .

But the moment he spotted you standing quietly near the back exit, away from the flashing lights, his entire demeanor shifted.

He completely ignored a major network reporter who was mid-sentence, dropping the trophy onto a bench and pushing through the crowd of executives just to get to you.

He pulled you into his arms, completely unbothered by the fact that he was soaking wet and tracking mud across the pristine hallway.

He buried his face into your neck, holding you so tightly that you could barely breathe, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

“Did you see me out there, sweetheart?” he had whispered, his voice thick with a raw, childish excitement that he never showed the public. “I scored that last goal entirely for you. I kept looking up at the VIP box just to make sure you were watching.”

You had laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, completely melting into his warmth. “I saw you, Chris. The whole world saw you.”

“I don’t care about the world,” he had murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands resting securely on your waist.

You kissed him thoroughly right there in front of the stunned executives and flashing cameras. It was a beautiful, moment, one where you truly believed that your love was strong enough to survive the rising stardom.

You realize that as the trophies piled higher, the beautiful boy you loved would slowly disappear behind the untouchable brand of Chris Prince.

Chris also miserably started confusing having you physically beside him with actually being present for you. Because you were always there, he began to take your existence for granted.

Whenever he called, you answered. Whenever he finally came home, you welcomed him with open arms. Whenever his chaotic schedule shifted at the last minute, you quietly adjusted yours to fit his needs. He never questioned it.

Why would he? You had always been there before, so his ego assumed you always would be.

His life became a never-ending, exhausting cycle of training, matches, advertisements, interviews, photoshoots, public events, and flights to the next country.

Every single time you tried to ask for a quiet moment together, he would make the exact same promise. He would hold you close and whisper, "After this. After this match, babe. After this campaign. When things finally calm down."

But things never calmed down. There was always another opportunity, another mandatory responsibility, and another reason why tomorrow was easier than today.

Chris never stopped loving you though, that was never the issue. It was just that he foolishly believed love could survive on empty promises alone and took you for granted.

He thought that because you knew the real him, you would automatically understand the neglect.

He thought that because you loved him, you would wait forever, and because you were his person, you would always be standing there, cheering him on.

Until one day, you weren't.

It started with something so incredibly small that he almost didn’t notice it at first. He called your phone after training , but there was no answer. He just smiled to himself, assuming you were probably busy with errands.

He called again a few hours later, but it went straight to voicemail. He sent a casual text, but no response came.

And for the very first time in years, Chris Prince experienced absolute silence. He was confused, then he grew annoyed, and finally, absolute panic and worry set in.

And the moment he came home, he found you sitting on the edge of the matress, your eyes fixed on the floor, then whispering the sentence he dreaded most to hear coming out from you, “….Chris…let’s break up…”

He stared at you, his breath catching in his throat. he begged to know why, but your voice cracked “I can’t just keep waiting for you Chris and spend my entire life waiting. I know how demanding you career and life is…I’m just…not fit for that…Chris.”

“We can work it out—” chris responded but quickly shut him down, “no chris…we can’t.” He was down on his knees crying on your lap while you gently pushed him away.

When news of the split leaked, the internet went into a frenzy, and the narrative twisted against you.

Fans and media outlets who once idolized you began dragging you online, labeling you as heartless for leaving him and that you cheated or used him.

Chris tried his best to beg his management to clear up the mess which they did try to ease the situation but The intense public backlash and never stopped, forcing you to hide from the media and go private.

Years later, the media storm had settled, but the emptiness in his chest never did.

While staying at a luxury hotel in London he was walking through the grand, marble-floored lobby when his heart stopped.

There you were. You looked beautiful, dressed in a simple outfit and another man stood beside you, laughing softly at something you said before reaching down to gently place a hand on the small of your back.

He watched the man leaned in to whisper to you, he realized with a sickening ache on how that used to be him and that you finally had the calm, present partner he could never been with you.

The distance across the marble lobby felt wide and he tried yo move his feet to call out your name before his mind could stop him.

As Chris took a step, the other man noticed him first, his expression shifting into slight confusion at the sudden approach of the global sport superstar.

You followed his gaze, turning around slowly. The moment your eyes met his, the air left the space between you.

The lingering warmth of your laugh instantly vanished, “Hey,” he said, his voice completely stripping away the confident, boisterous persona the media knew.

It was just the same , vulnerable tone he used when you were still together ."Chris," you breathed, your voice cracking slightly on his name.

You didn't step back, Chris looked at you. He then looked at the man beside you, whose hand had gently returned to your arm. There was no hostility in the man's eyes, only a deep concern for your comfort.

Chris saw right then that this man saw you as his partner, looking entirely overwhelmed. “I just...”Chris started, his throat tightening as he realized he had absolutely nothing right to say.

He couldn't apologize for the years of waiting, and he couldn't erase the internet dragging your name through the mud when you left.

“I just wanted to see if you were doing well.”You offered him a small, incredibly sad smile that didn't reach your eyes. "I’m living a quiet life now..” you muttered.

The emphasis on quiet was the final blow. It was the one thing his millions, his titles, and his fame could never buy for you.

He nodded slowly, a sudden sting in his eyes as he took a step back, forcing a grin onto his face even though it made him feel pathetic.

“Good. That's.…I'm really glad to hear that.”

He turned away before his composure could completely shatter in public, walking back toward the the exit doors, fully aware that the best thing he could ever do for his sweetheart was to keep walking.

He didn't go to the team bus. Instead, he walked aimlessly down the block, his mind entirely trapped in the loop of that brief, heartbreaking encounter. “Chris.” Someone called out for him and it was your partner.

He stopped on a side walk and , turned around slowly.

Standing a few paces away was the man from the lobby—your partner.

He had followed him out into the cold, his coat buttoned tightly, his expression entirely calm despite facing his girlfriends ex boyfriend who was a famous athlete who could easily cause a public scene.

“Hey mate, do you have a second?” the man asked, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance.

Chris swallowed hard, stuffing his large hands into his pockets to hide how much they were shaking. “If you're here to tell me to stay away from her,”

Chris muttered, his voice raw with exhaustion, “you don't have to. I get it. I saw how happy she looked before she saw me.”

The man offered a small, understanding nod, looking down at the pavement for a second before meeting Chris's eyes again.

“I'm not here to fight you. I know who you are, and more importantly, I know what you two used to be. She told me everything a long time ago. She never hid her past…it kind of took me a long time to finally pursue her since she was still hang up over you.”

He let out a self deprecating laugh and paused, taking a breath that misted in the cold air. “I just wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that she doesn't hate you.” Your partner continued on.

“She never did. Breaking up with you broke her heart, too.”

Hearing those words from the man holding your hand now made a huge blow on Chris’s chest.

“She spent years waiting for a life that was always moving too fast for her," the man continued softly, his voice devoid of malice.

“The paparazzi, the internet dragging her name... it almost destroyed her. When she met me, she just pushed me away so many times and told me she wanted peace. I told her I can give her that. I can do that for her and wait.”

Chris closed his eyes, “Just take care of her,” Chris choked out, his throat tightening so fiercely it hurt to speak.

He opened his eyes, forcing himself to look at the man who had replaced him. “Please. Just... don't make her wait.”

“I won't,” the man promised quietly.

He reached out, offering a brief, respectful handshake that Chris took with a heavy heart. “And Good luck with your match, Chris, I’m betting on Manshine.”

With that, the man turned around, walking back toward the warm, glowing lights of the hotel lobby where you were waiting for him.

While you looked at Chris across from you and just smiled and Chris stood alone raising his hand to give you a final wave before you and your partner left to go check-in.

･ ༝ ･ Marc Snuffy

Marc Snuffy’s past always suffocated him. With what happened to Mick hung heavily over his consciousness, and guilted him, it was a constant reminder of the era when his life was a blur of catastrophic mistakes and his ego and pride took over him.

Back then, he genuinely believed that happiness was defined by a never-ending cycle of packed parties, roaring crowds, easy money, and shallow attention.

He was young, reckless, and entirely convinced that he was completely untouchable.

Every single victory on the pitch was a green light to party and do things that he now regrets...it made him into the exact kind of toxic prodigy that coaches warned others to stay far away from and what he is now trying to do, to protect the people he is coaching to not make the same mistakes as he did.

When you met Snuffy, you were just a struggling amateur model trying to survive the harsh and predatory industry.

You were forced to attend this “elite high-society gala” which was just a label for a party , where famous people and the rich went to get drunk and do a line.

You were here just to get your name out to investors and clientele, an experience that felt less like networking and more like being sold off to the highest bidder base on your body and looks.

You absolutely hated it. While the rest of the room was desperately clawing for validation, you were the complete opposite.

You hated doing this but you only became a model because you needed to survive and support your family.

Amidst the noise, you sat entirely away from the crowd on a plush velvet couch, completely sober.

A man leaned over, offering you a fresh drink with a desperate, hopeful grin, to get your attention but your face remained entirely indifferent.

You quietly watched the room with a look of disappointment. From across the room, Snuffy watched your gaze.

And riding high on his own arrogance, the young player found himself instantly intrigued by your detachment.

To him, he assumed you were simply playing a well-calculated game, pretending to be mysterious just to bait a reaction out of someone like him and attract attention.

Confidently, he strutted over, flashing the same slick, practiced smile that had worked on countless others before you.

He smoothly slid into the empty space on the couch beside you, leaning in with a lazy, with his lidded charm. “You look like you're waiting for someone much more interesting than that man,” Snuffy murmured, nodding toward the man who had just offered you a drink.

His voice was dripping with absolute ego. “Lucky for you, I just walked over. I'm—“ “Disgusting,” you cut him off flatly.

You looked him dead in the eye, your expression completely piercing through his expression.

Snuffy blinked, his smile faltering for a second as he was trying to process what you just said with the lack of awe in your face.

No one spoke to him like this. That’s why he was befuddled. Mostly girls would cling onto him and feed his pride.

Though, he recovered quickly, letting a low, arrogant chuckle as he leaned closer, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “Ouch. Harsh. Much? Usually, people at least wait until the second drink to tell me what they really think of me.” He continued on and leaning forward to whisper in your ear, his breath reeking with alcohol.

“What's the matter? Don't like football?” “I don't like you,” you snarled back, cutting right through his smug demeanor.

You openly questioned his reality, loud enough for a few nearby guests to turn their heads. “Why exactly do you think your football fame gives you the right to slide over here and harass me? Do you honestly believe your arrogance makes you charming?”

Snuffy’s eyes narrowed slightly, the rejection finally bruising his massive ego. He tried to smooth it over, his tone shifting into condescension.

“Listen, sweetheart, you're the one sitting in the VIP section of my team's party. If you didn't want the attention, you shouldn't have dressed to attract it. Don't act like you didn't know exactly who would come over and what you are here for.”

Slap.

The sound of your palm sharply striking his cheek echoed through the immediate space, instantly killing the nearby conversation.

The slap wasn't meant to cause serious physical damage, but the sheer force of your conviction shocked him to his absolute core.

Snuffy sat frozen, his head turned slightly from the impact, his cheek rapidly flushing a dark, angry red. The surrounding guests gasped, and their whispers immediately filling the sudden vacuum of silence. “Is she completely insane?” a woman nearby muttered, clutching her pearls. “Does she have any idea who he is?”

You stood up calmly, smoothing down your dress without a single hint of regret, leaving the stunned superstar staring up at you from the velvet couch.

To make it worse you had your go to a “mandatory event” The flashing cameras and suffocating heat of the gallery made the nightmare.

You were stuck standing next to your sleazy manager, whose fingers aggressively gripped your waist, digging into your side to force you forward and smile in-front of people who were eying you.

Your manager leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, hissing for you to smile and interact with a group of wealthy clients who were openly staring at you like a piece of meat.

You felt completely trapped, your chest tightening as you whispered to yourself that this career wasn't worth the degradation.

Fuck it, your family relied on you to make money, and you thought that modeling wouldn’t be this degrading to who you were but you were completely wrong.

But the image of the contract you had signed flashed in your mind—you were legally bound to this room.

That was when the crowd parted, and Snuffy came into your view.

The moment your manager saw the famous football player approaching, his eyes practically lit up with greed. He quickly squeezed your waist harder, whispering, “That's Marc Snuffy. Play nice, or your career is over before midnight. Don’t pull off that shit you did last time—or you are seriously getting into trouble.”

You stepped forward and extend your hand to shake his hand while looking at him with a facade smile.

The moment his large palm wrapped around yours, you leaned in just enough so only he could hear, muttering a quiet, biting insult directly to his face. “If you touch me or treat me like you did last time, I'll break your nose in front of these people.”

Instead of getting angry, Snuffy’s eyes widened with pure amusement, and he burst into laughter that drew the attention of the entire circle. “God, you really are a breath of fresh air,” Snuffy chuckled, completely ignoring your glare.

He smoothly stepped into the space between you and your manager, his large frame effortlessly cutting off the older man's grip.

Snuffy looked down at the manager with a razor-sharp smile. “Hey, mate. I need to borrow your star for a bit. We have some unfinished business from the last party to discuss. Go fetch yourself a drink.”

Your manager blinked, practically tripping over his own feet to please the superstar. “Of course, Mr. Snuffy! Take all the time you need!”

As your manager scurried away, you tried to turn on your heel, but Snuffy immediately stepped into your path, stubbornly shadowing your very next step.

He kept a distance so your palm couldn't reach his face again,"Get out of my way, Snuffy," you hissed, keeping your voice low as a paparazzi lens flashed to your left.

“I told you what I think of you.” “Oh, I remember,”Snuffy said, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he walked backward, perfectly matching your pace as you tried to escape to the balcony.

“ You called me disgusting and then you slapped me so hard my jaw was hurting for two days. My friend even joked about it. You’re very intriguing Ms. ‘…’ ”

You quickly snapped back, “I am a person, not someone for your massive ego,” stopping near the edge of the balcony, hoping the open air would drive him away.

“Go find someone who actually cares about your jersey number.” Snuffy leaned against the balcony railing, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “But I really want to know you.”

The arrogant, facade from the first night was completely gone, replaced by an attentive look “Sure you hate me, sweetheart.” He leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. “But I'm not going anywhere.”

“You can insult me, you can slap me again if it makes you feel better, but I'm staying right here tonight. I don’t care, I’ll wait for you.”

“ No sleazy managers, no hands on your waist. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable if that happens slap me again. Just me. And we can talk—wha’d ya say?”

You hesitated to agreed, but decided to give in—because if your manager found out you missed this opportunity, your entire career would crumble.

For the rest of the evening, he kept his word, and stayed with you throughout the day while he bought you drinks and kept on flirting until you found harder and harder to ignore to the point you went along with it and had fun.

After that night where the both of you got entirely drunk, you ended up crashing together, making out against the wall of his apartment in a haze. Tugging and pulling each other till you made your way to the bed, everything felt heavenly.

Then two of you woke up and just looked at the ceiling while you were humming and he was tracing your jaw.

And that was how an amateur model and a rising star athlete would be found dating, when the paparazzi caught you out together and making out in the alley way.

Just how long will you last? Was the question of the public.

The relationship was actually stable than, what the media assumed, your relationship with Snuffy was probably the “most” stable,one you had in that time of your life.

Because beneath the persona he showed the media and what they thought, he was a deeply caring guy who treated you like his absolute priority.

The relationship was stable and spent months dating each other till it became apparent that it wouldn’t work out.

Mick was still alive, but was actively destroying himself, skipping training and drowning his raw frustrations in a haze of heavy partying and substances.

Snuffy had tried everything to get his best friend out and save him from the edge, but he was just watching the person he considered a brother ruin his life began to drag Snuffy's own sanity.

One chaotic morning, the front door clicked open heavily, and the illusion of the sweet, reassuring partner you loved vanished completely.

Snuffy staggered into the entryway, his clothes disheveled, smelling strongly of cheap perfume and expensive liquor.

The exhaustion that had been building in your chest for weeks finally spilled over, your patience breaking entirely.

“Look at you, Marc!” you screamed, your voice cracking as tears of anger stung your eyes.

"You're supposed to be saving him, but instead you're letting him pull you right down into the grave with him! Are you trying to kill yourself too?!"

Snuffy let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shoving his hand through his messy hair as he stepped aggressively into your space.

His eyes were bloodshot, completely vacant of the calm warmth he used to give you. “You think I want to be like this?!” he roared back, his voice raw and echoing off the walls. "

“I can't stop him! Every time I look at Mick, I see the end of everything we built, If he's going down, I don't know how to stay afloat!”

"So you drag me down with you?!" you fired back, sobbing as you pushed against his chest. “I can't watch this anymore, Marc.”

“I can't stay here and wait for the phone call that tells me one—or both—of you are dead before everything is too late !"

Snuffy slammed his hands against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you, making you scared but he just leaned down and cry on your shoulder.

He held your waist so tightly it sobbing while muttering “I’m sorry” and kissing you with a frantic, trying to force the reality of Mick’s ticking time bomb away.

He failed to save his brother Mick, finding him dead on the floor, surrounded by alcohol and substance’s torn him apart.

Just like what you said, it was too late.

The news of Mick’s tragic death hit the football world with a blow, but it completely ruined Marc Snuffy.

The brotherly bond they shared, the shared dreams of conquering the sport together, and the reckless lifestyle they had indulged in had instantly turned into a suffocating guilt that Marc had to endure .

The realization that their shared ignorance and ego had directly led to Mick’s demise completely broke him.

That rainy night, you heard a faint, frantic scratching at your apartment door. When you opened it, you didn't see the charming, guy you liked.

You saw snuffy , trembling and collapsed onto his knees right on your welcome mat, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirt.

He was weeping so deeply that he couldn't even draw air into his lungs, his large hands desperately gripping your waist as he begged you over and over not to leave him alone

“Please," he choked out, his voice a broken, unrecognizable wheeze against your legs. "Please, don't walk away. I have nothing left. Just stay, please.”

“Just stay with me.” He muttered and you held him that night, while he kept on crying on your shoulder.

You had also been dealing with the suffocating pressure of your predatory modeling contract reached a breaking point, with your manager threatening to completely blackball your name from the industry if you didn't comply with them.

You were also drowning, and the career you had built was on the verge of absolute ruin.

The constant emotional whiplash became a weight too heavy to carry.

You were both sinking into the same grave Mick had dug. You had to save yourself.

“Marc we have to break up. We are destroying each other, Marc," you whispered one evening, gently but firmly prying his fingers off your waist as you packed the last of your things.

He just sat there looking at you, You remembered the exact rainy afternoon you packed your final bag in his place.

Snuffy had been sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, his large hands resting loosely between his knees, staring at the floorboards with completely hollow eyes.

“If you walk out that door,” Snuffy had whispered, his voice sounded entirely defeated, “I don’t think I’m going to make it out of this alive.”

Your hands trembled violently as you zipped your suitcase, a tear finally spilling over your eyelashes and hitting the suitcase.

You didn't turn around to look at him, knowing that if you saw him, it will make you cry even more.

“You will, Marc, I promise you that,” you replied, your voice cracking

“But you have to want to save yourself. Because I can’t afford getting dragged down with you.”

He simply stayed frozen on the edge of the mattress, watching the only person who loved him walk out of his life.

Then a heavy click of the front door closing behind you ended it all.

Years passed, and the both to survive.

You completely walked away from the modeling industry, and gave up your place as being renowned after dealing with countless harassments to get to the top and now found a ordinary life away from the exhaustion.

Marc Snuffy, change for the better and , used the agonizing pain of losing Mick and losing you as away to escape like what you told him. He could change and become better.

He quit the destructive partying, walked away from the toxic crowds, and poured every single ounce of his remaining humanity into a disciplined approach to football.

He became a world champion, a known legendary, and eventually, became the coach of the Italian team, Ubers.

One quiet evening in Snuffy sat in his dimly lit bedroom and his gaze wandered to a small drawer in his desk.

He slid it open, pulling out an old, faded Polaroid from his youth. It was a picture from one of those terrible, extravagant parties from a lifetime ago.

In the photo, you were sitting entirely away from the crowd, looking bored and while a young, Snuffy stood right beside you, sporting a giant, foolish grin.

A soft, melancholic laugh escaped his chest, a deep ache throbbing in his heart.

He didn't regret being where he is now, and he didn't regret saving his own life, but looking at your face, he realized you were the only real thing in a world full of fake noise.

He had to lose you so that he could grow up, and you had to leave him so that you wouldn't drown.

He gently traced the edge of the photograph before sliding it safely back into the dark drawer, “I hope you’re doing fine ‘….’ ”

･ ༝ ･ Michael Kaiser

Dating Michael Kaiser was never easy, and that wasn’t because he was difficult to love.

It was because he was absolutely terrified of being loved.

Almost every single night, you would wake up to the mattress trembling beneath you. Michael would have reoccurring nightmares that suffocated and haunted, causing him panic attacks that would abruptly come crashing down onto him.

Dragging him down, swallowing him whole.

His breathing would turn uneven and frantic, his chest rising and falling in desperate, ragged gasps.

His hands would instinctively reach up to claw at his own throat, or they would grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turned stark white, a desperate attempt to force himself awake or to punish himself for things he believed he had done wrong.

“Michael,” you would whisper gently, careful never to reach for him too suddenly. Because you knew that he’ll slap your hand away.

Instead of grabbing him, you would rest a warm, steady hand against his cheek, your thumb slowly brushing over the sharp, defined line of his cheekbone. “Michael… look at me. Open your eyes, Look at me.” You pleaded softly, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His long eyelashes would eventually flutter open, his pupils blown and panicked until they finally focused on your face.

The moment he felt your touch and heard your voice, his body shudders and clinged onto you burying his face deeply into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

He held you tightly with desperation that he could never express because he hates admitting that he was scared.

You simply ran your fingers through his soft, tangled hair, as you gently rock him from side to side on the mattress, pressing soft kisses against the crown of his head.

“You’re safe,” you would murmur over and over , just to soothe him “I promise you. You’re right here with me. No one can hurt you now.”

Some nights, whenever he had another episode, neither of you could fall back asleep. Michael would keep you up, refusing to let go, holding you close as if you might vanish if he loosened his grip.

You would spend those hours curled up together in the center of the bed, tangled in the blankets, hugging one another until the first rays of dawn began creeping through the curtains.

While, you could hear his breathing and his forehead pressed against your chest as he listened to the s beating of your heart.

“Does it ever go away?” he whispered one morning, his voice raw and completely stripped of the usual confident arrogance.

You tightened your arms around him, resting your chin on his head. “It will go away Michael, I promise that I’m not going anywhere.”

And Michael truly tried. He tried in all the small, quiet ways he knew how, even if he didn't have the vocabulary to say how much he valued you.

Whenever you would cook in the narrow kitchen, he would quietly slip up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist until your back rested comfortably against his chest.

As he would absentmindedly rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed light, lingering kisses against your neck and cheek.

“Michael, stop,” you’d laugh, squirming by how he has been peppering you with so many kisses to stir whatever was simmering on the stove. “You’re making it completely impossible for me to focus. I’m going to burn our dinner.”

A quiet, low chuckle rumbled against your shoulder. “No. Let it burn.” Instead of letting go, he’d only hold you a little tighter, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips every time your laughter filled the apartment. “I’d rather have this.”

Whenever the room or place was quite he would reach across the couch for your hand without saying a single word. He would instinctively thread his long fingers through yours, squeezing your hand tightly as though making sure you were still there.

Sometimes he would lean over just to steal a kiss before resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes to just breathe you in.

In his words, “you took his breath away.” And he loved you do much.

But it was hard.

The reality of his trauma meant he was often distant, brash, and sharp-tongued. And would lash out—he hated lashing out at you. He would snap over little things, any moment he felt too vulnerable.

And every single day, you tried your hardest to prove his doubts wrong.

You poured all your patience, your energy, and your warmth into him, trying to fill a void that had been dug out years before you ever met him. Anything for you to hold onto him.

In the end, Michael loved you completely. And you loved Michael.

But on his worst days, he became the very person he hated. pushing you away before you could see how badly he was falling apart inside. He was entirely convinced that if you stayed any longer, you’d only end up drowning in the weight of his baggage too.

That was true.

Yet, you stayed through all of it.

But eventually, the endless giving took its toll. You began forgetting how to take care of yourself.

It pained you so badly that you couldn’t fulfill your promise, to the person you loved but you were drowning with him. One rainy evening, the sky outside was pitch black and crying tears like the feeling you wanted to let out.

Inside, you quietly packed a small suitcase, your movements slow and deliberate.

Michael had just returned from a grueling training session. The apartment was unusually silent when the front door opened. He tossed his gym bag aside, tracking the quiet until he found you in the bedroom.

“…What are you doing, liebling ?”

For a long, moment, you didn’t speak at all and stayed silent . Then, you finally turned around to face him. Your eyes were red and heavily swollen from hours of silent crying.

“I can’t do this anymore, Michael,” you said, your voice barely holding together. Michael frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety hit his chest. He tried to laugh it off, adopting a dismissive tone “…What? What is this? Is this a joke?”

“I love you,” you whispered, a single tear spilling over your cheek . “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.“

Hearing those words, his tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He took a cautious step forward, his hands twitching at his sides. “…Then stop this. Put the bag down. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back. “I’ve been saying that for years, Michael. I’ve been holding onto that hope until I have nothing left inside of me.”

He took another step, his composure beginning to fracture. “We can try again, I’ll make time, I’ll—”

“We tried,” you interrupted softly. “I have given you everything I have to you…”

“I’ll do better,” he pleaded, his voice losing its steady edge, and started sounding frantic. “I swear to you, I will do better.”

“You always say that when it gets to this point.”

“I mean it this time!” his voice cracked, while chest tightened

Suffocating silence filled the room. You looked at him with eyes that still held so much affection and love that it almost hurt to look back.

“I’m tired, Michael,” you whispered. “I am so, so tired.”

Those three words completely shattered something deep inside him. He could see the exhaustion in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. He had drained you. “I’m sorry to fail you..”

You walked toward him until only a few inches separated your bodies.

You hesitantly, reached up and cupped his face one last time, your palm resting against the familiar warmth of his skin.

“I don’t blame you,” you murmured, your thumb wiping away a stray tear that had just slipped down his cheek. “I don’t blame you at all..”

His breathing hitched, a ragged gasp catching in his throat.

“I wanted so badly to save you, Michael,” you whispered, your own tears blinding you. “But I can’t save someone who doesn’t believe they’re worth saving. I’m destroying myself…I can’t—” you chocked on your words , “I hate this but Michael…I can’t be this way…”

Michael’s lips trembled violently. His large hand came up, slowly covering yours, pressing your palm harder against his face “…Please,” he choked out, the word barely above a whisper, entirely stripped of his pride. “Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

You closed your eyes tightly, a sob catching in your own throat. If he had yelled, if he had gotten angry or thrown his usual arrogant insults, leaving would have been so much easier. You could have walked out on his anger.

Instead, he looked at you exactly like the frightened.And you leaned forward, rising on your tiptoes, and pressed one last, lingering kiss against his forehead.

“I hope one day you find peace, Michael. I really do.”

Then, using every ounce of strength you had left, you gently slipped your hand out from beneath his grip.

You picked up the handle of your suitcase, walked past him, and stepped out into the hallway. And left. The apartment door clicked shut behind him.

He stood frozen in the middle of the bedroom, staring blankly at the empty doorway. Surely, this was just a bad fight. You’d come back.

You always came back. You’d walk back in open the door again.

A minute passed. Then another. The silence in the apartment grew louder, echoing off the walls.

You weren’t coming back this time.

You were truly gone.

His knees suddenly gave out beneath him. Michael collapsed heavily onto the floor, starting to hyperventilate rapidly spiraling into a full panic. Letting out a guttural sob escaped his throat, tearing through the quiet apartment. He buried his face in his hands, rocking himself back and forth on the floor.

For the first time in years, there was no one beside him to brush their fingers through his hair.

The apartment felt unbearably, sickeningly quiet.

Everywhere he looked, pieces of you mocked his loneliness. Your favorite ceramic mug was still sitting upside down in the drying rack by the sink. The pictures you have with him all was still hanging in the room. Your scent still hung faintly in the apartment. Pieces of you remained scattered everywhere.

Except you.

Michael cried until his throat was completely raw, until his chest ached and he fell asleep right there on the hard floor.

The next morning, the world didn't care about what had happened; it still expected Michael Kaiser. The flashing lights of cameras waited outside the training grounds. Fans lined the barriers, screaming his name, holding up his jersey.

With Reporters crowded around with microphones, demanding interviews about the upcoming match.

So, he washed his face with freezing water. straightened his broad shoulders. And meticulously adjusted his hair.

And then, he smiled.

The exact same confident, blinding smile everyone adored. The same arrogant, sharp grin that convinced the entire world that nothing could ever scare him, that he was the king of the field.

No one noticed the slight tremor in his hands when he signed autographs. And no one noticed that when the interviews finally ended, the cameras turned off, and the roaring applause faded into the night...

He went home to an apartment that had never felt so utterly, terrifyingly empty.

he missed you dearly.

･ ༝ ･ Julian Loki

People always said that if you met the love of your life, it was because the timing was finally right and it was fated.

Julian Loki thought that was ridiculous. He would constantly make biting, sarcastic jokes about how idiotic those people were, scoffing at the notion of destiny as something entirely beneath him.

In public interviews, whenever reporters pushed with invasive, prying questions about his love life, he would simply deflect with a sarcastic comment, casually stating that he had a million things to focus on—and none of them was love.

He firmly believed first love was vastly overrated.

To him, too many teenagers mistook fleeting butterflies for destiny, making promises they could never keep, and swore forever without actually knowing what forever meant.

Then he met you.

Suddenly, he realized there was a right way to love, and he found himself quietly waiting for you to finally look back at him.

When you first met, he saw you standing there—around his exact age—and he was completely, instantly hit by what people called, getting lovestruck.

The two of you were so young, far too young to truly understand but you were in love with each other.

Julian was irritatingly competitive, even outside of football, always inventing ridiculous games just to win your attention. Or his complete pettiness taking over making you annoyed by how much he would tease you.

Yet, he was the ideal caring boyfriend, texting you the exact second he got home from long training sessions because he knew you’d worry about him. Or check on you every single time and would text you good mornings and good nights, he would always be there to listen to you.

You spent hours together doing absolutely nothing at all. He would take your hand at every single opportunity, rubbing gentle, soothing circles across your knuckles while the two of you talked about nothing and cuddled together.

It was ordinary when teenagers fall deeply in love. But too bad Julian is from a different world.

Because football remembered Julian Loki existed.

At an incredibly young age, elite scouts were already labeling him a once-in-a-generation prodigy. Blessed with an otherworldly, godspeed talent, for a young teen he went through the ranks at a terrifying pace.

By sixteen, newspapers were calling him the future of French football—even the world. By how much talent and skill he had while also giving his absolute best.

He became one of the youngest kid ever to achieve such status. He wasn't just a boy, he was THE Julian Loki.

With that title, it also came with heavy responsibilities that he had to carry .

The world of football was a brutal, it was somewhat like a meritocracy that demanded your entire soul, setting an impossible standard for someone so unbelievably young especially if you shown a gift, the top scouters made sure to grab the best one.

One time you came to visit Julian. The stadium was completely pitch black, except for the dim lights.

It was midnight.

And Julian had just finished a brutal double-training session, his skin still glistening with a thin layer of sweat, but the second he saw you sitting on the bleachers holding a thermos of hot cocoa, his exhausted expression completely melted.

Julian ran up yo you and slid onto the bleacher right beside you, bringing a sudden gust of wind with him.

"You're going to catch a cold sitting out here," he murmured, "I wanted to see you," you whispered, handing him the thermos.

Julian didn't take the drink. Instead, he wrapped his large, warm hands completely around yours, trapping your cold fingers against the warm metal of the flask. And leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours. “I’m sorry I have been distant.“

He let out a soft sigh, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “Well it’s for the better right?” You replied back, “for you to win a world cup? No?”

“Yeah,” then he pressed a slow kiss to your cheek, his lips were warm and slightly chapped from the winter air.

He stayed like that for a long time, just breathing you in, letting the quiet of the empty stadium.

When the public found out the young prodigy was in a relationship, boy, did things get crazy.

For better and for worse, Julian Loki was highly visible, and the brand of a clean, teen prodigy sold immensely well.

So when your relationship leaked to the press, it became a massive problem.

The public hit him with harsh criticism, dragging both of your names through the mud.

Julian had managed to sneak away from the national team’s strict training camp for just two hours.

He hadn't even changed out of his official French national team track jacket. The two of you were walking down a dimly lit, narrow side street near his apartment, your fingers tightly intertwined with his out of pure, comforting habit.

Julian was laughing at something you had said, his head thrown back, his thumb lazily tracing those familiar, soothing circles across your knuckles.

Then, the darkness of the alleyway exploded into blinding, white light.

Click. Click. Click-Click-Click.

The rapid-fire shutter of a camera shattered the happy atmosphere. In less than a second, Julian spun his body, using his broad shoulders to completely shield you from the cameras that ambushed the two of you .

He pulled his hood up with one hand, while his other arm forcefully wrapped around your waist, pulling your face tightly into his chest so the lenses couldn't capture your features.

“Don't look,” Julian whispered, his voice losing all of its previous warmth. It was suddenly sharp, laced with a cold, protective panic. “Keep your face down, ‘…’ . And walk okay?”

The thing about Julian was that he absolutely hated his privacy being invaded. He completely loathed it whenever it happened, that’s why he wanted to make things private as possible, and seeing you finally being targeted made his blood run cold.

A paparazzi photographer stepped out from the shadows of a parked car, the lens tracking your every move. “Loki! Over here! Who is the girl? Is she the reason your stats dropped in the first half last weekend? Look over here, Julian!”

Julian didn't answer the guy but you could visibly see that his jaw was clenched tightly while he kept his grip around your waist, guiding your stumbling steps forward as you blindly walked toward the safety of your apartment building.

Every step was punctuated by another blinding flash. And the paparazzi was relentless, crowding your space, shouting invasive, dirty questions about your relationship, treating your quiet love like a scandalous headline.

The moment you burst through the heavy glass doors of your lobby, the security guard rushed forward to lock the entrance behind you.

Outside, the photographer pressed his face against the glass, taking a few final, distorted shots before finally walking away.

Inside the quiet lobby, Julian finally let go of your waist. His hands were shaking. “Are you okay?” he asked as he reached out, his fingers to brush a stray lock of hair away from your pale face. “Did he touch you? Did they hurt you?”

“I'm fine, Julian,” you whispered, “I'm just... I'm just startled.”

“They're going to put your face in the papers tomorrow,”Julian murmured, his voice dropped and pulled you closer with an embrace.”They're going to tear your life apart just to get to me.”

The morning after the paparazzi caught you together, the photographs spread across the media like wildfire.

The headline was: FRANCE’S GOLDEN BOY SQUANDERING HIS GODSPEED ON A DISTRACTION?

The media they tore into the relationship apart. Sports commentators, talk-show hosts, and ruthless football critics openly questioned his maturity.

They criticized him for dating at such a critical time in his career, loudly demanding that he block out the noise and focus entirely on dragging French football into its next golden era.

They called him irresponsible for being with someone and quote and quote claimed,

“your relationship was a toxic parasite that would drain his generational talent.”

The public pressure built up immensely, and the noise grew deafening. Anywhere you looked was videos about you and tearing you apart by labeling you as a “burden”.

That was never true.

Julian tried desperately to balance the two worlds, but the weight was too heavy.

It couldn't be held, especially since he was also being forced by his corporate management and team executives to break up with you immediately.

They started to threatened his contracts, his starting position, and his entire future, they were desperate and determined for this “scandal” not to drag on.

The breaking point came on a miserable, rainy afternoon in Paris.

The air between you inside the small, cramped café was filled with an uncomfortable, suffocating quiet.

As you looked out the window, you spotted a paparazzi lens lurking nearby in the shadows, waiting to snap a picture of the young star and his “girlfriend.”

You already knew what the conversation was going to be before it even started.

And neither of you wanted to have this conversation.

You simply sat there, looking at the person you loved more than anyone else in the entire world, memorizing the sharp lines of his face.

“…I’m so sorry…” Julian whispered, his voice cracking as he looked down at his untouched food.

You gave him a small, heartbreaking smile, while you struggled to say the words. “I know.”

“I really tried,” he said, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears as he finally looked up at you. “I wanted to make it work,” he paused and continued on, “…but they won't let me keep you.”

“I know, Julian…I know.” You chocked on your worlds and quietly sobbed

The silence that followed felt impossibly heavy, pressing down on the small café table. Unable to bear the distance, you reached across the table, gently taking his hand in yours.

His fingers immediately intertwined with yours out of pure habit, his thumb finding your knuckles to rub one last circle.

“…Maybe…” Your voice caught, a heavy lump forming in your throat as you forced the words out. “maybe we just met at the wrong time.”

Julian lowered his head, a single tear slipping from his eyes and hitting the table. You were simply two people whose futures were pulling them in entirely opposite directions.

Julian squeezed your hand a little tighter, pouring all his desperate longing into his grip, gripping into you tightly not wanting to let go.

“I don't want to lose you,” he choked out, his voice dropping to a fragile whisper. “I don't know how to do this without you.”

A warm tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept your smile steady for him. “Its okay Julian..”

Another long, agonizing silence settled between you, the weight of the end crashing down. “…In another life,” Julian murmured quietly, his eyes locking onto yours, “I’d choose you every single time….No matter what…I promise…”

You smiled through your tears, you gently squeezed his hand back. Then after a long time being in that café, you knew you had to be the one to let go. You finally stood up from the table, breaking the connection, while neither of you looked back as you walked away.

Months passed.

Julian became “liked” again, people commenting that the breakup was the best decision—and it was almost forgotten buried by Loki’s goals and records.

Millions of fans chanted his name in packed stadiums, and thousands of young children walked the streets wearing jerseys with LOKI stretched across the back.

He still thought about you—sometimes

After the interviews he had to deal with, Julian would sit entirely alone in the locker room. And look down at his hands—the hands that used to hold yours.

And he’d find himself wondering what your life looked like now.

Whether you found someone to love. Whether someone was actually there for you every single time, holding you close, assuring you and giving you soft kisses on the cheek and holding your hand.

He genuinely hoped that you were okay and with someone who loves you. Because if anyone in the world deserved to be loved completely and unconditionally, it was you.

And in another life like he promised , you’d be together.

･ ༝ ･ Vivian Hugo

Dating THE Vivian Hugo was an absolute goldmine, and till this day, you still couldn't entirely believe how you had managed to bag him.

The young handsome prodigy, who had thousands and thousands of fans, and a member of the New Generation World XI, the midfielder player that plays for both Arsenal and the France U-20 national team.

On the pitch and the world people are often confused by him and come off as eerie. But when it came to you, Vivian was a helpless, utterly obsessed lover boy who simply enjoyed being by your side more than anything else.

You were a highly popular lifestyle vlogger—one of those specific, internet girls whom people absolutely loved and admired for being effortlessly cool.

Your comment sections were a safe haven full of people praising your aesthetic, your personality , and how effortlessly nice and authentic you were.

And right there, alongside the millions of ordinary fans who watched your videos, was Vivian.

He genuinely liked the content you posted. Who would have known? The the detached quiet footballer, secretly found you incredibly funny, deeply intriguing, and entirely magnetic.

Boom, density when he first watched your video and felt a thump in his heart.

He watched your vlogs in the locker room, on team buses, and late at night in his empty hotel rooms.

During an interview, he mentioned your name which your fans went wild on by how the Vivian Hugo knew about you.

Eventually, Vivian decided to just shoot his shot. Bypassing all the formal PR controlled accounts and didn’t even announce it to them and sent a direct message straight to your personal account.

The next morning, you woke up, rolled over to check your phone, and completely froze.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head and screamed seeing the top of your notifications was a verified badge and a message from the Vivian Hugo.

You were a massive fan of his, having watched him play and even attend his games, you instantly freaked out, accidentally dropping your phone flat onto your face.

His first message was surprisingly direct,

“Your video are funny, I like them very much. Do you like football?”

And that single message opened the a new relationship .

Because of the two of you being far apart the relationship between the both of you started out completely long-distance, meaning it was mostly through text messages, late-night FaceTime calls, and voice notes.

The more he talked to you, the more he revealed the a helpless, deeply affectionate guy who was completely hooked on you.

“I don't like being separated from you,” Vivian mumbled into his phone late one night, with his thick voice while laid in his bed .

He stared at your face on the FaceTime screen, “I can’t be there with you, mon cherie.”

His comment made you laughed, leaning your chin on your hand. “You’ll have to wait, Vivi. You have a massive match this weekend, plus didn’t your manager said to keep it hidden?”

Vivian let out a dramatic sigh, burying his face in his pillow before peeking back up at the camera with an uncharacteristically needy pout.

“Don’t worry about that cherie,. Pack a bag. Fly out to Paris tomorrow. I'll buy the ticket right now. Please? If you're sitting in the stands, my passes will be more accurate. Mon cherie . Come see me."

You couldn't resist him when he was like this. So you flew out, and the moment you met in person, he straight up hugged you and couldn't keep his hands off you, always draping his arms around your waist or burying his face into your hair.

On a quiet afternoon, you were trying to film a casual vlog you haven’t posted for a long period since you came to france for a visit your fans new you were going to watch a football game but why france…specifically?

Soft launching was what people speculated or you were just there because you were a fan.

You had just started talking to the camera when a massive, weight settled completely over your back. Making you gulp while you stared a thr camera

Vivian rested his jaw right on your shoulder, staring directly into your camera lens with his signature blank, unbothered expression. “Vivi, I'm trying to film,” you laughed, leaning your head back against his chest.

“Say hi to the vlog at least.” Vivian didn't look at the lens. He slowly turned his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver by how soft the kiss he left was.

“Hello, people on the internet," he murmured lazily, “ please wait for a few moments and stop looking at her. She is currently occupied by me.” He jokingly said.

“Vivian!”you scolded, hitting his arm playfully, though you couldn't stop the massive smile from breaking across your face.

He let out a soft chuckle, He didn't care about the camera recording everything. He shifted his weight, his large, calloused hand reaching up to gently cup your jawline.

His thumb traced a slow, soothing circle across your cheekbone, “Look at me mon cherie,” he whispered

You turned your head, your lips just centimeters from his. “You are so pretty,” he murmured, his thumb moving to gently swipe across your lower lip.

Before you could even reply to him, Vivian leaned in and captured your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

He loved you so much.

But as the public soon found out and fully realized that the well loved French midfield was in a serious relationship, things took a sharp, dark turn.

There were strangers who you assume were football fanatics. began to send messages to you.

Because you were a public vlogger, your platform was wide open for them to exploit and hate on you.

They started to invaded your privacy, flood your direct messages and comment sections with hate. Leading you to private your accounts and close off the comment section

They cruelly criticized your appearance, tearing apart your face, your body, to the point you even started getting death threats.

They questioned your intentions, calling you an opportunist who was just using an elite international athlete for clout and views.

Some agreed and labeled you a distraction—someone entirely unworthy of his attention.

Every time Vivian noticed the toxic comments, he would defend you publicly on his own accounts, firing back at the trolls, he had made multiple statements and so did his team.

But it kept on going.

“Vivian, please, don't reply to them,” you whispered one night, your voice cracking as you tried to pull his phone away.

You were sitting on his lap on the couch, but he was tense as a board. “You're only feeding into it. It's just going to make them meaner.”

Vivian tightly wound his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest so hard your hearts beat as one.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his voice dropping into a frustrated tons. “No. They don't know anything about you. They need to stay in their lane.”

But his public defense was a double-edged sword. Every time he spoke up, the internet only grew more vicious. They claimed his obsession with you was proof that his focus was slipping, and they blamed you for dragging down his career.

Soon, things started to take a toll on your mental health from the constant harassment and fear. You stopped checking social media entirely, your stomach twisting into knots whenever your phone lit up. You went silent, not posting didn’t state anything…you completely avoided it.

It continued to follow you everywhere You became entirely terrified of the paparazzi, constantly pulling your hood low and looking over your shoulder whenever you left the apartment, crying in the car because you felt trapped and barely even leaving the house.

You still had loyal fans who sent sweet messages of support, but they were entirely drowned out by the endless ocean of online hatred.

Eventually, you stopped recognizing yourself. Your happiness with the world had completely withered away. Turning you into a shell of the happy version of yourself.

One Tuesday evening in your shared apartment,

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the dark screen of your camera.You hadn't recorded a single vlog in months.

Vivian walked into the bedroom, fresh from a shower and the second he saw you, his sharp, serious gaze softened.

He immediately crossed the room and sank onto the mattress behind you, wrapping his long, arms tightly around your waist.

He burying his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a low, content murmur as he tried to pull you completely into his space, just like he always did.

He knew that you’ve been getting worse and he was worried about you and often reminding you to eat, shower, and even helping you stay motivated by whispering positive things, reminding you who you are and how loved and important you are.

it pained him to see you be like this especially knowing that it was his own fame that caused you to be in this position.

But this time, you didn't lean back into him. You stayed completely rigid.

"Mon Cherie ?" Vivian murmured, his voice dropping into a low, questioning rumble against your skin. He shifted, his large, calloused hand reaching up to cup your jaw, gently turning your face so he could look into your eyes.

“What's wrong? Did the internet say something again? Tell me?”

You gently took his wrist, pulling his hand away from your face. Tears blurred your vision, spilling down your cheeks as you looked at him

"Vivian," you whispered, your voice cracking painfully in the quiet room. "I can't do this anymore."

Vivian froze. His arms tightened around your waist out of pure, confusion mix with panic, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes . "What do you mean?

"We aren't fine," you choked out, a heavy sob escaping your chest. You stood up, breaking away from his embrace, and pointed toward the full-length mirror across the room.

“Look at me, Vivian. Just look at me. I don't even know who I am anymore..”

You looked at the him tenderly, “I have to," you said softly, stepping closer to him one last time. You reached up, your small hands gently cupping his sharp jawline. And pressed a faint devastatingly kiss to his lips—a final seal to a love that was being torn apart. “I love you so much, Vivian. But..I can't stay."

Vivian didn't fight you. He simply lowered his head, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he let out a broken sob. Wrapping his fingers around your wrists, squeezing your hands one last time, pouring all his desperation into his grip before slowly letting go.

How long has it been? It has been a long time..

Vivian Hugo became exactly what the global sports world predicted he would become, and more.

He still found himself checking the internet, and saw your old vlogging channel had recently posted a video again.

He discovered that you had finally returned to the internet, months after the breakup, once the paparazzi noise had completely died down.

You were vlogging again. but now you completely told the public that you were going to start quitting due to many reasons. And at the very end you flashed the same smile he was so fond off.

Vivian stared at the glowing screen of his phone, a bittersweet, heartbreaking smile tugging at the corner of his lips as a quiet tear hit the glass.

He closed the app, and pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders as he walked out into the empty, cold night.

Maybe next time, fate will take pity on the both of you and reunite again.

Noel Noa Had a Glow up and he did it with that eyeliner .

Also…sorry if it sucked, I’m not really fond of the way I executed and worded half of these works (◞‸◟).

"Thank you."

The Prince of Nippon bowed—albeit awkwardly—and fled to the stands. You tapped your foot against marble flooring a little too aggressively, waiting for this clearly unwanted celebration to end. Whistledown had lied. This ball wasn't the event of the year; it was nothing short of a nightmare, written off with a few longing glances, an exchange of tender laughter, and—

A clatter echoed against marble.

The debutante in the centre had dropped her fan, a proud smile etched on her face as Bunny reached over, gloved fingers brushing the piece.

He picked it up. Oh my god, that fool picked it up.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, skin rubbing against the frilly lace—which was now so, so unfathomably unbearable to the touch. Looking over to the pair, Bunny handed the lady the opulent piece, palm reaching out to hers. And he flashed that moronic smile he swore he only showed you, dimples cratering in the smooth slopes of his cheeks.

That rake.

A voice next to you whispered. "Isn't he engaged?"

"About to be engaged, yet he seems rather elated to dance with this new... debutante."

"Well, her face itself might send an army to war, a man into hysteria."

"Haah!— Wait until they wed; she will surely show her true colours then."

The two girls gossiping beside you cast you a side glance, hair brushing as they leant closer.

"Shush, that is his betrothed."

"She looks like she just witnessed a slaughter. Poor girl."

"Pfft—"

You bit your inner cheek, turning your back to the pair. Hands gripped deep into the fabric of your dress, the urge to crawl into a hole and die was all too consuming—too tempting at the moment. You had to escape from the embarrassment and social crisis your almost betrothed had cast on you and your family name.

And so, you scurried.

The Duke of Iglesias, have you not learnt any commendable decorum on all your little expeditions out of the ton? Has he not raked through enough of Europe before ruining a family name? Your families were going to finalise your engagement at this very ball! It was already incredibly selective to want to marry a man who wasn't balding and old, but it was even more particular to want a decent, young bachelor. So of course, men like Bunny had been an issue; he was coveted by everyone.

And now, he had become your most bothersome mess.

The cold air hit your nape as you stepped outside into the garden, rushing down the steps to soothe your nerves—any of them—until you collided into a broad, strong back.

"Ah—"

You blinked vehemently, stumbling back onto the steps with less grace than you would like to admit. The wind whistled quietly through the air, dancing with the foreboding silence of that man.

Your eyes flitted to a hint of tousled magenta hair.

The Prince of Nippon?

"Oh, I, ah—"

A series of unintelligible apologies and muttering tumbled out of your mouth, wishing the world would just swallow you whole.

He rolled his eyes, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Look to your path next time."

Your brow twitched. His Royal Highness was cold as always, and you would be lying if you had said this was your first meeting with him, because frankly, it was not.

But surely, he was too out of touch in his own lavish life to remember squabbling with an ill-mannered debutante.

...

"Excuse you," you huffed, folding your arms over your chest. "What do you think you're doing speaking to His Grace like that?"

Bunny cast you a surprised glance, lips etching into an amused smile. You met his red gaze, brows furrowing at his stifled laughter.

“What?” You asked Bunny.

He only laughed and shook his head.

The man with magenta hair huffed out a laugh, deep cerulean eyes locking onto yours. "Excuse me?"

If it weren't for his utter audacity, perhaps you would be frightened by his cold glare. But this man paraded around the ballroom like he was important, and you certainly did not take abrasiveness lightly—especially towards your soon-to-be betrothed.

You tilted your head. "What?"

"It is alright." Bunny turned to you, eyes crinkling. "I'm sure His Royal Highness meant no harm in the message."

Your throat tightened.

His Royal Highness?

The prince scoffed, turning away from you.

"How foolish."

...

The words echoed in your head.

Look to your path next time.

He huffed, eyes crinkling in quiet mischief. "...Or His Grace will be worried about you."

You blinked. So he did remember you—as Bunny's betrothed.

You scoffed, hand planted on your hip. "Is that supposed to be some kind of veiled insult, Your Highness?"

"What kind of veiled insult shows concern to the recipient?"

"The kind that—" You clicked your tongue. "The kind that you would make!"

"Your Highness."

You huffed at his correction, head bowing to the marble staircase. "Your Highness."

The prince tilted his head to the side, cerulean eyes raking over your decorated figure. "You need not worry about such trivial affairs."

Your gloved fingers pressed to your temple, shoulders relaxing a tad. Of course he would know about this ridiculous liaison. He was the prince, and today was his celebration. "And do tell, what about this affair sounds trivial to you, Your Highness?"

"It is merely a dance."

"A dance between the diamond of the season and my soon-to-be betrothed."

"Though you are far from a diamond, you should face no trouble in securing another suitor."

Your gaze caught his—a deep colour of teal. Although the Prince of Nippon was strange, cold, and outcast, he was undoubtedly beautiful. Whispers of his moon-soaked beauty travelled from estates to palaces to the papers distributed in the ton.

For a war hero, he sure didn't look like one.

Your thumb flicked over the fabric of your glove. "Almost all of the other suitors pry and take you apart like you're prey."

"Was His Grace any different?"

"Well, he was..."

Kind.

He accommodated you when no one else did, promenading and dazzling you with fancy gifts and thoughtful praise. To call what you and Bunny had love was ridiculous—folly, even. But to call Bunny horrible was...

A lie.

He was pleasant.

"He was young and wealthy—apologies. Does that make me sound opportunistic?" You turned to him, brows furrowed in deep thought.

The prince snorted, a rare sight usually hidden away from the ton. "Not at all. At least you choose to be honest."

"Then we are on the same page. Bunny—Ah, His Grace was most eligible for marriage, and I thought he believed me the same..."

You let out a sigh, your dress suddenly feeling all too befitting and tight around your chest. "I suppose not."

"Iglesias is a foolish man; I take it you are aware of that, for all his gambling endeavours and expeditions to meet beautiful women. It is no surprise that he would disappoint many naive ladies like you."

You were curtly aware of that Bunny was no saint, but he was secure. And what did His Royal Highness have any say in meeting beautiful women? Let alone naive ladies?

"Your Highness, I mean no disrespect, but you are of the same branch. And I am far from naive. Not all of his expeditions are to meet women."

The prince cast you an amused glance, a huff of laughter pulling from his throat.

"Hah!"

He leaned in close, long lashes batting against the ivory of his cheeks. "Soft-hearted girl, what do you think you truly know about His Grace?"

The prince was mocking you—pompously ridiculing you—but his face was inches from yours, and his breath mingled with your sensitive skin. A flush crept up your bare neck, not daring to pull away. "What should I truly know about His Grace?"

His cerulean gaze flickered to your lips, then your decorated lobes. "That he is an undoubted rake, yet possessive of what he deems his."

The prince leant in closer, soft lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Perhaps all you have to do is make him realise this."

Your brows furrowed. "And what makes you think that?"

"We were much thrown together during the late war," he replied, looking past you. "Though I should hesitate to call it friendship."

"You were acquainted in Spain?" Your brows furrowed, leaning closer. "How come nobody knows of this?"

"I like to keep my relationships private," the prince whispered, casting the door a bemused glance. "Unlike a certain bachelor we know."

Footsteps clattered onto the marble ground.

"What are you doing out here?"

Your head turned.

Bunny Iglesias.

"You know it is not safe to wander outside alone." He stepped closer, a smile etching onto his scarred face. But his ruby eyes—they seemed cold. Colder than stone itself.

"I am not alone," you said, tilting your head. "The prince has accompanied me."

You shot the prince a worried glance, who looked almost as confused as you were. Yet his brow flicked as Bunny inched closer, clicking his tongue against his inner cheek.

He seemed to tell the truth about them being rather... distant.

"I would not leave a lady alone, Iglesias," he said, gloved fingers flexing. "I am not like you."

Bunny's hand cupped your shoulder, squeezing a bit harder than he should have. "Greetings to you too, Your Highness."

He smiled—albeit deceptively—and turned to you, pale hair twinkling under the moonlight. "Being alone with another man could ruin you. Let us go inside; your family is looking for you."

"You—" you huffed. "You have no right to say such things."

Bunny cast the prince, who had been cocking a brow at the man, a side glance. "We need not bicker in front of His Royal Highness. At least come inside so I can explain, alright?"

Your eyes darted to Bunny, then the prince, then the prince to Bunny, before your shoulders sagged. Perhaps he had a decent explanation. Perhaps the prince was right, and Bunny truly was a possessive, manipulative rake.

Nonetheless, your eyes met the prince's once more—watching them crinkle in amusement before huffing. "Fine then, amuse me."

Your gloved hand reached out, watching Bunny's face practically melt into relief as he grabbed yours and led you inside of the estate.

Your head turned to the prince, raking over his silken suit to the cutting edge of his jaw. He was a painting of ivory, a deep teal, and the dantiest shade of pink. And he was beautiful, just as the rest of the ton claimed, yet he was not nearly as cold.

He nodded, head bowing towards the ground.

Perhaps all you have to do is make him realise this.

The words rang in your head as you strode up the steps, the implications of his message all too consuming—too tempting.

In the three months you had debuted, a smile had finally graced your lips.

It was the first time you had ever seen a prince dip beneath your gaze.

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

This author finds herself most compelled by this social season's entanglements. The awaited arrival of our royal prince, Sae Itoshi, has been found in plentiful balls—a stark contrast to the bloody battlefields of the late war.

Our prince has never been one for matters of the heart—let alone the bonds of matrimony—yet his eyes are seen wandering every room, every dance, and every whispered secret.

This author wishes to know: is he simply curious about the new debutantes, or have his eyes finally settled on another? It seems our prince requires further inspection indeed.

On the topic of wandering eyes, it seems the Duke of Iglesias has moved on to this season's diamond of the first water. One might expect that a married man should be occupied with properties of the ton and not his frivolous distractions, but this man is not married, and dangerous he is indeed. One must ask: will this social season's debutantes bare their teeth at each other in a bid to secure the cheeky duke? Or shall their interests weaken, discovering much shinier treasure?

Oh, what a scandal! Worry not, my dearest readers; I am certainly as curious as you are.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

.

.

.

"It is quite obvious what I want."

You tilted your head, dainty fingers pressing into the tough flesh of a pineapple in the orangerie. The heat scorched your hat and gloves, absorbing the radiant warmth of sunlight. A new orangerie had opened at your cousin's estate, where bundles of exotic fruit grew and blossomed using technology so advanced – it was no wonder it could attract a prince.

And so, the prince stood before you, eyes raking over a striking shade of yellow. He cast you a sidelong glance, turning his attention back to the fruits.

Your fingers delicately pressed on your chest, clearing your throat. "I want you. All of you."

A cough erupted from his plump lips, his gloved fist slamming his chest.

"Your attempt at flattery seems much more like desperation." He turned away, fingers brushing the expanse of a bright orange fruit—not quite oranges, but much larger and longer.

“Pfft."

Your eyes drifted to the blonde man with pink tips. He must have been the prince’s supposed right-hand man—a knight so peculiar, rumoured to be picked off the commoner streets and from gambling halls. A servant of yours even claimed that he even worked as an illegal boxing champion, but the mere idea seemed so preposterous you could giggle. Though, now looking at his chiselled face and tan, golden skin, that could have been entirely plausible. He certainly appeared dangerous. Thrill-seeking, even.

"That is a papaya!" A sing-songy voice called out, chin hooking over the prince's shoulder. "It tastes wonderful, Your Highness. Mind if I try a bite?"

"This is a gentleman's estate," the prince snapped, swatting the knight's wandering hand. "Behave."

The blonde's pink eyes met yours—they were sparking wildly, like he had been itching for some kind of ecstasy, and his lids were smudged with some kind of burnt cork, a phenomenon you thought only existed for female entertainers.

You truly learnt new things every day.

"You must be the prince's muse he's been talking about!" His large fingers reached for yours, reaching into the silk of your gloves. "It is most pleasant to meet you."

Before you could react, he inched the fabric off further and further, until his cool lips pressed against the bare skin of your wrist.

My, how scandalous!

A flush crept up your ears. "Excuse you!—"

The sound of a blade whistled through the air, like a diamond's cutting edge. The prince had withdrawn his sword to his right-hand knight, slicing off a piece of his knight's ponytail.

"You are to control yourself, you devil," he huffed. "Do not precariously touch any woman you please, for she is nobility."

The knight smirked against your skin, unhanding you. "Do you really want to do this right now, Your Highness?"

Several attendants and barons looked your way, whispers echoing within the garden's bushes as the prince placed his blade in its sheath. Like the pair had been used to brawling at any given moment.

"Absolutely not. We are in public.”

His cerulean gaze met yours—albeit quite shyly. “I apologise."

You blinked, pushing the fabric of your glove up your wrist as the knight quietly returned to his position beside the prince, a hint of a smile etched on his mischevious lips.

"...It is alright. As I was saying, Your Highness, my mind is quite made up! For it is you that has borne me the fruits, and it is my duty to let them flourish."

He scoffed, quirking a brow. "The fruits that I have borne you were not an invitation to involve me in your engagement. And from what I saw, the issue had already been resolved."

Irritation flared in your chest, recalling the other night's events. "Nothing was resolved. Bunny is truly a man who only thinks of women."

The prince locked eyes with you, scanning every crinkle and every sparkle, and scoffed ever so quietly.

"I told you."

You sighed, fingers drumming against the exotic fruit. "He claimed that his papa had forced him to enchant the season's diamond in place of marrying me."

He furrowed his brows. "For what reason?"

"Status? Reputational affairs? Nonetheless, it's ridiculous. And I refuse to settle for a man who cannot even deny his father's wishes."

The knight peeked from the prince's shoulder once more. "You seem very sure of what you want, Miss. It is quite admirable." 

You tilted your head, graciously lifting your dress and bowing to the man. "Thank you, whatever your name is."

"Ryusei Shidou, but you can call me whatever you wish."

The prince cleared his throat. "Regardless, even if His Grace could not satisfy you with his answer, I still have no reason to be involved in such a liaison."

You clicked your tongue against your cheek. "You have disdain for His Grace, am I right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"And you must have a hoard of mamas crowding you with marrying off their daughters. Am I also right?"

The prince's gloved fingers rubbed against each other under the heat. "You are not wrong..."

"So, it would be most beneficial towards the both of us," you said. "Our arrangement will shoo away all the mamas while I can secure a marriage this season and remind His Grace of who his heart truly belongs to."

You clenched your fist, pressing it to your chest. "And become the Duchess of Iglesias."

A silence coiled in the humid air.

"She looks determined, Your Highness," Ryusei cooed, a smirk etching on his lips. "Are you truly going to let her down like that?"

"Shush, this is..." The prince's hand dragged down his smooth cheek. "An unnecessary endeavour."

You frowned, lips pursing in anticipation as your eyes locked with his.

"However, I do not wish to enter the marriage mart anytime soon, and the look on Iglesias' face would be..."

For the first time, a raw, open smile graced the prince's lips. A flash of white pearls adorned with the soft plush of his lips. If this were a painting captured, some would say he looked like a madman, a loon, but to you, he was, and always was, delectably intriguing.

Like something you wanted to dissect piece by piece.

His gloved fingers grazed his cheek in a quiet excitement. "His face would be all too amusing to miss."

"...I see," you nodded. "Then our arrangement shall begin tomorrow. We will go promenading every morning and dance together at the next ball."

Ryusei threw his head back in a fit of laughter, eyes darting between the two of you. "That smile! Your Highness, you truly are a barbarian."

The prince stepped forward, shoulder-bumping the knight's. "Hush, brat."

He reached out to you and extended his hand. "May I?"

You nodded.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand, his long lashes batted against his ivory cheeks, magenta locks cradling the sides of his face.

Your breath hitched; the sight of him was so unnatural it sent tremors down your spine, coiling into your stomach. That the cold prince of Nippon was kneeling before you. Touching you. Kissing your hand.

He quickly let go.

"Well then, it is a pleasure doing business with the future Duchess."

You knew he was being obnoxious, yet you lifted your skirt and curtsied.

"Isn't it? Be amazed, Your Highness."

.

.

.

Perhaps today was a bit rushed. After all, you had no intention to attract this many stares. Though, what were you truly expecting? This was a prince you were talking about. A handsome one at that.

You slung your arm around his, your dress softly flowing as you promenaded along the ton's garden, where whispers of your arm linked with the prince's echoed. The sun cast a warm light over your skin, but the heat beside you...

It was also warm.

The prince coldly glanced at the passerby. "What is so interesting about this garden?"

You tilted your head, scoffing. "Do you not enjoy nature, Your Highness?"

"I enjoy coastal views. The beach. Not this kind of nature."

"Oh? I hear that Spain has beautiful beaches."

His expression faltered.

"...They do."

You jolted. Was that rather insensitive to say? He did fight in the late war in Spain, yet he lived away from home for so long.

Even after the war ended. Even before it started.

"Perhaps I could visit one day, when I am married, of course..." you whispered, perking up. "Or, if I do end up a spinster, I could travel there. Receive noble education."

His chest puffed up. "You seem rather delighted at the idea of spinsterhood."

"I am indifferent towards the matter," you said, eyes fixed on the grass. "It is my duty to marry. Though, if no one would like to..."

"I'm quite certain you have options."

Your gaze swept across the garden, your eyes meeting the surprised stares from various gentlemen, who smiled at you. It was surely because of the bachelor's arm you were on.

You smiled sheepishly.

"Still, if..." you said, head turning to him. "Though I am certain with your help, I will gain freedom as a wedded noble woman."

He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Can I ask you a question, future Duchess?"

A flush crept up your neck as he used that awful nickname. "Of course, but lower your voice."

He paused, following your request. "You seem averse to the idea of a loving marriage."

Your head tilted to face his, which had been staring at you so inquisitively.

A laugh burst out of your lips, gloved fingers pressing to your mouth. "My, are you some kind of secret hopeless romantic, Your Highness?"

His cerulean gaze shifted away. "What kind of conclusion is that?..."

"You seem inclined to the idea of a loving marriage."

He scoffed. "As if I have any interest in marriage. Rather..."

His chest tightened, the bolo tie straining against his chest. "The novels directed towards women are rather full of romance."

The prince paused.

"It's sweet."

Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. "You read romance novels?"

"A few."

"How come?"

"They're everywhere," he paused. "They're not bad."

"How surprising! You are a hopeless romantic!"

His head turned, the tips of his ears turning a rosy hue. "Stop with that term."

"It is not a bad thing to enjoy romance," you smiled. "It is just fantasy, after all."

"What makes you say that?"

You leant in closer. "If that were true, perhaps I'd be madly in love with the Duke after spending a year under his courtship."

The prince's lips twitched, like he wanted to say something, yet he didn't.

"I do not think it is a matter of love existing; it is just the Duke—"

"But he is handsome, wealthy, and seemingly kind. Why wouldn't I be in love with him if it existed?"

His nose had been scrunched as if he tasted something awful.

Why was he insisting upon something so delusional? Did the prince experience some kind of novel-like romance in the past?

"Love is not about what someone has; it is simply about who they are." He sucked in a sharp breath. "Your idea of love is so shallow."

"Your idea of love is merely overwrought."

"Overwrought? I just believe that love isn't about status." He clicked his tongue against his inner cheek. "It's just... different."

The word sunk deep into your chest. You nodded slowly. "Different how?"

"It’s like... being jolted by lightning. Or getting butterflies. Whatever they call it these days. Do you truly believe it does not exist?"

He blinked at you curiously, even perplexedly.

"Yes, but it is quite alright. Comfort and safety should be the goal, not whatever your metaphors suggest."

The prince laughed. A raw, baffled laugh, lips curving into a soft smile. "Perhaps you are the cold-hearted one between us two."

Your nose scrunched in denial. Offence? Both?

Yet something unfamiliar in your chest stirred. It was a rare sight to behold, and you had the honour of seeing it twice—the prince smiling. Even if it were to mock you.

Feelings like butterflies and lightning or fire did not exist. Marriage was merely an arrangement. A contract of safety and security.

Your eyes flitted to his plump lips.

Right?

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This ball was entirely important to your debut as a woman—a lady of the ton, a future mother, and a role of nobility. To be a woman was to decorate oneself in the most precious of jewels, the fanciest of silks, and nonsensical talents for display.

To be a woman was to speak and dance with several eligible bachelors one after the other, assuming they find perfection in you in each one.

To be a woman was to adorn oneself in riches, because though a lady had nothing, she might as well have appeared as if she had everything.

To not be a woman was to scheme with a prince behind the ton's back, because loveless marriages were marriages, not courtships to trap a duke into matrimony.

You could count the suitors you have danced with today on one hand—Lord Karasu Tabito, a man of few words, yet untamed wit. He had an affinity for crows and his best mates, and he was kind and clever, but he did not... He did not feel like he could be yours, and you could be his.

Did such feelings even exist?

Then, there was Lord Otoya Eita. Quite infamous for his penchant for women, yet apathetic and downright shallow. You noticed that he much preferred flirtatious nothings over a conversation with substance just from a single dance with him.

...

Lord Otoya spun you around with the flick of his wrist, bringing you the shell of your ear close to his lips. A brush of deception hidden with affection—a trap, essentially.

"It seems as if our souls were dancing, my lady," he said, like he was whispering a poem. "Would you like to involve our lips next?"

Your nose scrunched.

"I am quite alright, Lord Otoya," you said, lip upturning a fraction—not caring so much if he were to see your sneer.

...

Your dances followed the Earl of Aiku, also named Oliver Aiku—a charming man indeed. He bore a natural talent for leadership and a wise way with words, yet he seemed to view marriage more of an obstacle than the union of two people, of course excluding his time spent raking through the country. And your final suitor was Lord Sendou Shuto, who seemed to speak as if he were chewing food—it was completely and utterly unattractive!

Bunny was on the other side of the room, handing the diamond lemonade without a care in the world. How could he act so cold in a crowd, yet caring in private?

It was maddening, but you had made a mistake.

This was not your final dance.

The Prince of Nippon had made his way into the ball, approaching you. And your senses failed you, lips parting at the sight of his gloved fingers reaching for yours, a touch ever so gentle yet oddly so fabricated.

Several voices whispered to each other, each man and woman, all with their jaws slack and lips pursed.

"Pardon the intrusion. May I have this dance?"

His brows were furrowed; a flush crept up his neck, standing in the centre of a crowd with cruel, nitpicking eyes. He seemed quite shy, like it was his first time indulging in courtship. And yet, he remained.

And he had kept his word! The prince had kept his word!

"Yes," you nodded, eyes darting to Bunny's, who had been watching with a flicked brow. "You may."

The violins wove together a melodious tune, befitting a dance between a prince and a noblewoman—one that competed to become his wife. Though you were not competing to be the object of his affection, and you would never become his wife. Yet your feet wove together to create a wondrous pattern, moving in graceful sync with his, brows furrowing as his lithe fingers reached for your waist, holding you close against his silken suit.

"For a prince, you would be surprised by how rarely I dance."

You stifled a snicker. "Hn, it is not as surprising as you think, Your Highness."

His brows furrowed, lips pursing as his feet moved.

"'Your Highness' will not do," he said. "Call me Sae."

Right, an arranged courtship would not be nearly as convincing if you were to use his royal title.

"Sae," you uttered, testing the word on your tongue. It lingered longer than you expected. "Your lack of dancing is not surprising."

"Is that some kind of veiled insult, future Duchess?"

"It is entirely an insult, Sae."

"Keep speaking, for nonsense suits you, as well."

"I will not hesitate to step on your feet."

He bit back a smile, his head turning to the crowd. "Step on them, then. Make haste before I have to endure this mating ritual any longer."

"Mating? What on earth is mating?" You patted his shoulder once to return his gaze.

"Well, the works of marriage, of course," he said, cerulean eyes glistening with mirth. "It is a word I picked up from my brother, who has an affinity for living things. As long as they are not human."

Mating. Perhaps it is the official union between two people? Was that not the ceremony of matrimony itself?

You yielded, laughing. "Your brother is quite famous on the paper for his skills in knighthood."

"His skills are mediocre. I know of at least fifty capable men that fought in the late war."

His words sounded bitter, hiding a hint of... unease, perhaps pain.

"Did they come back?"

There was a pause.

"...You should not be concerned with such matters; there are more important ones. Such as Iglesias eyeing you."

He gestured to his right, where Bunny had been stationed by the drinks stand. His jaw had been in some kind of slack, and his ruby eyes were wide and fixed on you. In that moment, your stomach churned madly.

Bunny acknowledged you. He stared at you. Did he—

Then, Sae gently spun you around, his free hand resting at your waist and tugging you close. The gesture was graceful, preformed by a prince indeed, and yet—

His lips brushed your ear, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

"You seem nervous."

A shiver trickled down your neck, breaths so close that they danced together on their own. Sae watched you for a moment; one would even say he was amused.

Amused!

"That is entirely out of the question," you whispered, expelling a soft breath against his lips.

He smiled.

"Yet you look downright flushed."

As the dance commenced, you spun out of his grasp, hand held in his, and returned to your original position. Your arms slung over his broad shoulders, avoiding the crinkle forming between your brows.

"It is merely the nature of this situation."

"Oh? I recall you being eager to be courted by a prince."

You quirked a brow, feet moving in sync with his. "To utter is far simpler than to act."

Sae cast a glance around the crowd, who had been carefully watching your every step, every moment, and every whisper. Judgement and fixation had been the utter nature of the ton. It was a testament to what it meant to be nobility—to be a debutante.

"Unease is part of this arrangement," he said, pulling you an inch closer. "Do not be afraid of their eyes."

Your breath hitched, the heat of your palm slowly encompassing the heat of his. Placing your palms atop one another, your fingers splayed across his much longer ones.

Sae leaned in close, so close that nobody else would hear. "Theirs do not matter. Only mine."

Your steps faltered, stepping out of sync with the violin once as your brows rose in surprise.

"You are no different than Bunny, or Lord Aiku, or even Lord Otoya!" You whispered, falling back into place.

"Hn, I suppose you shall get used to it, future Duchess. As far as I know, Iglesias is far worse than I am."

You frowned.

So why?

The words stuck in your throat.

Why was he so much more daunting?

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.

Dearest gentle reader,

It has been said that of all bachelors, searching or waiting, a rake is most lethal. If that should be true, perhaps the Royal Family should like to spit out their venom. This author investigates a waking scandal within the debutantes and suitors of this social season, uncovering a question that is left unanswered and unresolved: if a suitor is too fickle to evince his devotion to a lady, should she be expected to wait? Or is it only natural for a more daring counterpart to swoop in and claim her heart?

This author finds this question most novel, standing in contrast to the more banal of affairs within the ton. For what diamond of the first water swoons from a suitor that lacks his lustre? And more importantly, what kind of prince takes interest in the most unattainable of ladies? One can only wonder if such a matter is a display of affection or possession.

Oh my, how very convenient indeed.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

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It had been one month since then.

As one expected of a noble girl, your mornings were spent promenading with Sae, and your afternoons were spent conversing with the various other suitors that could be your husband.

There was no proper sight of Bunny, though. He certainly had been watching, eyes fixed on your figure whenever you walked through a room. And though he had still been courting this season's diamond, his smug smile seemed to falter at your gaze.

Or were you just hoping?

Ever since your last conversation with the Duke, he had not even shared with you a greeting but the turning of his head. There was still the question that he would come back, just as he promised, as he was not wed.

Or again, you were just hoping.

The carriage ride from tonight's ball was a short excursion from Lord Aiku's estate to yours. And after Sae and his driver bickered about your whereabouts inside his carriage, to which the driver implied you were being promiscuous, the time at midnight allowed you inside, seated directly across from him in the dark, enclosed space.

The window was cracked open, moonlight shining through the carriage, and the deafening silence had been pulling at you, tempting you to break it.

"I am getting quite tired of attending all these balls, don't you think?"

Sae's palm had been squished under his cheek, turning to you. "You have been attending these balls for the past year."

"That was because there was a clear objective. Talk to the duke, enchant the duke, get married to the duke." You sighed. "It's getting redundant now. None of the suitors are befitting."

"And you have been properly conversing with them, yes?"

"Certainly. They are either overwhelming or underwhelming for my tastes..."

"Then perhaps you need to let this Duchess fantasy go, hm?" He said, gloved fingers drumming over the carriage's interior. "You are too distracted with His Grace."

"He was promised to me, I—"

"He is clearly unworthy of your affection," he stated calmly, like it was a mere fact. "Find someone better."

"Your advice is so very obtuse..." you bit your inner cheek, staring into the cushions across from you. "I just told you that all the suitors were not for my tastes."

He paused.

"What are your tastes, then?"

"Someone..." you start, "—who knows what they want besides a wife or a mother to their children. Someone ambitious. Someone without distractions."

Sae snickered. "You do not want a close-minded man or a rake. I understand."

"Then again, I seem to believe that most of the men in this ton are of the same branch..." you sighed, palm squishing under your cheek. "How utterly boring."

His brow flicked. "I do not think so."

"You do not?"

"There are a handful of honourable men."

"Honourable men..." The words flow off your tongue. "Yes, there are honourable men."

Men like Lord Sendou, Marquess Yukimiya, and even Lord Karasu. Yet...

"There is something odd about honourable men."

He quirked a brow. "Do tell."

"They become rather... flushed when the topic of children rouses."

Sae's hand pressed to cover the lower half of his eyes, crinkling under the moonlight's embrace. "...I see."

"What is so nerve-wracking about children for men? Is it childbirth? Though I imagine it is far more nerve-wracking for women..."

He coughed into his fist. "Why are you so curious?"

"Because it is an important milestone in marriage," you huffed. "And whenever I ask my family, they dodge every question I throw!"

"I assure you, there is a reason for that," he chuckled.

"What reason, then?"

"It is not my place to tell you."

"You are a man who clearly knows something I do not," you leaned in. "Plus, this whole thing is fake, anyway. You do not have to worry about ruining me."

Sae's cerulean eyes sparked with something like amusement, a dangerous one indeed, before blinking it away. "I have always prided myself on being a gentleman, and I would like to keep it that way."

"Oh, come on," you whined, nudging his foot. "One little explanation will not ruin me."

His foot nudged you back—a gentle kick to your flats. Meeting your eyes once, he sighed.

"Do you remember when I called ballroom dances a mating ritual?"

You paused. "Yes."

"Mating is the proper word for... the act of having children."

Your eyes widened a fraction. "And what is the act of having children?"

"I will not say the word, but I suppose I can describe it." He paused. "It is pleasurous, which is why so many men are drawn to it."

You leaned in close, your lips parting in anticipation. "And?"

"It is a culmination of intimate touches, and..." He leaned in closer—a secret only you could hear. "Love, if that is what your marriage is founded on."

Love.

"But if not founded on love, then the desire to bear children. And the desire to bear children is founded on..."

His gloved fingers snaked around your wrist, gently leading your hand down.

Down.

Down to your crotch, sectioned between the warmth between your legs. One that grew more and more aching with each second. Your breath hitched, though your fingers only touched your dress. Only touched the silk—

"The need for pleasure. Right here."

You met a drowning pool of cerulean that gazed at you, rivulets of lightning charging the air.

"So... what exactly happens here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"Your husband would touch you—I mean, you could also touch yourself, but..." He flushed ever so slightly. "Marriage is a union between two people, yes?"

You nodded.

"You unite their lives, hearts, and money, and in this case..."

Sae leaned in, breath brushing your ear. You could not see him. You could not feel him despite the hand wrapped around your wrist. You could not touch him.

So why?

Why did his words ignite into your skin?

"You unite your bodies," he whispered, pulling away a fraction. "Does that make sense?"

Sae let go of your wrist, eyes locked onto yours, waiting for an answer.

You only had more questions.

"So..." you murmured, fingers snaking towards him. "If my pleasure is founded here, and you have to unite bodies, is your pleasure..."

Your fingers grazed his breeches, palm pressing into the spot between his legs. It felt much different than what you had—twitchy, quite squishy, and...

Hard?

"Is your pleasure founded here?"

His breath hitched, gloved fingers closing over yours. "Fuck."

Sae's words and actions were so utterly obscene, and the heat on your palm grew by the second, stiffening in your hold. You had never seen anything so nasty and raw. Not his flushed, brow-scrunched face or the tremble of his lips. Not the warmth between his legs—and certainly not the warmth between yours. Yet—

The carriage came to a quick stop, jolting you onto him. "Your Royal Highness, we have arrived!"

He panted, removing your hand. "Go. Make haste before anyone sees you."

You pulled away, vision hazy and breath rampant. Your heart thudded in your chest, like it could jump out at any given second. The prince was right—any passerby could see you and ruin you.

And it would not be unjust.

You fumbled for the carriage door, fingers trembling as you gave Sae one final look.

"Goodnight, Sae."

His fingers were pressed to his temple, his eyes shut and his breath hitching.

"...Go."

The words rang in your head.

Go.

And so, you threw the door open and scrambled out.

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.

This is truly not the kind of night Sae expected to spend on a Saturday.

The next day would fall on Sunday—a day of rest from his paperwork, the land he oversaw, and rebuilding his body to endure any hardship thrown his way. On a regular Saturday night, he would enjoy drinking with Lord Aiku, begrudgingly Lord Sendou, and even his faithful knight, Ryusei, however...

You beamed next to him, arm slung around his, promenading in the dark field of the royal palace.

This was not quite the place Sae would have expected, yet he did not mind as much as he should have.

"Why is the ton out so late?" He scowled. "This celebration cannot be that important."

"Sae," you turned to him, brows furrowing. "This is the celebration of your brother debuting as an official royal knight!"

He huffed. "He is a prince. Not a knight."

"You are the heir to the throne, anyway. Becoming a knight shall not hurt anyone."

"—Besides himself."

It was true. All young knights start off ambitious to protect their nation. It is only reasonable—expected, even. There was a dark truth about knighthood that little Rin just did not seem to understand: the battlefield reeked of death, and every cry, every torturous scream, will haunt you.

Yet another memory, far less harrowing and violating than the war, refused to leave him.

Your palm pressed against him.

He did not want to speak about the matter; in fact, a flush began to creep up his neck at the mere thought. You were...

Curious, too much so for your own good. And if any other man was in his place, you would have been ruined.

He sighed. What a fool he had agreed to court. Fake court.

You turned to him, bottom lip jutting out a fraction. "Be happy for him. Some brother you are..."

His gaze raked over your figure, pampered in the fanciest of silks and jewels as always. You were beginning to grow on him—his most bejewelled parasite. After all, you two had quite the symbiotic relationship.

"Don't tell me how to handle my brother. You have clearly never seen the situations of death he put me through as boys."

You pressed your fist to your lips, laughing softly. "That must have been demanding for you!"

"You have no idea."

He turned to the sky—a dark shade of midnight as the stars faintly twinkled under the moonlight. The air was warm, yet it wasn't so bothersome.

Tonight.

It was a sight to behold.

You gasped excitedly. "Did you know the Queen is holding a surprise for the new knight?"

"Oh? And she did not tell me..." he squinted. "But of course, the rest of the ton already know."

Sae paused, turning to you, who was too fixated on the glimmering stars to respond. Or even listen, he assumed.

He squinted again. "What is the surprise?"

You did not turn to him—did not even spare him a glance. "Fireworks."

Fireworks?

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

This was troublesome.

"What?" His brows pinched together as he leaned close. "Since when?"

"Since yesterday. It is not my first time seeing fireworks, but I am still quite excited."

His breath began to hitch, his heart thudding against his chest. "When are they coming?"

You clicked your tongue against your cheek, the back of your hand swatting his chest. He pulled back, coughing into his fist.

He had been far too close to you.

"It should be very soon. What? There are no fireworks in Spain?"

Spain had plenty. He could practically feel the heat shattering against his skin—the explosions booming against his eardrums.

The whistle. The cries.

Their cries.

"I... should excuse myself," he panted, head frantically turning in every direction.

"But they're just about to start—"

A loud, booming voice declared.

"To the celebration of our new royal knight, Itoshi Rin!"

The crowd cheered vehemently, their hands raising towards the sky. A chant of celebration, pride, and happiness. Happiness to Rin. His family. His name. The new, royal knight—

The new royal knight. Rin could not possibly be a new royal knight. He was going to die—

An earsplitting boom exploded into the air, following the shatter of a bright orange explosion.

He was going to die. The screams were going to erupt. Their hearts would collapse. The air would turn an unbreathable mess of dirt and grime. Death. It was approaching.

Not again. Not again.

"It is truly beautiful— Sae?"

You turned to him, leaning close. "Sae? Are you alright?"

His throat burnt, chest heaving against the clothes that were suddenly too hot—too itchy for him. He did not answer. He could not answer. "W-Wait—"

Your fingers softly pressed against his trembling shoulder, causing him to you—eyes wide and fixed on him.

This time, you asked softer. "Sae?"

An orange light was cast upon your skin, gleaming softly. Your jewellery glimmered under that light—that forsaken light.

It would overtake you.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his eyes darting to your skin, your eyes, your lips, the stones adorning your—

"Stay still," he panted. "Do not move. It'll be alright, I promise."

Sae's breath could not catch up with his words, shaking fingers reaching out to you. "I will protect you."

Your brows furrowed. "Protect me? I am alright—"

He leaned closer, a trembling hand shielding your face from the sight. From the explosion. From death. "Are you certain?"

You paused, fingers stilling against his suit.

"Are you certain?" Sae pressed forth, heaving against you. "Are you certain? You're certain?..."

Your fingers reached out to his, gently leading his palm to cover a spot on your chest, where—

Your heart. It was beating against him. It was wild, yet you stood.

You were alive.

"I am alright," you whispered. "I am breathing."

He paused, swallowing thickly, processing his words and his thoughts. You were alive. You were safe.

Your brows furrowed, squeezing tighter. "I am safe."

The noises began to simmer—melting into the sea of people cheering and celebrating with their families. They were loud; they boomed and shattered against his ears. Yet, death—

Was it approaching? Would it dare?

His gaze raked over you: your unblinking eyes, your heaving chest, your trembling fingers.

You were alive.

Sae expelled a breath he didn't realise he was holding, leaning so close—impossibly close—that his nose brushed against yours and the heat of your skin melded into his.

"Stay still," he whispered. "Right here."

You blinked, lashes fluttering against his own. The noises would be drowned out if you stayed close. You would be safe if he willed it. The heat of you encompassed him, and his heart began to slow down. It still beat wildly, but not dangerously.

It was a different kind of danger.

His stomach fluttered, gaze meeting yours.

You knew that too, didn't you?

Sae's palm immediately retracted, stepping away from you in frantic steps. "You—"

You stepped away, lashes batting against your cheeks. Your fingers were trembling at your sides, reaching to press against your chest—the spot he just palmed.

"That was—"

He caught your gaze, eyes wild and utterly bewildered as you both turned away, cheeks flushed.

He wanted to retort, to defend himself, his hand clutching his chest. This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. You were utterly insane for making him touch you like that!

Sae's heart had already steadied. He had been sure of it.

So why?

Why did it pound against his chest like that?

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.

"I want to cancel this arrangement."

The words echoed in the chill in the Royal Palace's garden. Sae stood across from you, his head tilted to the floor. Stoic, as always, yet he seemed like he was hiding something.

He was, wasn't he?

"Why?"

Your fingers flexed at your sides, not daring to tear away from his cerulean gaze. Even if it was distant. Even if his actions did not match his words. Sae must have had his reasons. He would've had to.

His hands clenched into fists. "I have neglected my commitments in Spain, so I am heading back next week."

His words cut through the misty air.

You had many questions—one of confusion, anger, understanding, and... hurt.

Why did this hurt?

Why was he leaving? Why couldn't he stay? What commitment or business or contract could possibly be so important to leave? He had just come back.

"But..." Your throat burnt. "Why?"

He scoffed, turning his head to the side.

"I am a knight. Not a knight accompanying the palace, but this country. I have duties."

"The war is over."

"You cannot be certain."

Your gaze met his, and for once, for the first time, the prince looked cold-hearted. His icy, pale skin along with the pink tips of his hair. And his frigid gaze, shifting away from yours.

He was cold.

Something bitter twisted in your stomach. It pulled at you, grated at you, and warned you. You did not want an answer—not even the truth, just one, sweet lie.

"...You want to leave?"

He paused.

"Yes."

A long silence stretched between the two of you, accompanied by the soft mist coiling in the air and the winds softly blowing the flowers in the garden. This palace was Sae's; it was not your own, and it was beautiful, but—

When your eyes settled on his, it had seemed the flowers had lost their sparkle. And suddenly, your stomach twisted into knots, an unfamiliar burning sensation tugging at your heart.

It ached.

The thought of Sae leaving to Spain bothered you. Matter of fact, it distressed you.

"But I..." you said, beginning to frantically pace across the grass. "But I do not want you to!"

Sae clicked his tongue against his inner cheek. "It is not a matter of what you want!"

His eyes were wide and his chest heaved, his voice straining against his throat to lower. "It is what I want."

Sae could not possibly wish to leave, for he had just arrived here in the ton—his home—and it was ever so lovely. Why could he not see that it was lovely here? Why could he not see that being with him was lovely?

Why did he have to ruin this?

You paused, turning to him.

"Is that truly what you want?"

His brow quirked, taking a step back. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you may be right, Sae." You take a step closer, cornering him. "About your thesis. Your theory."

Your heart ached as your eyes met his. "I do not want you to leave. It is a selfish reason, but I want you to stay. Right here."

A flush crept up your neck. "Is that love I'm feeling?"

His gloved fingers pressed to his temple, a scoff escaping his throat.

"What are you talking about?"

What were you talking about? Your mouth seemed to move before your brain could think, and perhaps your words did not come from your brain at all. It came deep down to the beating of your heart.

It thudded.

"...The lightning that strikes me when we touch."

Your fingers twitched, wondering what it would be like to interlace yours with his. You cannot help but zero in at his quivering digits, pressed to his temple.

You cannot help but wonder if he was thinking the same thing.

"...Or the fluttering in my stomach when you come close."

You take a bold step closer, lips twitching as he does not move back.

"Is that merely a physical feeling?" You tilted your chin up, facing him. "Or is it something more? Something overwrought?"

The tips of Sae's ears flushed pink, his bottom lip trembling. "You're— You're doing it again."

"Really?" You leaned close, brows pinched in determination. "Is that what this is?"

"This was merely an arrangement," he punctuated, his head turning. "An act to make your swain envious. He is clearly attracted to you, for he cannot take his eyes off you."

Sae paused, swallowing thickly. "So it is done. We are done with this arrangement. This fake relationship—"

"—How could you call this fake?!"

You paused, your throat burning. "Besides the balls and the dancing and the promenading. How is any of this fake?"

Your chest strained against your dress, vision beginning to blur—an endeavour you wished would never happen. Not like this. Not in front of him.

Sae panted, his hand gesturing to the side. "It is fake! The..."

A dreadful silence encompassed the air.

His hand fell limp to his side, his chin tilting to the grass once more.

"...I must go."

He began to trudge forth, his shoulder brushing yours. And unexpectedly, you followed.

"Curse me for a century or damn me to hell. Call me hysterical for saying what we had was real. You do not have to accept it; you do not even have to think about it or take responsibility. You just have to know it."

You panted, slamming your palm to your chest—as if something feral were going to burst out.

"That I've never felt this way about anyone else. Not Bunny or any other suitor. Only you."

Sae pressed his fingers to his temple, heaving as each word tumbled from your lips. "Please, I cannot—"

"Tell me it was fake. Tell me it was nothing more than an arrangement. Tell me."

Silence pierced the garden as Sae's arms fell from his temples, dead weight at his sides.

He turned, looking so utterly broken—any sparkle or emotion was completely void from his eyes.

Yet in that void, there was a hint of pain.

"...It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Leaving home. Leaving my baby brother, my family, my country—"

A hiccup echoed in the cold air of the garden, followed by the glassy tears pricking Sae's eyes. It was the first time you had seen him so hurt. So pained. So fragile.

"The men I called friends. The dawning weight that I was going to lose."

He bit his bottom lip, tears slipping down the ivory slopes of his cheeks.

"That I was going to die."

Your head shook. "Sae—"

"I had been living like a dead man almost a decade ago. When I came back alive, it felt like a victory as much as it felt like being stabbed in the gut," he said, lip trembling. "And I swore I had died years ago. That I was a shell of a man—a void of a heart."

"So why?" Sae's palm pressed against his wet eyes. "Why do I feel this way with you?"

Your eyes softened at his desperate words, hands falling to your sides.

"When fireworks shoot into the sky, I am pulled out of damnation into this nightmare of a life," he continued. "They explode and shatter—the noise is all too consuming, all too much."

Sae pressed his palm to his heart, fingers scrunching into the fabric. "But when you consoled me, I swore I had met salvation."

He trembled, yet continued.

"At first I figured you must be some kind of angel, but I was wrong. You... You ask too many questions. You laugh in places that are inappropriate to. You cry at my foolish words." He panted, expelling a harsh breath that coiled into the misty air. "You feel so real, so kind, that I'm afraid I might taint you."

Sae's fingers—cold and smooth—reached for yours, cupping your skin like you were glass. "So please, marry Bunny. He is wealthy, stable, and will give you a secure life. One filled with children and happiness."

He squeezed.

"Can you do that for me? Can you choose yourself?"

You sniffled, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I am choosing myself. I am choosing you."

He shook his head.

"No. No, you're not."

Marriage was supposed to be merely an arrangement. A contract of safety and security. It was not loving, not the burning kind of ache for one another. It was supposed to be stagnant.

Marry Bunny. Marry Sae.

Two completely different sentences, each foreign to the other.

One made perfect sense.

The other made your heart burn.

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Dearest gentle reader,

It is often said that best wishes are given to those who have earned it. This author questions that statement, but make no mistake, for it is my pleasure to announce the official betrothal of the Duke of Iglesias and his soon-to-be lady!

Some may have questions, but this author never doubts. If there is a suitor that has been so reckless to have let an emerald slip through his fingers, then he should throw on his boots and make haste. Yet, something tells this author that the ton’s favourite bachelor is not a man who loses fights.

The fight is still on, my dear readers, with the question of true love or scandal.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown.

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Sae doesn't know why he ran.

Yet he only clutched the paper tighter in his grasp, boots colliding onto the expanse of the soil beneath his soles.

And he ran, and he will run again if it means reaching you.

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The golden double doors of your estate burst open.

"I apologise."

Your head spun, eyes wide and fixed on the figure in front of you. Sae's hands had been perched on your doorframe, chin tilted to the marble flooring. An utterly dishevelled mess of magenta locks, hooded cerulean eyes, and the pompous chaos of his silken suit.

A striking colour of raven that strained at his chest with each heavy breath, contrasting the ivory column of his neck—

"Y-Your Royal Highness!"

Your head attendant bowed awkwardly, tilting her head to face him. "A-Are you here for?—"

His gaze met yours.

A single shade of teal that set your heart on fire.

"A word," he said, unmoving.

Your attendant's eyes darted from his to yours, forcing a laugh. "Then we must set up the common room."

You remained still, lips parting at his disarray. He was a bastard. A fool. A liar and a prick.

Still, your heart thumped against your ribcage.

"No," you tore your gaze away, darting to the floor. "He only needs a word."

"My lady, that is highly inappropriate—"

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "It is alright. It is only a word."

"You mustn't."

Your attendant softly touched your shoulder, eyes drowning in worry. Pity, almost. Like she knew what kind of fiery dispute occurred between a suitor and his muse.

It was fake. It was all fake.

Your attendant could not stop royalty if she wished. Not even if it was against the rules for an ill-mannered debutante. Yet Sae bit his tongue, stilled at the door.

And she was giving you a choice. It weighed on you. Desire or discipline.

Your fingers slid into his, tugging softly before turning to her. "A word, Madame. Only a word."

You pushed your index to your lips—a vow of silence—and rushed up the stairs.

"Haven't you done enough?" you quipped, fingers tugging on his. "An unprompted entrance to my family's estate. Looking like that!"

Your cheeks burnt a faint shade of pink, hiding away as you led him up the stairs.

"I— I haven't been honest with myself."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Everyone can see but you."

Your fingers twitched against his gloved ones, a thought lingering in your head—one of sweetness, guiding Sae through a lush garden and interlacing hands with his.

You let go, halting at your bedchamber's hallway. "It does not matter, anyway. Speak."

"I..." Sae paused. "Would you look at me?"

"How can I?" you bit your inner cheek, your hands curling into fists.

His fingers reached for yours, his voice softening a fraction. "Just one look."

Within unhurried seconds, you turned to him, hand flinching.

Sae looked utterly uneased. It almost made you laugh.

"Do not marry him."

"What?"

"Do not marry him."

"You were the one begging me to marry the Duke."

"That is because I thought—" He paused, swallowing thickly. "I thought he was better for you."

"I do not belong to you. You cannot auction me off to the nearest man when you deem me inconvenient. And you cannot just demand me back—"

"I do not wish to own you," he cut through. "I do not own you. This is simply the consequence of my own foolish actions."

"I have mistaken my desire for you. I thought desire was just desire. That it could go away once..." Sae paused, a gloved hand running through his light hair. "You find someone that will make you happy."

You ground your teeth against each other slowly.

How audacious.

"And you believe you can make me happy?"

"I want to."

"You do not know anything. You did not even ask me. Because I am getting what I wanted from the beginning. I am going to be a duchess!"

You stomped, huffing as you turned away.

"...Is that truly what you want?"

Your head pounded in your chest as Sae whispered the words. The same words you had whispered to him when he turned away from you. It was hypocritical. It was ever so daring!

But it was raw. It was ever so raw coming from him.

"What do you think it is that I want, Sae? Is it status? An easy, loveless marriage? To raise a family that I do not know?"

You stepped closer, heaving as your breath mingled with his. "What do you think I want?"

"I know you want..." He leaned closer, swallowing thickly. "Intelligence. A man with his own two feet. And..."

"Do you think I want you?"

He paused as you repeated. "Do you think I want you, Sae?"

You were provoking him. Testing his limits with the spar of your voice. It was maddening to see him in such a state, hidden away from the rest of the ton, only for your eyes. Only for your touch.

It was only a matter of time before he yelled.

A searing fire within your heart wished to see him in such a state.

"You are a liar and a fraud of a man," you said. "And I do not want to hear such foolishness in my estate—"

Sae dropped to his knees, chin tilted to the floor.

"Forgive me."

His fingers trembled at your feet. "I do not know where to begin... yet I hope you find it in your gentle heart to forgive me."

"Sae, you must get up." A flush crept up your neck as your fingers hovered near his head. "You're embarrassing yourself—"

His hand caught yours, pressing his cool lips to the warmth of your palm. "Forgive me. Forgive me, for I am at your mercy... And I will do whatever it takes to win you back."

His lips continued tracing a fiery path in your palm, twisting your stomach into knots.

"Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me..." he whispered, the hushed words melting into your skin.

God, what was he doing?

No one had ever begged for you before, let alone a prince. It was frightening—maddening, almost. And remnants of mercy fluttered into your chest.

What was it? Pity?

"Please..." His eyelids fluttered shut, his cheek nuzzling into the warmth of your palm.

"What has gotten into you?" You stammered, head spinning. "Give me— Give me some time—"

"Do you know how I realised what it is I feel for you?"

You paused, swallowing thickly. "N-No."

"My heart, it... it wants to jump out of my chest when I am near you. It aches and burns—and I feel how hard I'm breathing and I realise—"

He panted softly, breath fanning your skin. "I am alive. I am alive and I love you."

You paused, almost winced at the words.

Love? Love was what he was admitting right now?

Love did not scare you. It did not even do so much as evoke a laugh. But the words seeped deep into your skin, right into your blood and pumped into the veins leading to your heart.

Your heart, yes, it could jump out at any moment.

Did you love Sae?

"I love you so much that I cannot breathe when I am near you, but when we are apart, I find it far worse. So do not marry Bunny. His heart does not ache like mine does. His breath does not hitch at your presence. And—"

He hid his face in your palm. "You did not save him like you saved me."

Your heart clenched.

"Sae," your thumb rubbed slow circles on his cheek. "I do not..."

His lips continued their path along your palm, trembling against your skin. "You have already saved me once, so please save me once more."

"My saviour."

His wet lashes fluttered against your skin.

"My hero."

He squeezed tighter.

"My love."

He pressed a final kiss to your palm.

Silence echoed in the hallway of your estate. Sae leaned on you gently, like you were fragile. It was almost humorous, really, because he was.

Your breath hitched, fingers shakily reaching to cup his damp cheeks. "Sae, do not cry."

Your lips trembled, thumbs stroking his tears away.

"I love you too."

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You barely make it to your bedchamber with Sae pressed against you.

Whatever magical feeling the romance novels claimed kissing to be—they had been right—it was a burning sensation that curled down your spine and between your legs.

Sae licked a soft stripe up the seam of your lips, lashes batting against your own. "You're doing good… just part your lips f'me, hm?"

You whined softly as Sae's tongue swiped across yours, thumbs stroking your jaw—brushing across your pulse.

Your head hit the wall as you leaned back, pressing into your bedchamber's wall.

"You sure know how to kiss, hm? Where'd you learn that? Did Bunny teach you?" His voice shook slightly, hands squeezing you a fraction tighter.

You mewled, your fingers wrapped around his wrists. "No, why would he—"

"Fuck." He leaned close, lips searing over yours. "You're right, why would he? C'mere. Don't let go."

His hands slid from your jaw to the underside of your thighs, pressing you against the wall. Your eyes squeezed shut as he carried you with no strain, arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders.

His lips traced down the column of your neck. "Aren't you perfect?"

He pressed a wet kiss on the juncture of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the spot.

"Oh my god, Sae— That feels—"

"Good?"

His eyes were hooded as he sucked your skin into his mouth, bruising it. "Mm..."

A tingle rushed down your chest as his teeth grazed your neck—slow enough to keep you guessing, yet deep enough to keep you squirming.

Your head gently hit the wall, throwing back in the weird, shivery feeling.

“Keep going,” you panted. “Oh. Sae…”

His tongue licked a stripe down your collarbone, gloved fingers fumbling with your chest piece. Hands cupping over your breast, he let out a low whine into your chest as he squeezed tenderly—almost reverently.

“Can I—” he huffed, hooded eyes gleaming under the glow of the lamp. “Can I take this off?”

Your thumb traced the line of his jaw, your lips pressing a messy kiss to his cheek. “Undress me, Sae.”

Your lips trailed down his jaw down to the column of his neck, teeth sinking into the supple skin as his shaky hands tugged the fabric of your dress down. “Wanna feel you everywhere.”

He pulled away, lips twitching as his cerulean eyes raked over your exposed chest.

“Everywhere, hm?” Sae whispered, his teeth pinching the tip of his glove off. “All mine?”

The words melted into your brain—too hazy to think properly. Act properly.

“All yours.”

You whined as he buried his face in your chest, his cheek nuzzling the soft fat. “Mine.”

His lips latched onto your sensitive skin, his tongue and teeth tracing a pattern along your breasts.

You were on fire. You were on fire, and it seared the ache between your legs.

Sae let out a low gasp, mouth sealing a kiss around a tightened nipple. “All mine.”

His tongue licked up the bud before swirling his tongue around, groaning softly into your chest, which you could only describe as a chant so bewildering and wanton.

“Mine. Mine. Mine.”

It was truly obsessive. So obsessive that you could melt right here.

You arched into him, your eyes squeezing shut. “S-Sae!”

"Sh—shh," he hummed, tongue flattening over the tender bud. “Tell me if s’too much.

His cheeks hollowed as he sucked fervently, a jolt of lightning rushing into your bones. Too much was a request. Too much was an understatement.

“T-Too much s’not enough!”

You craned your head back as he flicked his tongue over the bud again and again, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

“Wanna bite you,” he whispered, his hand squeezing your untouched breast. “Wanna kiss you.”

His fingers brushed over your untouched nipple as he murmured the words, thumb and forefinger pinching the stiffened bud, the pressure increasing with each blissful second.

You panted, your chest huffing up and down.

“Do you want to—  Do you want to do that thing people do when they love each other?”

Your gaze fleeted to Sae’s, unhurried and panting, your words hanging thick in the air.

“I—”

He paused, his ears reddening.

“Are you certain?”

Your cheeks flushed, your lips pursing into a frown. You were not just certain; you were almost begging. 

You could beg. You could, yet— 

Sae dropped to his knees, his hand cupping your own. “I won’t disappoint you, princess.”

His lips pressed to the warmth of your palm—slow and chaste—like when he formerly pleaded for your affection. Only this time, his low-lidded gaze was locked onto yours, and the heat of his tongue seared your skin, licking a stripe up your palm.

“Wanna taste you,” he whispered, fingers wrapping yours as he pressed his lips to your tips. “Wanna feel you shake against me.”

His other hand traced up your bare calf, his fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “May I, Your Highness?”

Sae’s head tilted, his eyes gleaming in a quiet mischief. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your trembling fingers etched into the frills of your dress as you hiked it up. “You… You may.”

His fingers wrapped around your ankle, delicately raising your calf to his lips as he pressed wet, messy kisses up your skin.

“Mm…” His tongue licked a stripe up your calf, his lashes batting against your skin. 

“J-Just—” You paused, your cheeks flushing. “Is it unrefined if I ask a question?”

“Are you my prisoner?” He quirked a brow, cheek nuzzling your thigh as he hiked your leg over his shoulder. “No. Go on.”

A flush crept up your neck, your fingers pressed over his shoulders. “W-Why are you down there? On your knees.”

He paused, his eyes darting to your covered mound. “I said I wanted to taste you.”

“That’s what you meant by tasting?!” 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t desire,” he whispered, his hand smoothing over your outer thigh. “But from what m’seeing, you’re soaked.”

Suddenly, your brain only registered that Sae was inches away from your bare mound under your chemise.

“That is—” You gasped as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

“So pretty, right?” His lips traced a path along the sensitive skin. “Could just eat you up.”

The back of your hand pressed to your lips as his head dipped between your thighs, disappearing under the weight of your dress.

He was everywhere. Everywhere yet nowhere to be found as he licked a stripe up your cunt.

“S-Sae!” You mewled, your hand steadying at his covered head.

“Fuuuck,” he drawled, his tongue stroking a particularly sensitive spot that twitched and poked out.

You were too sensitive. Too twitchy to even think straight.

“S-Sae, oh my—” You tried to squeeze your thighs shut, moaning when he pressed them apart. “Too much!”

“Too much?” He panted against your wet heat, his lips pressing to your inner thigh. “Thought you said s’not enough.”

Not enough. Not enough, but he was too close, breath mingling with your cunt. You huffed, biting back another moan as he buried his face between your thighs—mouth hovering over your sticky mound.

“Go slow,” you squirmed. “S’a lot.”

His lips curved into a smile over your mound, his tongue running a slow, agonising stripe from your hole to the twitchy spot.

“Slow and gentle are two different things,” he huffed, his tongue swirling around the aching bud. “Fuck.”

You gasped, your hips squirming from his face as his lips wrapped around the spot. “S-Sae! What is that?”

“Your clit,” he murmured into your heat, the vibrations sending tremors into a building fire in your lower stomach. “It’s poking out.”

Your head threw back, the heel of your foot digging into his back as he slurped your clit into his mouth, tongue lashing up and down the sensitive bud. You were so sensitive that you could die pressed up against this wall. So sensitive that you could not stand— 

“You’re shaking,” Sae heaved, pressing a wet kiss to your aching clit. “C’mere.”

His other arm hooked under the leg you were standing on, hiking it over his shoulder so you were completely and utterly pressed against the wall to his mercy—to his face buried between your thighs.

“Sae!” You moaned as his tongue began to lap at your folds, running along your labia before diving for your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud to suck fervently.

Your fingers dug into your dress as he sucked, obscene wet noises filling your bedchamber. You could not close your legs if you willed, and the pressure building had been so intense that you could burn right here, but your hips bucked into his face, chasing his wet kisses.

“M’gonna die!” You mewled as he slurped your clit into his mouth so hard his cheeks hollowed out.

“You’re not gonna die,” he whispered, sloppily kissing your cunt into his mouth, slurping your juices. “You’re gonna cum. And that’s normal, hm?”

You whined as he seared his mouth over your cunt, his tongue lashing out at your poor, soaked folds.

“Mm,” the vibrations pressed to your clit sent tremours to the ache in your stomach as he patted your outer thigh. “M’talking to you, hm?”

“C-Cum?” You murmured, your head dizzying. “M’gonna cum.”

“Not yet,” he groaned into your cunt, his chin dipping to lick at your twitchy hole. “Not done with you yet.”

His tongue stabbed into your hole, angling so that it lashed at a certain sensitive spot—sending tremors up your spine. It was rather intrusive, yet so divine at the same time. “Oh, Sae!”

Sae doubled down, burying his face so deep between your thighs like he wished to die in your cunt. Your head only continued to spin, your thighs trembling as he never relented, only licking up at the sweet spot. “I-I…” You gasped, an airy whine tearing from your throat. “I can’t!”

“Shh,” he huffed into your cunt, pressing his face impossibly deeper. “Fuuuck.”

Sae’s tongue pressed as deep as it could into your cunt—well, as deep as he could continue breathing with your thighs clamped onto his head. “M’gonna cum!” His jaw slacked, his tongue snaking out of your hole to slowly lick up your folds. “Gonna cum? Just from this?”

“Mhm! M’gonna… Ah…”

His tongue swirled all the way back to your clit, lashing up and down and planting sloppy kisses on the bud; his fingers meshed so deep in the flesh of your thighs. “Haah, aren’t you dirty?”

Your head lolled to the side, your breath catching just in time to answer. “W-What?”

Sae slurped your clit into his mouth momentarily, just to feel you thrash before sputtering against your folds. “I-I always thought you were the slutty kind, but I didn’t think you were this bad.”

Your brows furrowed against the sweat beading at your temples. “W-What kind of prince are you—”

He softly nipped at your clit, harshly licking the bud.

“Sae!”

You panted, your thighs quivering as you steadied yourself against the wall. 

“Gonna cum, right?” He gasped, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your clit. “Cum. I’ll be right there with you.”

Your thighs trembled in his holds, his hands soothing you with soft squeezes to your ass. The fire burnt too much—too long—and you were going to explode at any second.

His lips wrapped around your bud once last time, fingers snaking to your cunt, where his middle finger inched in.

Your eyes blew open as he inserted a digit into your aching hole, your fingers digging into your dress. It was so deep and reached parts you never knew existed, his finger curling into a sweet, burning spot.

And Sae slurped your clit into his mouth one last time—hard.

“S’good!” You managed to mewl out, your hips bucking into his mouth. “Sae!”

Something euphoric gushed out of you onto Sae’s face, which was soiled from your slick and his spit. Still, he shoved his face deeper into your cunt, his tongue lashing at your folds as your hips continue to buck.

It was so utterly blissful. He was so utterly blissful. 

After your hips bucked into his face, your breathing slowed and his tongue became scorching hot, dragging all over your folds.

Your eyes blew open. “S-Sae, enough.”

He whined into your cunt before pulling away, his damp forehead pressing against your thigh. “Too much?”

You hummed, patting your dress. “Mhm. May I see you?”

Silence cut through the air.

“—You may not,” he said, muffled under your dress.

“Why?” You giggled. “I want to see you.”

You were already rolling the hem of your dress up before he muttered. “I’m a mess.”

Your eyes widened as you lifted your dress, seeing Sae’s face covered in fluids. Covered, as in soiled. “You certainly look like one.”

Your fingers inched towards his ivory skin, gleaming under the candles in your room. “You’re beautiful, Sae.”

You softly cupped his cheek. He leaned into your palm, cheek nuzzling the skin as he remained on his knees. “You think so?”

“You’re beautiful.” Your thumb swiped at the slick under his eye before giggling. “How does such a thing get here?”

“How can you be so relaxed after making a mess in my mouth?”

You snorted. “How can you be so confident after kneeling for a mere lady?”

“You’re no mere lady. You’re going to be a princess.” He leaned into you, shuffling to his feet as he pressed his lips to yours. “Hm?”

“Mhm,” you giggled, your fingers clenching into his dress shirt. “A princess.”

Sae caught your lips again, his soaked tongue flicking over yours before pulling away. “You do not understand the weight of my words, don’t you?”

His eyes glimmered in amusement as you snickered. “No, no, of course I do. I am going to be… a princess.”

The words died on your tongue as he leaned in close, his breath brushing against your cheek. “And what do princesses do, hm?”

He set you on your feet, gripping your hips as he whispered.

“They turn around.”

You were spun to face the wall in a matter of seconds, your hands steadying on the wood. Sae’s hands were clasped over your hips, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.

His breath ghosted the shell of your ear. “Do you remember that night in the carriage?”

You swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. “What about it?”

“Did you listen to me?” His nose brushed your neck, his defined arms wrapping tight around your waist. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Those kinds of desires—” A flush crept up your neck as his lips pressed a wet kiss to your throat. “I did not.”

The thought lingered in your head at night, your hand creeping to your mound. Yet you could not—you would not do something so dirty. At least not without guidance.

His lips curved into a smile against you. “Would you like to?”

“Sae,” you called out as he nipped at your skin. “Are you teasing me? No, I want to do it.”

Your finger softly dug into his cheeks as he continued to mouth at your neck like some kind of dog. “Did you hear me? I want to do it.”

“I heard you." His teeth grazed the tips of your fingers. “Do you think you’re ready for that kind of thing?”

“Yes! I’m aching, Sae," you huffed. “I’m aching, and it’s your fault.”

You weren’t lying, not at all. Even though you had just came, the heat returned between your legs and throbbed incessantly. It was maddening—an ailment only he could cure.

“Oh no,” Sae said, almost mockingly. “What are we going to do about that?”

Your ears reddened as his lashes fluttered against your damp skin. “Do that thing where you— Where you put your—”

His fingers trailed from your waist to your lower stomach, rubbing soft, slow circles on the warmth.

“But you have to learn, princess." His chin hooked over your shoulder, his cerulean eyes glimmering softly under the candlelight. “So you don’t get hurt.”

Your breath hitched—his arm was hooked tight around your waist, his bicep flexing with each breath, and his hand trailing to your cunt. “S-Sae…”

“Lift your dress,” he said lowly.

Your trembling fingers clutched into the hem of the fabric and lifted, the frills snaking up your thighs.

“Good,” he pressed lips to the juncture of your neck. “Keep it lifted.”

Sae’s cold fingers brushed over your mound, the tips of his middle and ring fingers collecting your slick between your folds.

“Mm—” Your head lolled to the side, your temple pressing against his cheek.

“Relax,” he said, angling his middle finger to slowly inch inside of you again. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Your hips bucked into his as he slipped his finger into your heat, your hole clenching around the intrusion. “Sae…”

Your breath was hot against his, your gaze catching his hooded one as his lips seared over yours, his hot tongue slipping into your mouth. His hand around your waist snaked over your breast, giving a soft, reverent squeeze.

You whined into his mouth as his ring finger pressed against your entrance, slowly testing itself to stretch your hole around his digits. “Sae!”

“Does it hurt?” he rasped, his tongue licking the seam of your bottom lip. “Tell me.”

You mewled as he inched in slower, your hole twitching softly. “A-A little.”

“Want me to stop?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Keep going.”

“Want me to slow down?”

You huffed. “No! I-I said keep going—”

A moan escaped your lips as his knuckles hit your folds, his digits inserted so deep that you could feel every single twitch. “Oh, Sae!”

He let you accommodate the stretch as the tips of his fingers curled into your sweet spot, leaving you breathless. “Gotta learn how to touch yourself, princess.”

Sae’s lips sucked onto a spot on your neck, his thumb flicking to rub tight circles over your swollen clit. “For when I’m not around, but I’m sure that won’t happen.”

Your hole clenched tighter as his fingers began to slowly withdraw, pushing inside your tight heat as he thumbed your clit. “Hngh, Sae!”

“Right?” He leaned in close, panting as his lips pressed against your ear. “Gonna be a princess— My princess, right?”

Your head began to spin as he pistoned his fingers in and out, curling into your cunt before his thumb meanly pressed onto your clit. “Are you listening?”

“I’ll be your—” you moaned sweetly, your temple nudging his chin. “I’ll be your princess, Sae. Wanna cum…”

Sae’s digits stilled for a second, his gaze darkening. “You want to cum, hm?”

His index pressed against your entrance, slowly nudging inside. Your eyes flew open at the stretch, thighs clamping down on his hand as he squeezed you tighter.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, the tip of his index stilling at your entrance. “Didn’t mean to.”

“No, no.” Your fingers snaked around his wrist, gripping tight. “I want more.”

He released a shaky huff of air against the shell of your ear, his arm adjusting his hold on you. “You have to hold still… and moooove.”

Sae propped you up so your hands pressed against the wall, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your ear—shooting sensations all the way down to your wet heat.

His index nudged at your entrance again, slowly pushing inside. Your eyes squeezed shut, going limp in his hold, whining at the stretch.

“I’m sorry. Sorry, sweetheart.” He cooed, pressing wet kisses to your cheeks. “Tell me if it hurts. Don’t be afraid.”

His thumb rubbed sticky, soothing circles on your aching clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves, gasping lowly when you twitched and whined.

And soon, you loosened up to clench around three of his digits, your jaw slack and drool pooling at your mouth. “S-Sae, move.”

“Don’t just take it,” he whispered, his fingers curling to meet your sweet spot. “Move your hips too.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your chin tilting to watch his fingers dip between your legs, covered in slick and spit. “Mm…”

Sae’s hand slowly squeezed your breast, thumbing at your tightened nipple from under your dress. “C’mon, don’t be so shy. Use me.”

Slowly, you began to rock your hips against his palm, each movement hitting another ridge inside you. His breath hitched as his thumb continued rubbing sticky figure eights on your clit, his bicep clutching you tighter. It felt so, so good to ride his fingers—to use him for your heart’s desires.

“Sae,” you moaned sweetly, your nose brushing his. “Sae.” Within aching seconds, his lips met yours, tongue flicking to rub the roof of your mouth. Something sticky and hot was building in your lower stomach, the same kind that gushed all over Sae’s face. 

“M’close,” you whispered against his lips, licking the seam of his. “So close.”

“W-Wait,” he breathed out, his trembling fingers withdrawing from your dripping hole. The action left you wet and throbbing for release, your hand squeezing his.

 “What? Why would you—”

His breeches pressed into your ass as something hard and throbbing poked you. Something that made your stomach churn and your chest flutter. Something that made you clench around nothing.

“Can we?” He whispered, his arms hugging you tight.

You slowly rocked your hips against his, trapping yourself between him and the wall. “Mhm.”

Sae reached to fumble with his belt, his hands tugging down his pants to release the ache between his legs.

The twitching ache.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, that’s… Is that going inside of me?”

His head threw back in release—well, the lack thereof; his cock was spasming as fluids perled at the tip. “Yes. I… I promise it doesn’t hurt.”

Your eyes zeroed in on his flushed face, his hairline damp with sweat. “You promise?”

“It may,” he corrected, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. “But I’ll be with you. Please you through it.”

Your breath hitched as his cock nudged your thigh, twitching as it met your soft skin. “...Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Put it in.”

“Mm…”

Sae’s hands found your hips, holding you close against the wall. His body pressed onto yours, his chin hooking over your shoulder. “You trust me?”

“P-Put it in, Sae.”

He whined softly, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hand reached to stroke the base of his cock a few, sticky times, before nudging the tip to your entrance.

It was more than his fingers, but it throbbed so prettily that he had to make haste.

Sae’s fingers dug into your ass cheeks, nails indenting in the plush fat. “I’m putting it in, hm? Tell me— T-Tell me everything you feel.”

The head of his cock slowly nudged your entrance, inching its way inside. Every vein and the stretch of his length sent tremors to your cunt, reeling in both a feeling of pain and ecstasy.

Your cunt grew unbearably hot, your jaw slacking. “Sae!”

“Fuck, fuck.” He gasped, gripping you tighter as he eased into you. “Stop moving.”

Yet your hips stammered on their own, your cunt fluttering around him. “S-Sae!”

“S-Stop,” he grunted, whining as he bit his inner cheek. “M’trying to go slow…”

“S’good!”

“S-So good?”

“Mhm—  Think m’gonna cum?” 

His fingers dug into your ass cheeks harder. “N-No, you’re not.”

Sae’s length bottomed out inside you, panting as his hips pressed flush against yours. His teeth bared slowly, grazing the skin of your shoulder as he groaned. “Fuck…”

Slowly, he pressed his weight further on you, his meaty bicep moving to softly wrap around your neck. Some kind of headlock one would usually only perform on other knights.

You were not a knight, but the squeeze of muscle around you made your cunt flutter around him. “You’re making me lose focus…” he huffed out, moving his other arm to wrap tightly around your waist. 

“Sae,” you mewled, your fingers digging into his forearm. “Harder.”

He whined against your shoulder, hips snapping into yours at a rough, brain-melting pace. The ramming of his hips sent sparks of fire up your spine, his arm clenched around your waist steadying you against him.

His arm squeezed tighter around your neck, his lips brushing your cheek. “Open, princess.”

Your gaze was low-lidded and hazy as you turned to meet his lips, his trembling fingers reaching to cup your jaw towards him.

Spit.

You whined into his mouth, your lips searing over his own as your tongue swept over his.

“Hold it,” he panted against your mouth, his hand around your waist snaking down between your legs, his index and middle rubbing sticky circles over your clit.

You were clenched around him tight, your eyes squeezing shut. You were close—so close, your cunt fluttering around him as a white ring of cum fluttered at the base.

“Gonna cum, Sae,” you mewled against his mouth as he tapped your clit. “Gonna cum.”

“Fuck, haah— Cum, I’m right here.” He heaved, his arms squeezing around you tight, holding you so close you could feel his thudding heart beat against you.

Sae buried his face in your shoulder, his magenta locks damp against your skin. “I love you.”

The words melted into your dizzying head, his words of affection. 

“I love you,” Sae whispered again.

You rocked your hips against the slam of his, heaving. “I love you too.”

His teeth bared to graze the skin of your shoulder before gently biting down, his fingers rubbing fast strokes on your puffy clit as you clenched again.

The fire would not stop. It would burn and burn and take you down. Yet you held him close, his damp hair, his beating heart, and his honeyed words.

And his cock rammed into your sweet spot once more, earnestly enough to bruise the spot, as you squeezed him tight and let go all at once.

Your brain melted as your hips bucked against his, your fingers digging into his forearm as his hips into yours—slower this time—steadier.

Sae pressed wet kisses to your temple, a few to your cheek, and one burning kiss to your lips. He withdrew his aching cock and pumped it a few times with his fist, whining as a warm sensation spilled over your ass cheeks.

You panted against the wall as he released his iron grip on you. Your hair was a mess—so was his, certainly. And your slick and his were everywhere.

A mess it was. It was a mess.

“Did I hurt you?” He stroked your hair, patting the messy locks down. “Still with me?”

“Mhm…” you hummed, your legs a trembling mess.

“C’mere.”

Sae spun you around and hoisted you from the undersides of your thighs, pressing you gently against the wall. “Talk to me. Are you alright?”

His eyes were soft, concerned, and hazy. You giggled softly, your arms slinging around his neck. “I’m quite alright, Sae.”

“Mm…” His lips pressed to your chest, trailing ticklish kisses up to your jaw. “You scared me, princess.”

Your fingers ran up his neck to tangle in his magenta locks, laughing against him. “Let’s do it again, prince.”

He hummed against your neck, his thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your thighs. “Again? Eager after all that?”

“You’re carrying me. It’ll be far easier." You frowned, catching his lips in a chaste kiss.

He nuzzles into your neck. “Anything the princess wishes for, I’ll grant.” 

“Anything?” You asked, your brows perking up.

“Anything.”

“Will you marry me?”

A flush crept up his neck as he stilled against you. “Why are you asking me that? That’s my job.”

“Will you marry me, Sae?” You giggled.

“Shall you ask me in such a compromising situation? Yes, I will marry you.”

“Then can we go again? And again, and again…” You trailed off, your hands cupping his damp cheeks. 

He sighed, a sigh you were ever so familiar with.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

.

.

.

To my dearest nephew,

Do you take me for a fool? Why have you forsaken me after everything I have done for you? You are not a man who covets love, so why must you meddle in the affairs of the marriage mart, especially between a duke and his lady that I have arranged?

I do not like to be wrong. You are to explain yourself at once.

Your vexed Aunt,

Queen Charlotte. 

. 

.

.

Your Majesty,

It is true that I have never been the one for the matters of the heart, yet I find myself humbled in the presence of a bride. I offer my sincerest apologies to the Duke, for it has never been in my nature to falter nor to lack haste when it comes to desire. Yet she is not only a desire; she is a medium of life that I breathe. Over and over until all the air has escaped my lungs and I am rendered a brainless, hopeless fool, a man undone by his own devotion.

I have never quite enjoyed conversation, yet I find myself speaking and speaking to hear her laughter and the remarks she may bring forth. 

Your Majesty is never wrong, and I have forsaken you, and I yield. Sire, I yield. Yet I implore you to understand: if an angel held your heart at her mercy, with her choice to restore or ruin you, you too would allow her to govern. I am not within my proper senses, and I do not wish to be.

Nonetheless, I remain.

I remain.

I remain.

I remain in her presence for life, and though my senses have failed me, I shall also remain your most obedient servant.

Your lovesick nephew, 

Sae.

˚˖ִ໋ A/N: Dearest gentle reader, I am so unbelievably fucked after writing this. It feels like my brain and soul were sucked through a vacuum into a grandma's asshole. I hope you guys enjoyed this! Thank you sososososososo much @illuminha for beta reading and making the art for this fic. I LOVE YOU WE ALL LOVE YOU GO SUPPORT HER SHES AN AMAZING ARTIST AND WRITER. Also, I had to condense some of the paragraphs for the block limit's sake. If you want to read the original context, my Ao3 is always up! Anyways... goodbye my lovelies!

He tried to not let your actions get to him at first, he really did, but as the day progressed, your behaviour also got progressively worse. It went from not talking to him for a few hours because you were still upset to leaving your boyfriend to eat the lunch he had made for you as an apology all by himself. Although Julien was slightly hurt by your actions, he (barely) made it through. 

Now… you constantly making snide comments under your breath? including one about how even the mere sound of his breathing was “pissing you off”, was a completely different story.

You talking shit about him to your best friend over the phone right where he could hear you was such a low blow. But either way, he didn’t let it be seen that you were slowly getting to his nerves.

And perhaps that’s where you started to get irritated by his indifference — which he found extremely hypocritical, because you were the one who escalated things to this point, not him — and why he’s standing outside your bedroom hearing the familiar buzzing of a vibrator and the sound of your mewls coming from the other side of the door.

He is very aware this is yet another one of your cheap tactics. One he was planning to ignore because he wasn’t about to give you what you wanted so easily…but then something that sounded oddly similar to “Julien!” left your lips and suddenly all his resolve was out the window.

Soon as another desperate call of his name reached his ears, his knuckles knocked on the bedroom door thrice,  “[Name]? What are you doing in there?”

He didn’t get a response.

At least not a verbal one that is. 

Because as soon as he said that, the buzzing coming from inside the room got louder. You increased the toy’s intensity instead of giving him an actual answer. But actions speak louder than words, so he knows exactly where you’re going with this. Since you want to be difficult and not answer me, I’ll just come inside.”

Julien reaches for the doorknob, twists it, but the door doesn’t budge one bit.

“What…?” He tries again, but the door remains closed. “[Name], did you lock the door?”

He fiddles with the doorknob one more time just to be sure. And yeah, you did lock the door. Leaving him to stand on the other side like some sort of fool with his growing boner. All while you called out his name in such a lecherous manner, that it was obvious you were mocking him for not being able to just put you back in your place right now...

Yeah...He’s had it with you for today.

The moment your moans no longer echoed through the corridor, and Loki heard the click! signaling the door being unlocked, he made his way to the bedroom without thinking twice.

Upon entering the room, he was met with a not so pleasant look from your part. He didn’t let that bother him though. He sat next to you on the bed, noting the sheets on the mattress were different from the ones he put the night before. It has him wondering for a split second what sort of mess you had to leave on the previous set that required you to change the entire bed…

Your eyes went back to your phone after looking at him from head to toe with disdain, which gave him no other choice but to go straight to the point, since you’re clearly not in the mood for idle chatter right now. “Toujours en colère contre moi, ma chérie ??”

“Tsk, what do you think, Julien?” He’ll take that as a yes. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.”

“No need to be so rude, my love. I’m only here because I want to reconcile.” He’s getting in your personal space— tentatively so, and carefully testing the waters. “You know how much I hate it when you’re angry at me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick earlier, I wouldn’t be so mad at you right now.” He hummed, urging you to keep talking. “You really pissed me off today.”

“I know, my love. I’m so sorry,” That condescending tone in his voice should’ve aroused your anger even more, but then he pulled your legs onto his lap, his fingers began to rub soothing circles on your thighs…and you felt arousal in a different way. “But you owe me an apology too, no?”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Yes, you do. You haven’t been perfect either.”

“Hm?”

“If you can ‘hm’ you can hear,” There was a change in his demeanor, a subtle shift that told you he was done being sweet with you. “You spent the whole day provoking me, testing my patience, and now you want to act coy?”

He noted your demeanor has changed too, it was beginning to perish under his gaze and touch, “Tell me, [Name],” and the feeling of his lips on your neck, trailing a path of kisses up to your ear, wasn’t helping you in staying mad at him either. “Were you trying to get on my nerves on purpose?” He finally whispered.

“I haven’t done anything. Don’t know what you’re talking about—” 

“J'ai dit fais pas l'innocent, [Name],” He cuts you off, delivering a harsh slap to your ass right after, and causing you to yelp. “What was that little stunt you pulled earlier?” 

This Julien is so uncharacteristically meaner. He’s never spoken nor acted this way before…but you could grow accustomed to this version of him. “ Are you really still mad at me, [Name]? Or are you so desperate for my attention that you feel the need to do all this? Because if I had to guess, I'd say it’s the latter. Or am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not…” you murmur.

“Speak louder,” He demanded, followed by another slap to your ass. “Je t'ai pas entendu là, ma chérie.”

“Ow—! I said you’re right, Julien!”

“Right about what?”

“...about me wanting your attention,” You felt his lips widen into a smirk against your neck. Hearing the apparent embarrassment in your voice felt like retribution for every single dumb stunt you pulled on him today. But he wasn’t satisfied with getting just that as a form of payback. He needs to make you really pay for all the unnecessary stress you’ve put him through… and what better way to do so than to fuck all his frustrations on you?

Julien is so deep inside you that he’s knocking the breath out of you every time his hips meet with your ass. He has your body pressed against the bed, making you take all of him. His tip grazes against your sweet spot so deliciously it’s maddening —But what’s even more maddening than that, is whenever he senses your upcoming orgasm, he pulls away, leaving you to clench around nothing and cry into the mattress. “Nooo Julien, stop—! Lemme cum please!”

“Nooo, Lemme cum Julien,” he mocked your cries. “Why should I, huh? After all the shit you pulled, you still think you deserve to cum?” 

You know he’s right. You don’t. 

But he’s been edging you for what feels like hours now and the amount of orgasms he has deprived you from tonight was a good enough punishment. You can’t take this torture anymore.

 “Please, I’m sorry,” you sob, desperation dripping from your voice.

“T'as dit quoi, mon amour?” His thumb is sliding in between your folds as he says that. He quickly finds your puffy clit and begins to tease it. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said I’m sorry!” 

“And what are you sorry for, [Name]?”

“For being mean earlier. I won’t do it again, I promise— Please, just let me cum…I can’t hold it anymore!”

Luckily for you, Julien was feeling merciful. Your apology seemed genuine and the sight of you so needy for him was his weakness. Plus, the whole time he’s been edging you, he’s also been edging himself, and he also can’t hold it back anymore. Julien aligned himself with your pussy again, rubbing his tip across your labia before sliding into you again. 

“...Fuck,” Julien groans, right before wrapping his arm around your neck — not to choke you, but so he can hike your face up to make you look him in the eye as he fucks you towards your climax again. This time, with no intentions of taking it away from you. “Is this what you wanted? For me to fuck the brattiness out of you? Is this why you’ve been so difficult today?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The combination of Loki’s tempo with this angle where it almost felt as if he was in your guts was making it so hard to speak…and he wasn’t much appreciative of unresponsiveness. 

“I’m talking to you,” He purred against your ear, although his voice was not stable, his thrusts did not falter once. “Don’t be rude. Answer. me." 

That last part was emphasised by two thrusts somehow rougher than the ones he was already giving to you. “Yes! jus’ wanted you to fuck— me like this! ‘m sorry Ju!”

“It’s okay, just keep on being good for me and I'll keep on giving you what you want. ” Your boyfriend settles for this pace and drops down your upper body back on the mattress like before. He’s soaking in every moan, whine and cry of his name that leaves your lips like it is his god given right. 

His peak is creeping up to him already — Delaying both your orgasms for so long added to his sensitivity— but Loki is not going to cum without you. That’s not the type of man he is and that’s not going to change because he wanted to “teach you a lesson”. 

He reached for the same vibrator used to tease him before all this. A displeased whine left you when he slowed down the movements of his hips. “Lift your ass for me, pretty.” you quickly obeyed. As soon as you lifted your lower body, he turned on the toy on the highest setting and placed it on the bed, exactly where it would touch your clit when you laid back down fully. And when you did, the extra stimulation made you clench around him so hard he almost came right there and then.  “Ah, Putain…ça fait du bien, yeah?”

You nodded, still clenching around his cock desperately in a silent plea for your boyfriend to go back to fucking you. A plea, that although not said with words, was responded to with him giving you what you wanted.

That climax he was holding back was so close and he knew you were there too. He drops more of his weight on your body to whisper a “You close baby?” in your ear. When you nod once more, he talks in your ear a second time, “Then cum for me baby. You’ve been good for me now… you deserve it. ”

His words push you over the edge. Your thighs tremor with the intensity of your climax as Julien follows suit, spilling inside you while biting his bottom lip to prevent a sound a little too grotesque from being heard.

Julien turns off the toy overstimulating your clit and unconsciously drops his whole body over yours as he’s still trying to regain his breath. He has yet to pull out of you too. Not that you mind.

Only after a few minutes have passed does he break the silence between you, “Don’t…pull stuff like that ever again. I don’t like having to be mean to you and you know that.”

“I won’t…I promise. Now kiss me please,” you implored with the little strength you had and he complied. His personality switched to him being your sweet boyfriend again.

A sweet boyfriend who was oblivious to the lie you just told him…Because you were definitely going to again if it means Julien is going to be fucking you like this.

“I'm not gatekeeping the bathroom.”

“You literally are.”

“I'm gatekeeping my apartment.”

“Same thing!”

“Not even remotely the same thing.”

“LOKI—”

Loki pointed at both of them.

“Neither of you are getting in.”

“Wow,” Charles gasped, clutching his chest like he'd just been personally betrayed. “After everything we've been through.”

Loki rolled his eyes with the statement. But that was all it took. The moment his attention slipped for even a second, Charles darted past him.

“THANKS LOVE YOU—” He ducked under Loki's arm and sprinted inside.

“OH YOU LITTLE—!”

“SORRY CAN'T HEAR YOU—EMERGENCY.”

Before Loki could grab him, Charles bolted up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house. Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around, only to find Hugo calmly stepping inside as if none of that had just happened.

“I’m glad you didn’t overreact,” Hugo jokingly said, glancing toward the stairs, “now could you point me to the kitchen?”

And in his head, the thought came in right away. This is the worst decision I have ever made in my entire life. Why did I open the door. Now there's two unsolicited guests on my apartment.

“No.”

“I’m going to the kitchen.”

“You’re not.”

Hugo kept walking.

“Destiny has led me to your refrigerator.”

“You’re just hungry.”

“That's what the refrigerator wants you to think.”

Loki was already preparing himself to physically drag Hugo away from his kitchen when Hugo suddenly stopped.

"...Oh."

Loki immediately knew that tone.

It was the tone people used when they found something unexpected. Or better yet, someone. And while following Hugo's line of sight, Loki looked toward the living room.

And there, sitting on the couch, was you.

Curled up comfortably beneath a blanket, completely unaware of the chaos that had just barged through the front door, you glanced up from your phone at the sound of voices.

“Oh, you’re back—”

You paused when you noticed Hugo standing there.

“Oh. Hi.” Hugo blinked. Then, after a brief pause, cleared his throat to ask the most important question.

“Do you know where Loki keeps the snacks?”

Loki sighed.

“Hugo.”

You looked between the two of them, immediately sensing that you had walked into the middle of something.

“Uh...” Your gaze landed on Hugo. “Am I missing context here?”

Hugo looked completely serious.

“Yes,” he said. “The location of the snacks.”

“Sorry?”

A small crease formed between your brows. Hugo blinked once.

“...Aren't you the maid?” he asked. “I thought you'd know where they were.”

Loki closed his eyes, already refusing to engage with whatever direction this conversation was about to take. He genuinely didn’t have the energy to unpack it.

Before Hugo could add anything else and somehow make everything worse, a new voice suddenly echoed from upstairs.

“LOKIII!” Charles shouted. “WHERE DO YOU KEEP THE GOOD TOWELS?” His voice cut off abruptly, pausing to reassess his surroundings. Then his eyes landed on you.

“OHHHH. LOKI HAS A MAID?”

“NO—THE TWO OF YOU LISTEN.” Loki snapped, pointing between Charles and Hugo. “You are both completely misunderstanding the situation.”

He gestured toward you, clearly offended now, like the assumption itself was the real problem. A pause hung in the air, just long enough for the tension to build, Loki’s jaw tightening as he tried to find the right words without making things worse.

“…She is actually my girlfriend.”

The room short-circuited. Charles blinked once. Twice. Then made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a malfunction.

“YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

“Yes,” Loki said immediately, like it was the most obvious fact in the world, then added with a flat look, “she is standing right there. Do I need to start pointing things out for you, or are we good?”  

“YOU’RE LYING!”

“I’m literally not.”

Charles slowly turned toward you, as if you were the only stable point left in a suddenly collapsing reality. “Please tell me he’s joking—”

“He isn’t.”

Hugo, meanwhile, looked genuinely distressed, like reality had failed a basic verification check.

“I calculated the absence of your love life,” Hugo said calmly, as if he were stating a weather report. “Up until now, the model consistently predicted solitude as your long-term outcome.”

Loki slowly turned his head toward him.

“…I’m sorry?”

Hugo blinked, unbothered. “It was the most stable projection.”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the statement to sink in. Charles immediately dropped onto the couch like his bones had decided they were no longer participating in reality.

“Now, now,” Charles said, pointing between the two of you like he was assembling evidence. “How did you two even meet? What was Loki like back then? And more importantly,” he gestured at Loki like this was the biggest mystery of all, “HOW DID HE PULL YOU?”

You then proceeded to tell Charles and Hugo bits of details like how you first kept running into Loki as kids in the same neighborhood, always at odd times and quieter corners of the city. How he never really talked much back then, just noticed things in passing, starting with small “hello”s whenever you passed each other, then slowing down just a little so those hellos turned into short conversations about nothing important. After that, it became walking the same way home on purpose, sharing snacks sometimes, and waiting a few extra minutes just in case the other showed up. Over time, it turned into something soft and unspoken, until it just felt natural to stay by each other’s side.

As you spoke, Charles kept reacting dramatically at every small detail, while Hugo went quietly still, staring at Loki like he was trying to reconcile the version he had built in his head with the very normal fact that he had apparently been in a long, steady relationship this entire time without anyone noticing.

You were still talking like it was just another part of the story when you added, “…We got engaged recently, actually.”

The room stopped instantly.

Charles jolted so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT LIKE IT’S A SIDE NOTE!”

You just continued smoothly, unfazed. “It felt right, though. We’ve known each other for so long that it didn’t really feel like a big decision. We just didn’t see the point in waiting forever to make it official.” As you spoke, your hand found Loki’s without hesitation, fingers slipping between his like it had always been the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t react, already used to it, only tightening his hold on yours in quiet ease, as if it had always been that way.

For a rare moment, even Charles and Hugo fell quiet, their chaos softening as they watched the two of you with something that almost resembled fondness, like they’d accidentally walked into something too soft to interrupt.

It lasted all of three seconds.

Then Charles leaned forward again. “Okay,” he said, pointing between you and Loki. “One more question. How did you even put up with Mr. Sonic over here?

Loki frowned, clearly offended. “Why is everyone acting like I’m difficult?”

All three of them turned to look at him at once, unblinking, and the weight of it made Loki’s frown deepen as he huffed a quiet, “…Continue.”

You only smiled at him, completely unbothered by the collective staring. “Honestly? He’s actually very easy.”

Loki visibly relaxed a fraction. “See?”

“—Because he’s terrified of me.”

The room detonated instantly. Charles nearly fell off the couch, Hugo made a choked sound into his cup, and Loki went still, turning slowly toward you like he had just been personally betrayed.

“I am not terrified.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m not.”

You only raised an eyebrow. And just like that, Loki looked away, exhaling through his nose like he had already lost the argument before it even started.

“…This is unfair,” he muttered under his breath, low and resigned, still not looking at you, like he already knew you had him wrapped around your fingers and there was no point pretending otherwise.

Charles snapped upright, pointing with shocking intensity. “OH MY GOD. HUGO DID YOU SEE THAT?”

“I saw it.”

“HE FOLDED. SPEEDY MCFEETFACE ACTUALLY FOLDED TO HIS GIRLFRIEND!”

“I hate both of you,” Loki said flatly, though it lacked any real heat.

Charles leaned back, satisfied. “Yeah yeah, say that now. We’re still coming to the wedding. Hey Hugo!” he suddenly perked up again, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something life-changing. “Dibs on best man!”

“…Sure,” Hugo added a second later, already looking mildly uninterested again. “I do not particularly care, but I am claiming it to prevent further discussion.”

Loki opened his mouth like he was about to shut the entire conversation down again, but you were faster. You gently squeezed his hand, leaned in close, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before brushing your lips near his ear.

“Sweetheart,” you whispered, soft enough that only he could hear, “we should definitely invite them. You won’t regret it. It’ll be fun… in a very loud, very chaotic way. But I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Loki paused, breath catching for half a second, then slowly exhaled like all his objections had just lost their momentum at once.

And just like that, Loki didn’t just gain two unexpected house visitors for the afternoon, but two equally unexpected wedding attendees who had already appointed themselves roles he absolutely did not approve of.

Before either of you could continue walking, a wave of hushed squeals erupted a few feet away.

"Oh my gosh—that's Vivian Hugo!"

"He's even taller in person!"

"And he's so much more handsome than on TV..."

The group huddled together, practically vibrating with excitement as they debated who would approach him first. And after a brief round of panicked whispering, one of the girls finally stepped forward, her friends hiding behind her as moral support.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hugo?" she asked, trying not to stumble over her words. "We're really huge fans! We watched all of your matches, and... um... would it be alright if we got a picture with you?"

Hugo nodded once.

"Of course."

The girls immediately erupted into delighted squeals.

"I told you he'd say yes!"

"Oh my gosh, look at him..."

One of the girls clasped her hands together before blurting out, "This is so embarrassing to ask, but... do you happen to have a girlfriend?"

Her friends immediately gasped.

"Oh my god!"

"I'm so sorry—we tried to stop her!"

"I just had to know! He's ridiculously handsome!"

Before Hugo could answer, you slipped in beside him wearing a look that was clearly meant to be intimidating. To Hugo, however, it looked more like a cat proudly guarding its favorite sunspot.

"Sorry, everyone." You gestured toward him with your free hand. "This absurdly tall guy with an unhealthy addiction to éclairs is already spoken for."

You smiled brightly.

"By yours truly."

The girls stared for a beat.

"...Oh."

"Oh my gosh."

"Wait, that's actually so cute."

One of them laughed sheepishly, nudging her friend.

"Girls, let's give them some space."

"Yeah, we already got our picture. Let's not interrupt their date."

"Sorry for bothering you two!"

With a chorus of embarrassed giggles and quick apologies, they waved goodbye before disappearing down the street.

Hugo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh là là... Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You marched over, wrapped yourself around my arm, and looked at them like a cat proudly marking its territory."

You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "I was not marking my territory!”

"You looked incredibly pleased with yourself though. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were silently celebrating because you'd scared off the competition."

"...Well," you admitted after a brief pause, "they did leave. I'd call that a successful operation."

He studied your face for another second before quietly chuckling.

"...Come here."

Before you could ask why, both of his hands found your cheeks.

"V-Vivi! What are you doing?"

"I've been trying not to do this ever since you called me your absurdly tall sweet tooth."

"You can't just squish my cheeks because I embarrassed myself!"

"I'm doing it because you were adorable." Hugo said softly, finally letting go. "I just think you're unbearably cute whenever you get possessive over me."

You rubbed your warm cheeks, refusing to meet his eyes.

"...I'm never doing that again."

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"I sincerely hope that's not true."

˚₊‧꒰ა SAE ITOSHI

The little bell above the teahouse door chimed as Sae stepped inside, his gaze briefly sweeping across the familiar wooden interior. For the first time in years...Nothing had changed.

The elderly shop owner looked up from behind the counter before her eyes widened in recognition.

"...Sae-chan?"

Sae gave a small nod.

"It's been a while."

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, hurrying around the counter with a bright smile. "Look at you! You used to come in here with your little brother after practice, and now you're all over television." She clasped her hands together, looking him over proudly. "You've grown into such a fine young man."

"I've gotten taller."

"You certainly have." She laughed before suddenly narrowing her eyes. "Now, tell me... are you married yet?"

"...No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"A girlfriend, then?"

Sae sighed almost imperceptibly.