#leiswork

when désiré was seventeen, he fell in love with you.

you were still in school and he was still playing in rennes. everything felt small enough back then to fit inside his hands, especially you.

he remembers sitting beside you on a freezing bench one winter evening while you pulled a tiny silver ring out of your pocket.

“before you get all famous and forget me,” you joked.

you took his hand before sliding the ring onto his finger carefully.

“there,” you murmured. “so you can’t flirt with other girls.”

désiré smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

“possessive.”

“and?”

he kissed you after that like there was still endless time left.

but then he signed for psg.

everything changed too fast so suddenly. new city, new pressure, new life, but at first nothing between you changed.

you called every night, fell asleep on facetime constantly, he’d send you pictures from training, you’d complain about your classes while he listened half-asleep after late matches.

until slowly, calls became shorter, then less frequent. sometimes he’d come home exhausted and forget to answer, sometimes you’d already be asleep when he finally checked his phone.

neither of you officially ended anything. just distance stretching quietly between two people who still loved each other but no longer knew how to fit into each other’s lives.

every now and then, one of you would send something random and for a second, it would feel normal again... until it faded again.

through all of it, désiré never took the ring off.

even now at twenty years old, with cameras everywhere and millions of people watching him every week.

the silver band still stays on his finger whenever he’s home or outside.

slightly scratched now and worn down at the edges.

fans ask questions online but he never answers.

during matches, he obviously can’t wear jewelry, so he wraps a plain white bandage around that finger.

nobody really knows why.

one night after the champions league final match against arsenal, he sits alone in his apartment, scrolling mindlessly through his phone at two a.m.

one message after almost three months of silence.

you:

i saw your penalty

proud of you des

congrats for ur 2nd cl

désiré:

you still watch football?

you:

only yours

he leans back against the couch slowly, staring at the message.

that stupid ring feels suddenly heavier and he looks down at his hand instinctively. the bandage from the match is still wrapped around his finger loosely.

for a second, he remembers being seventeen again, with the way you slid the ring onto him like it meant forever.

maybe part of him still treated it that way.

“that bad?” you ask from the couch.

“i think the coach tried to kill me.”

you laugh as he slowly collapses beside you, stretching his legs out with another groan.

“everything hurts.”

“poor baby.”

“especially my back and my arms.”

you glance at him before smiling. “come here.”

“what?”

“lay down.”

his suspicion turns into hope almost instantly. “massage?”

“maybe,” you grin.

less than thirty seconds later, désiré is face-down across the bed.

“if this fixes me,” he mumbles into the pillow, “i might marry you twice.”

“yeah?” you smile, hands settled against his shoulders first.

“oh fuck,” he groans.

“that tense?”

“i can feel heaven.”

you’ve always been weirdly good at massages, everyone says it but désiré especially acts like your hands perform miracles every time he’s sore after training.

you work slowly along his shoulders and upper back, pressing firmly enough to make him melt deeper into the mattress with every passing minute.

“you should’ve become a physiotherapist,” he mumbles sleepily.

“too much studying.”

“wasted talent.”

you smile to yourself while your hands move lower across his back carefully, his muscles tense underneath your touch.

“does this hurt?” you ask quietly.

“mhm.”

“good or bad?”

“good.”

his voice already sounds heavier now, completely relaxed under your hands.

eventually you move toward his arms.

this part might secretly be your favorite because désiré’s biceps are literally unfair.

you slide your hands slowly down his arm, massaging carefully while he lets out another groan into the pillow and turns on his back so you can massage his head, but your hands go lower.

“you like this too much,” he mutters suddenly.

“what?” you smile innocently.

“massaging me.”

“me?”

he turns his head slightly just enough to look at you suspiciously.

“you keep touching my abs like they hurt me.”

“there is a reason...”

every single time you massage him, your hands somehow end up lingering against his stomach longer than necessary, but it's not your fault he looks like that.

“you’re literally flexing and don't want me to touch them,” you accuse.

“you keep touching me so...”

“that’s the point of a massage!”

he’s smiling lazy and soft while your hands slide carefully across his stomach again.

his abs tense instinctively underneath your touch, you bite back a grin.

“see?” he says. “you’re enjoying this.”

“maybe a little.”

“creep.”

you laugh softly before continuing the massage slower now, thumbs pressing gently against his lower stomach while he exhales deeply.

he looks so relaxed.

“feel better?” you whisper.

“way better,” his voice sounds sleepy.

you continue rubbing slowly along his arms and stomach while he practically sinks into the mattress then he reaches blindly for your wrist, stopping your hand for a second.

“what?”

he opens one eye slightly, looking up at you. “come here.”

you barely move before he pulls you down carefully beside him, one arm immediately wrapping around your waist despite how tired he was two seconds ago.

“thought your body hurt.”

“still.”

he presses a lazy kiss against your shoulder before burying his face into your neck.

désiré flirts naturally with everyone.

he just has that face.

he’ll ask a cashier “how’s your day going?” and somehow sound like he’s been in love with her since birth.

normally, you manage to ignore it mostly because he’s clearly obsessed with you anyway.

he follows you around constantly, sits too close, touches your waist absentmindedly, looks at you like you’re the prettiest person alive whenever you talk.

tonight he pushes it too far.

you’re both outside after dinner with friends, standing near the sidewalk while waiting for the others when a random girl walks past.

unfortunately for désiré, she glances at him while passing, which means he does his usual thing.

that stupid soft smile with direct eye contact. completely natural to him but completely infuriating to you.

the girl smiles back instantly before continuing walking.

you go silent immediately.

désiré notices after three seconds.

“what?”

you stare at him flatly.

“what was that?”

he blinks. “what was what?”

“the flirting.”

his eyebrows pull together instantly. “i wasn’t flirting.”

“désiré.”

“i’m serious.”

“why are you looking at random girls like that?”

he genuinely looks confused now. “like what?”

you imitate him immediately, his mouth falls open slightly.

“i don't look like that.”

“you absolutely do!”

he stares at you in disbelief while your friends suddenly become very interested in literally anything else nearby, because they know you’re about to start.

“baby–”

“don’t baby me!”

he actually looks nervous now. “i wasn’t flirting with her.”

“then why were you smiling at her like she was the love of your life?”

“i smile at everyone!”

“exactly my problem.”

désiré looks genuinely shocked now that you’re actually angry, mostly because you’re usually teasing, playful and sarcastic, not bossy.

“you need to stop doing that,” you continue.

“doing what?”

“looking at people all flirty.”

“i’m not trying to!”

“well congratulations because it works anyway.”

your friends turns away to walk.

désiré notices none of it because he’s too busy staring at you with wide eyes.

“you’re jealous?”

“obviously i’m jealous!”

he stares at you for a second longer before something soft appears in his expression which only annoys you more.

“don’t smile.”

“i’m not–”

“yes you are.”

he bites the inside of his cheek immediately to stop himself. terrible decision because now he looks amused and guilty.

“sorry,” he says quickly.

“you should be.”

“i genuinely didn’t realize i was doing it.”

“well now you know.”

he nods immediately like a scolded child.

“okay.”

“okay?”

“okay,” he repeats softly. “i’m sorry.”

you narrow your eyes suspiciously because you expected teasing back. not désiré looking genuinely panicked over upsetting you.

“wait,” he says suddenly, stepping closer. “are you actually mad at me?”

“a little.”

“nah don’t do that,” his face drops immediately.

“do what?”

“be mad.”

you try staying serious but he looks so concerned now it becomes difficult.

“i didn’t mean anything by it,” he says quietly. “i swear.”

his hands settle carefully on your waist now, hesitant like he’s not sure if you’ll let him.

“i only want you.”

your expression softens slightly despite yourself and he notices instantly.

“see?” he murmurs, relieved already. “there she is,” he smiles automatically then catches himself. “wait. was that too flirty?”

after been in the usa 5 days for a friendly game against brazil and colombia, désiré barely had time to get through the door before you jumped on him.

“hi, missed you,” he murmured, laughing.

he pressed a slow kiss behind your ear, then another on your neck, taking his time.

“you good?“ he asks cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardened.

you turned your head. “yeah.”

then he kissed you properly, tongue teasing yours while his fingers kept playing with your chest. the kiss grew hotter as he tugged your shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere.

his mouth moved down, sucking gently on your neck, then lower, licking and biting softly at your breasts until you were breathing heavier, hips shifting restlessly against him.

“désiré…” you whispered.

he hummed, hands sliding down your sides, hooking into your panties and pulling them off.

he spread your legs wider over his, fingers dipping between your folds, finding you already wet. two fingers circled your clit slowly then slipped inside you, curling just right while his thumb kept the pressure on your clit.

you moaned softly, head falling back on his shoulder as he fingered you lazily, kissing your neck the whole time.

when your legs started trembling he pulled his fingers out, tasted them with a grin, then lifted you like you weighed nothing.

he stood up and pressed you against the nearest wall, mouth crashing into yours again, hungrier now, your legs wrapped around his waist.

he shoved his sweatpants down just enough, cock hard and heavy against you. he rubbed the head along your slick pussy before pushing in slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open.

then he started fucking you properly, deep thrusts that pinned you to the wall, skin slapping, your moans mixing with his low groans.

after you came shaking around him he carried you, still buried inside, out to the balcony. cool night air hit your naked skin as he bent you over the railing.

“desire– not... mmh–” you tried to say while he fucks you from behind with long strokes, one hand rubbing your clit until you came again, louder this time.

back inside he sat you on the kitchen counter, spreading your legs wide. he dropped to his knees first, licking and sucking your pussy, tongue fucking into you, then focusing on your clit until your thighs squeezed his head and you soaked his mouth.

he stood up, wiped his chin, and slid back inside you in one thrust. you held onto his shoulders, nails digging in as he fucked you senseless.

living room floor next, you riding him slow then fast. hallway wall again, this time from behind. bathroom sink, watching in the mirror how he took you, one hand around your throat, the other between your legs.

by the time you reached the bedroom you were a trembling, dripping mess. désiré laid you down gently, climbed over you, and pushed back in deep and slow, forehead pressed to yours.

you clenched hard around him, pulling him over the edge with you. he groaned your name, hips stuttering as he filled you up.

he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest, both of you breathing hard, skin sticky, house completely silent except for your heartbeats.

“next time we start in the shower.” he said with a tired little laugh, kissing your forehead.

“you’re cheating!”

désiré looks up from the couch innocently, a panini sticker halfway peeled in his hands.

“how?”

“because you literally know these people.”

he grins immediately.

the living room floor is covered in sticker packets, wrappers, and the giant fifa world cup 2026 panini album spread open between you both.

what started as a “one packet only for nostalgia” situation turned into the two of you spending your entire evening cross-legged on the carpet opening packs like addicted children.

“wait wait wait,” désiré suddenly says, sitting up straighter. “give me that one.”

“why?” you narrow your eyes.

“because i need it.”

you look down at the sticker in your hand dramatically.

“you need yourself?”

his face lights up instantly.

“you got me?!”

you burst out laughing at how genuinely excited he looks.

“oh my god, let me see.” he immediately reaches for it while grinning.

instead of giving it to him, you hold the sticker out of reach.

“wow,” you say thoughtfully while examining it. “they edited your jawline.”

“they did not.”

“you look airbrushed.”

“give me the sticker.”

“hmm...no.”

he leans closer across the album trying to grab it while you keep moving your hand away laughing.

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re still dating me.”

finally you hand him the sticker and he stares at it for a second too long.

“nah this is crazy.”

your expression softens a little because underneath the joking, you can tell he’s emotional about it.

his own world cup sticker, his own face inside the album he probably collected as a kid too.

“little dés would lose his mind,” you murmur softly.

he smiles immediately at that.

“yeah... i still look better in real life though.”

you snort loudly then continue opening packs together afterward.

every few minutes, désiré either gets way too excited over a rare sticker or dramatically complains about duplicates.

“another argentina badge,” he sighs.

“trade it.”

“with who?”

“me?”

“you have mbappé?” he asks immediately as you hold the sticker against your chest protectively.

“depends.”

“be serious.”

“what’s my offer?”

désiré stares at you for a second before leaning closer slowly.

“one kiss.”

“that’s it?”

“two kisses.”

you laugh softly while he keeps looking at you with that stupid flirty expression that always works unfortunately well.

“fine,” you sigh. “only because i’m generous.”

he grins instantly before taking the sticker from your hand victoriously.

“great business deal.”

then he kisses you once, twice, and once more just because he clearly wanted to.

“that was three.”

“that's bonus.”

later, the album is almost full.

the only problem is désiré keeps getting distracted, mostly by you. you’re focused on organizing stickers by country when you feel him staring.

you glance up and he’s already looking at you instead of the album.

“what?”

“nothing,” he smiles softly now, head resting against the couch behind him while watching you.

“you’re cute doing this.”

“i’m literally sorting stickers.”

“still cute.”

“focus.”

“i am.”

“no you’re not!”

he laughs before reaching over and sticking a random sticker directly onto your forehead.

“désiré!”

“you looked too serious.” he says, dying laughing.

you peel it off immediately.

“you put the portugal team sticker on my face.”

“crazy honestly.”

you throw another sticker packet at him.

he catches it easily, still grinning. after a moment, his expression softens again while looking down at the album.

his sticker sitting there among them now, you notice the way he goes quiet for a second.

“nervous?” you ask softly.

“a little,” he shrugs slightly.

“you’ll be amazing.”

his eyes lift toward yours immediately and he smiles again, completely in love-looking.

“good,” he murmurs softly, reaching for another packet. “i need someone to trade stickers with after we win it.”

you’re lying half asleep on the couch with your daughter sleeping against your chest while désiré sits beside you watching both of you instead of the movie playing on the tv.

he does that a lot now.

sometimes you catch him staring at her like he still can’t believe she’s real, sometimes he stares at you the exact same way.

right now, he’s doing both.

“you’re looking again,” you mumble sleepily without opening your eyes.

“can’t help it.”

you glance over, his arm is stretched across the back of the couch behind you, curls messy, wearing gray sweatpants and an old hoodie, looking ridiculously soft for someone who spent the afternoon training.

his eyes drift down toward the baby again instantly, sleeping peacefully against you in pink pajamas.

“she’s so pretty,” he whispers, entire expression melting.

your heart aches a little because he says it every single day with the same amount of awe every time like he genuinely created the earth.

“she looks exactly like you,” you murmur.

“thank god.”

“wow.”

“i’m serious,” he grins. “she got lucky.”

you roll your eyes affectionately before looking back down at her.

she let out a deep breath in her sleep and immediately, désiré leans forward concerned.

“what was that?”

“she's just dreaming.”

“oh,” he relaxes again.

overprotective fatherhood hit him like a truck the second she was born.

the first week home from the hospital, he literally checked if she was breathing every twenty minutes.

you woke up at 4am once to find him staring into the crib looking stressed.

“désiré?”

“she breathed weird.”

“babies breathe weird.”

“well i don’t like it.”

now, three months later, he’s slightly calmer.

the baby suddenly lets out a tiny sleepy noise against your chest.

désiré’s eyes widen instantly and before you can react, he carefully slides closer and gently lifts her into his arms.

he's ridiculously careful every single time.

your daughter stirs slightly before settling immediately against his chest.

you watch him brush his thumb softly against her tiny cheek while smiling to himself.

“hi princess,” he whispers.

she blinks sleepily up at him, and even after three months, he melts instantly.

“oh my god,” he breathes. “did you see that? she looked at me.”

“baby,” you laugh softly, “she knows who you are.”

“crazy.”

you smile, watching him kiss the top of her head carefully before settling back against the couch with her laying on his chest now.

the sight destroys you every time because this is the same boy who once panicked over a pregnancy test in your tiny bathroom and now he’s here holding your daughter like she’s the center of the universe.

and honestly, she is.

later that afternoon, the peace disappears completely because your daughter starts crying.

désiré appears from the kitchen in under two seconds like he got summoned.

“what happened?”

“i think she’s just grumpy.”

“why?”

“she’s a baby.”

he takes her carefully anyway, bouncing her gently against his chest while pacing around the living room.

“shhh, princess. daddy’s here.”

the crying continues dramatically and désiré looks genuinely devastated.

“why is she crying at me?”

“she’s not crying at you,” you finally burst out laughing.

“it feels personal.”

he keeps trying though, walking around with her, kissing her forehead and talking softly.

eventually, after a few minutes, the crying slows then stops completely.

your daughter yawns sleepily against him.

“i fixed it!” he says, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

“good job daddy.”

later that night, after finally getting the baby back to sleep in her crib, you find désiré standing beside it again, watching her.

you walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you okay?”

he nods slowly without taking his eyes off her.

“i didn’t know i could love something this much.”

he turns slightly then pulls you closer into his side before kissing your forehead softly.

“both of you,” he murmurs quietly.

you smile against his chest.

and standing there together watching your daughter sleep, you realize he was right that night in the bathroom.

he really did become the happiest father in the world.

that man cannot take normal pictures.

group picture? tongue out.

selfie? tongue out.

couple photo? still tongue out.

at first, you thought it was occasional then you realized it was a genuine problem in your relationship.

“désiré,” you sigh for what feels like the hundredth time staring at his phone screen, “why are you doing that with your mouth again?”

“doing what?” he looks up innocently from beside you.

you zoom at the picture aggressively.

“THAT.”

his tongue is fully out in the selfie while you look normal beside him, well, as normal as possible considering your boyfriend behaves like a twelve-year-old in front of cameras.

“it’s hard,” he says seriously.

“what is?”

“being photogenic.”

“you’re literally making yourself uglier on purpose!”

“nah,” he says confidently. “it adds personality.”

“no!”

he laughs immediately while throwing an arm around your shoulders.

you try taking another picture anyway.

“okay,” you say firmly. “normal face this time.”

“yes ma'am.”

tongue out again.

you sigh dramatically and he’s already laughing before you even lower the phone.

“désiré!”

“what? that one was cute.”

“you ruin every picture!”

“no! i look good!”

unfortunately true, which annoys you even more.

later that evening, you’re both sitting together while one of your friends tries taking pictures of you.

“aw wait,” your friend says. “stay like that.”

you turn toward désiré instinctively and there it is again.

you close your eyes slowly when you see his tongue out.

“i’m gonna lose my mind.”

“it’s instinctive!”

“control your instincts!”

your friend is practically crying now while snapping more pictures.

désiré leans closer to annoy you further, that’s when you finally snap. without hesitation, you grab his face with both hands then you literally grab his tongue carefully between your fingers and shove it back into his mouth.

“close your mouth,” you say flatly.

your friend screams laughing instantly somewhere behind the camera.

désiré freezes completely in shock, staring at you like you just changed his life.

you narrow your eyes. “act normal.”

he slowly closes his mouth.

“did you just manhandle my tongue?”

“yes.”

“that was kinda disrespectful.”

“yet effective.”

désiré stays quiet another second before suddenly grinning again.

“why are you smiling like that?” you ask suspiciously.

“nothing.”

that means absolutely something.

he leans closer toward you, voice lower now.

“do that again.”

“what?”

“put my tongue in my mouth.”

you stare at him in horror. “you’re actually weird.”

“nah,” he says softly. “you just looked cute being annoyed.”

you had been aching all day, that heavy wet heat between your legs from ovulating making it impossible to focus on anything else.

every brush of your thighs sent sparks up your spine so when désiré finally walked into the apartment after training, looking tired but so fucking pretty with his damp hair and fitted sweats, you didn’t even give him time to speak.

you grabbed his hand and pulled him straight to the bedroom, pushing his back against the door as soon as it closed. your mouth was on his neck, hands already tugging his shirt off.

“baby i need you,” you whispered against his skin.

he chuckled softly at first but the way you were grinding against his thigh told him everything.

“you okay?,” he murmured, letting you drag him to the bed.

you shoved him down onto his back and stripped him fast, his cock springing free, already half-hard just from your aggression.

you peeled off your own clothes and then climbed over him without warning, straddling his hips and lining his cock up with your soaked entrance.

desire’s eyes widened. “wait baby, let me– fuck,” he groaned as you sank down hard, taking every inch in one slick motion.

the stretch was perfect, filling you so deep you moaned loud, head falling back.

you started riding him immediately, fast and rough, hips slamming down with wet obscene sounds. your hands pressed on his chest for leverage as you bounced, ass rippling every time you came down. désiré’s grip tightened on your thighs, breath catching.

“shit… slow down a little,” he gasped.

but you were lost in it, chasing that deep ache only his cock could reach. you rode him harder, grinding your clit against him on every stroke, juices coating his pelvis and dripping down his balls.

after a few minutes his body started twitching under you.

“baby… i’m gonna– fuck,” he choked out, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, hot pulses filling your greedy pussy but you didn’t stop.

you kept bouncing through his orgasm, walls fluttering and squeezing him tight.

desire’s eyes rolled back, voice turning desperate. “okay okay… get off please, it’s too–” he begged, trying to push at your hips but doing no effort.

the overstimulation made his cock twitch wildly inside you, still rock hard despite everything. his whimpers turned into broken moans as you kept using him.

“fuck...,” he groan softly, body shaking under you.

his hands stayed on your waist like he couldn’t decide whether to stop you or pull you down harder.

you just leaned forward, tits pressing against his chest and rode him even faster, completely focused on the way his cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you.

you came hard around him with a loud moan, pussy spasming and milking his overstimulated dick.

even then you kept grinding slowly, drawing it out, ignoring his wrecked little gasps beneath you.

he was whispering your name like a prayer and a curse at the same time. he didn't even know.