âč đđđ»đŒđœđđ¶đ. the kind of night you wish would never end. the kind you keep replaying long after itâs gone. the kind that feels like a memory before it even becomes one.
there was something about late-night drives that made everything feel more honest. maybe it was the empty roads. maybe it was the darkness outside the windows, leaving only the two of them inside the quiet warmth of the car.
conversations felt easier after midnight.
silences did, too.
she rested her elbow against the window, watching the city slip by. she glanced at the dashboard clock.
the windows were cracked just enough for the cool night air to slip inside, carrying the scent of rain that hadnât fallen yet. the music was low, soft enough that it blended into the background rather than filling the silence. she liked that about him.
he never rushed to fill quiet moments. he let them exist.
she rested her head against the window, watching the city blur past.
âyou knowâŠâ she murmured, breaking the silence.
âi donât think iâve ever seen the roads this empty.â
he glanced at her for the briefest second before looking back at the road, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
oh how she loved that smile.
âthatâs because youâre usually asleep by now,â he said, the smile in his voice arriving a second before the one on his face. âyou never make it this far.â
his fingers drummed lazily against the steering wheel as he considered her comment. a quiet chuckle slipped past his lips.
she scoffed, turning in her seat to look at him.
âyou say that like itâs my fault.â one eyebrow raised in mock offense. a smile threatened at the corners of her lips, but she did her best to suppress it.
âwhose fault is it, then?â he asked, flicking his eyes towards her for just a second. he wasnât expecting to find her already looking at him. he wanted to hold her gaze, but the road demanded his attention.
she held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, as though genuinely weighing her options. then she smiledâa slow, knowing smile.
âyours.â she said, a grin tugged at her lips as she leaned over and gave his shoulder a gentle bump.
the warmth of her shoulder lingered long after sheâd pulled away. a soft laugh escaped him. god, she had no idea that even the smallest moments with her meant everything to him.
âmine?â he breathed. his heart stumbled somewhere behind his ribs. he risked another glance at her.
she nodded once, folding one leg beneath her on the seat as she faced him a little more. she watched the way his hands rested on the steering wheel before murmuring. âyouâre too good at driving.â
he let out another quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
âthatâs a new one,â his smile lingered longer than he intended. he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, though he couldnât stop himself from glancing at her again. âiâve never had anyone blame my driving before.â
âiâm not blaming itâŠâ she protested, her voice soft.
she wondered if he knew what he did to her without trying. how every late-night drive seemed to slow the world just enough for her to breathe. how the silence between them never demanded to be filled. how his quiet presence unraveled knots sheâd spent all day carrying.
she didnât have a name for the feeling yet. peace, maybe. comfort. something warmer than either of those. whatever it was, she found herself chasing it every chance she gotâfinding excuses to linger, to stay in the passenger seat a little longer, to let another song play before either of them mentioned going home.
his voice pulled her gently from her thoughts. she blinked, realizing he'd been waiting for her answer. he scratched lightly at the side of his neck before loosening his grip on the steering wheel, only to tighten it again a moment later, as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
he didn't rush her. he never did.
she let out a quiet breath, her gaze drifting back to the windshield.
âitâs justâŠâ she paused, searching for words that never seemed big enough to hold the feeling. âyou make everything feel easy.â
he looked at her like sheâd just handed him something fragile, something he didnât want to break. this woman had no idea what she meant to him. she had become his peace. he just let her words sit between them, like he was afraid moving too quickly would break something. the words seemed to catch him off guardânot because he didnât like them, but because he wasnât used to hearing them.
then he smiled softly. unable to hide the warmth in his expression. how could he?
âthatâs a pretty big thing to say.â his voice was quieter this time, almost like he didnât want to disturb the feeling settling between them.
she looked down at her hands, suddenly aware of how much sheâd revealed. the honesty of it sat between them, warm and unfamiliar.
âis it?â she asked gently, almost afraid of what he might say.
for a moment, he didnât answer. he just looked at her. not the way people usually looked at herânot searching for something, not expecting something. just taking her in like he was trying to memorize the moment. like she was something worth slowing down for, in a world that never seemed to stop moving.
outside, the city continued moving around them, but inside the car everything felt still. the soft music. the warmth of the seats. the quiet sound of his breathing beside her.
âyeah.â he said softly.
his eyes returned to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. and somehow, he couldnât make it go away. every time he thought it had faded, it came back againâa quiet, helpless smile that she had somehow put there without even trying.
âbecause i donât think iâve ever wanted to be that for someone.â
âwhat?â she turned towards him, her brows pulling together slightly.
his fingers moved slowly over the steering wheel, tracing the same absent rhythm they had been tapping all night. for a moment, he didnât look at her. like the words were harder to say when he had to see her reaction.
âsomeoneâs peace.â
the sentence was barely above a whisper. she went quiet.
a few cars passed in the distance, streetlights disappeared behind them, the world continued like nothing had changed. but inside the car, something had changed. time seemed to slow, leaving only the quiet between them. the world outside slowly lost its importance.
âsomeone they donât have to pretend around,â he continued softly. âsomeone who makes things feel a little lighter.â
his throat moved as he swallowed, his eyes staying fixed on the road ahead. then, he glanced at her for a second, and there was something almost vulnerable in his expression.
âi donât think anyoneâs ever looked at me and thoughtâŠâ he paused, searching for the right words. âthat i could make their life feel easier.â
her chest tightened. because he said it like it was something he never believed he could be. like being someoneâs comfort had always felt impossible to him. she wanted to tell him that he was wrong. that he had no idea how much he changed the atmosphere around him. how his presence alone could quiet every thought that had been overwhelming her all day.
but the words felt too big.
so instead, she reached across the space between them. her fingers found his where his hand rested near the gearshift, hesitant at first, giving him every chance to pull away.
he didnât.
his fingers curled around hers almost immediately, warm and familiar, like his hand had been waiting for hers to be there. as if the touch had always belonged there. and somehow, that said everything she couldnât put into words. she knew. she just knew.
she would always choose him.
the road ahead slowly became familiar. she recognized the streets before she even saw the sign. the turn towards her neighborhood was only a few seconds away. and suddenly, the warmth inside the car felt a little more fragile. neither of them said anything. the music continued quietly in the background, filling the space between them as if it knew neither of them wanted to break the moment.
she watched the familiar buildings appear through the windshield. then she noticed. the turn was coming. she looked over at him.
he knew too. she could tell by the way his fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. the indicator never came on. the car kept moving. past her street. past the turn. she blinked, looking back at the road behind them.
his eyes stayed ahead, but she caught the smallest smile pulling at his lips.
âyeah?â his voice was soft, almost too casual.
âyou missed the turn.â
for a second, she expected him to look surprised. to apologize. to make some excuse about not noticing. but he didnât.
a quiet breath of laughter left him.
âi know.â he said quietly, his voice steady and certain.
she stared at him for a second, her heart warming at the certainty in his voice. she smiled before she even realized she was doing it.
âarenât you going to turn around?â she asked, but a part of her hoped he wouldnât.
this time, he didnât answer immediately. he just looked at the empty road ahead, the city stretching endlessly in front of them. their hands were still intertwined between them, warm and steady. his thumb brushed against hers absentmindedly, like he needed the reminder that she was still there.
when he felt her fingers shift against his, his grip tightened without thinking. just slightly. like letting go was the one thing he couldnât bring himself to do. a silent answer before he could find the words. then, softly, almost a whisper, but with the weight of a promiseâ
ânot yet.â his voice carrying a weight that made her chest tighten.
not a refusal. not an excuse. a plea. he said it like he needed her to understand. two simple words. but somehow, they meant everything. she understood, because she knew what he was really saying.
stay a little longer.
donât make me say goodnight yet.
he just wasnât ready to let the night end. the space between them suddenly felt different. like it wasnât a space between them anymore, it was the last thing standing between everything they had been afraid to admit and everything they had been hoping for.
he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a quiet kiss against her knuckles, a small gesture that somehow said everything he couldnât. then, his fingers gently intertwined with hers, slower this time, like he wasnât afraid of what it meant anymore. like holding her hand wasnât a risk, but a place to rest.
she watched him, almost afraid to believe it. afraid that if she moved too quickly, if she wanted too much, she would break the quiet little moment they had finally found. she stayed there, holding his hand and letting the silence speak for them. for once, she didnât need reassurance. she didnât need promises.
he just kept driving, one hand holding hers, his attention on the road but his heart finally somewhere else. for once, he wasnât thinking about the exit. he wasnât looking for the easiest way out, wasnât counting the seconds until he had to let go.
he was just there.
then, at the next red light, he stopped. the engine hummed softly, and every few seconds another streetlight washed over them, lighting her face just long enough for him to steal another glance before darkness tucked them away again. and for the first time that night, he let himself look at her without searching for a reason to leave. like he was seeing her without all the fear that usually stood between them. like he was finally allowing himself to want this, to want her. his eyes softened, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
a quiet reassurance.
she wondered if he knew how much that tiny gesture meant to her. how something so simple could feel like an answer to all the doubts sheâd carried. neither of them moved. they didnât need to. everything they had been holding back was sitting there between them, every almost, every goodbye that never happened, every feeling they were too afraid to admit.
all the times they stood too close but still found a reason to step away. all the words that stayed stuck in their throats because saying them out loud would make everything too real. and now, there was nowhere left to hide. just the quiet understanding that, somehow, after everything, they had still found their way back to each other.
she looked at him, and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time and remembering her all at once. every little thing he had tried not to miss, every feeling he had tried to bury, was suddenly impossible to ignore. the silence wasnât empty. it was full of everything they had been waiting for.
he leaned closer, slowly, giving her the choice. as their eyes stayed locked, she tugged his head down and their lips met in a featherlight kiss.
the kiss was gentle at first.
careful. desperate.
neither of them rushed. they couldnât. not after all the time they had spent holding back.
his hand left hers slowly, as he turned towards her in the driverâs seat. his fingers found her cheek, his palm warm against her skin, holding her with a tenderness that made her chest ache. his thumb brushed along her cheekbone, slow and gentle, and the small gesture carried everything he couldnât say. she leaned into his touch, closing the last bit of distance between them, and something in him finally broke open.
the kiss became deeper, not because they were desperate to take something from each other, but because they had spent so long denying themselves this exact moment. she smiled slightly against his lips, unable to hide how happy she was. her fingers found the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him in a quiet way.
his hand stayed against her face, his fingers brushing gently through her hair, grounding himself in the reality of her being there. of them being here. she gave him another small kiss, softer this time, like reassurance rather than desire.
the traffic light turned green. neither of them moved. the dashboard lights flickered gently across her face, making the whole moment feel unreal. he was memorizing her. the way she looked at him, the warmth of her hand, the quiet between themâhe wanted to remember every second of it. every little detail felt like something he wanted to keep, something he could come back to when this moment was no longer theirs.
he should have started the car. he knew that. but his hand stayed where it was. a small smile tugged at his lips, almost like he couldnât believe he was actually here, that this was real.
he knew he should put his hands back on the wheel and pretend his heart wasnât fighting against the idea of leaving this moment behind. but he did none of that. he leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper.
âjust⊠stay with me for a second.â
and suddenly, she understood. he wasnât asking her to stay because he thought she would leave. he was asking because some part of him was still afraid that beautiful things were only meant to be temporary. she wanted him to know. he didnât have to hold onto this second like it was the last one he would ever get. because she wasnât just a moment.
she was here.
the light was still green. but right now, all he wanted was one more moment with her.
the night passed slowly. the city kept moving. the lights kept changing. the world carried on like it always did.
but their kisses stayed. the warmth of it stayed. the feeling of it stayed. and even when the night was over, even when the road eventually led them somewhere else, a part of them would always remain there.
in that car. under those lights. in the moment they finally chose each other.
but sitting there, with her beside him, somewhere between the quiet kisses and the moments where neither of them needed to say a word, he had realised something.
he didnât want to leave. not this time. not her. he wanted this. her laughter in the passenger seat. her hand in his. the quiet. the peace. and he was wondering how to keep it. how to keep her. he didnât want to find the road home.
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youâve known him since the days when your knees were perpetually scraped and his jersey was always two sizes too big, trailing behind him like a cape. you two are a package dealâthe kind of friends who have seen each other through every agonizing evolution. youâve watched him transform from a gangly, shy kid into the magnetic athlete he is today, and heâs watched you do the same.
he hadn't said much that night. heâd just sat on the edge of your bed, leaning back on his palms, watching the interaction with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. his eyes, usually full of a playful, easy-going warmth, had narrowed just a fraction as he tracked the way your boyfriend talked to you.
you never dared to look closer at the way he looked at you, because the thought of losing your best friendâthe one person who knew exactly which side of your face you preferred in photos and exactly how you liked your coffeeâwas too terrifying to entertain.
but tonight, the stadium lights are blindingly bright, and heâs standing right in front of you after the match, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin. he wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, predatory-yet-tender glint. he leans in close, invading your space just enough to make your pulse pick up, his voice dropping to a whisper that hits your ear like a secret.
"you still look at me like that, don't you?" he murmurs, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "like i'm the only thing in the room."
you freeze, the realization hitting you that the line between 'best friend' and 'everything else' has been blurring for a lot longer than you were willing to admit.
he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through you, and he doesn't pull away. instead, he hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you into his side as you start the walk to your car. itâs a rhythm youâve known for years, a dance you could perform in your sleep.
the drive to your place is filled with his usual chatter about the match, but as the evening progresses in your apartment, something shifts. the air feels differentâcharged and heavy. youâre moving through the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses, but your movements are jagged, distracted. you find yourself dropping a fork, staring blankly at the wall, and forgetting the simple steps of a recipe youâve cooked a dozen times.
"hey," he says, his voice suddenly stripped of the teasing edge. he stands up, walking over to the counter where youâre leaning, bracing your palms against the marble to steady yourself. "youâve been acting like youâre trying to solve a complex equation in your head all night. whatâs going on? youâre not yourself."
you chew your lip, avoiding his eyes. "itâs nothing, really. just... a long day. don't worry about it, it's not even worth talking about."
he doesn't buy it. he never does. he steps closer, crowding your space, his presence an immovable force. he reaches out, gently taking your wrists and pulling your hands away from the counter so he can see your face. "look at me," he commands softly. "youâre the worst liar i know. tell me."
"why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his voice barely a murmur, laced with a kind of ache that surprises you. "you think my job matters more than you? you think a game is more important than you falling apart?"
he lets out a sharp, incredulous huff, pulling you into his chest. his arms wrap around you, anchoring you, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "you could never be a distraction," he says firmly. "youâre the only thing that actually keeps me grounded. don't ever, ever think you're bothering me. youâre the priority, always."
the dam breaks completely then. you bury your face against his bare, warm skin, the scent of him grounding you as the tears finally fall. he doesn't try to stop you or fix it with empty platitudes; he just holds you, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on your back, his presence a constant, steady hum against your ear.
after a while, the sobbing subsides into small, hitching breaths. youâve migrated to the sofa, your head resting heavily on his bare chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear serving as a lifeline. you pull your phone out, your thumb hovering over your gallery, and you start scrolling.
you pull up an old photoâone of you and your ex at a party, both of you smiling, but he looks away, his hand tense on your waist. "look," you whisper, gesturing to the screen. "i miss the idea of it, you know? i miss having someone. but then i look at this, and i remember how exhausted i was trying to keep the peace. or this one," you swipe to another, "he was always so moody if i spent too much time with my friends... specifically you."
"yeah, i see it," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "he never looked at you right. he never knew how to hold you." he kisses the top of your head, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that used to just be for flirting but now feels like a promise. "let him go, baby. youâre here now. and youâre not going to be sad for much longer, i promise you that."
he listens with a hunger that you haven't quite processed yet.
every word you exhale is a weight lifted off your chest, and he is the one catching it, absorbing your frustration as if it were his own. he realizes then, with a sharp, terrifying clarity, that the shield he had kept around his heart all these yearsâthe 'best friend' actâwas the only thing standing between you and the reality of what he could offer.
he watches your trembling hands as you describe a particularly painful argument, and his jaw tightens. he feels a surge of something molten and possessive rush through his veins. he had spent so long watching from the sidelines, playing the supportive brother, the shoulder to cry on, the guy who made you laugh when your heart was breaking. but now? now the space is clear. and he is done being a spectator.
"i hated seeing you like that," he says, his voice low, vibrating against the side of your face where itâs still pressed to his chest. "i hated that you felt like you had to shrink yourself just to keep him happy. youâre so much bigger than that, so much brighter. i don't think you ever realized how much power you actually have."
you tilt your head back to look at him, surprised by the sudden edge of steel in his tone. his eyes are dark, locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.
"keep going," he whispers, his thumb tracing the path of a stray tear on your cheek, his touch feather-light but searing. "get it all out. every bit of frustration, every bit of hurt. iâm not going anywhere. i want to hear every single detail so i can make sure you never, ever feel that way again."
as you talk, the room feels like a sanctuary, a small, enclosed world where only you and he exist. you can see it in the way his eyes darken, in the way his hand keeps rhythm against your backâheâs not just your best friend holding you together. heâs a man who has finally decided to claim what heâs wanted all along.
"you're done with him," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that intimate, low register that makes your stomach flip. "youâre completely done. and from here on out, you don't have to carry any of that. you have me. and iâm going to make sure you never forget exactly what youâre worth."
the weeks that followed became a blur of quiet healing. he became a permanent fixture in your daily life, refusing to let you retreat into your own head.
if you had a gap in your schedule, he was there. if there was a new exhibit, a late-night food spot, or just a drive you both loved, he was at your door before you could even suggest it. he started showing up with your favorite snacks, or just sitting in silence with you while you both scrolled through your phones, the comfortable weight of his presence acting like a balm over your frayed nerves.
it was the little things that mattered most. the way heâd steer you away from crowds when he saw you feeling overwhelmed, or the way heâd talk about the most random topicsâfootball tactics, the ridiculous things his teammates said, or stories from his childhoodâjust to keep your mind occupied.
and then there were the nights. when the silence of your apartment started to feel too big and too hollow, heâd just stay. heâd take the couch, or sometimes, heâd just crawl into your bed, pulling you against his chest, his presence acting as a physical barrier against the ghosts of your past relationship. there was no pressure, no awkwardnessâjust the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your back and the feeling of safety that had been missing for so long.
it was working. you felt the fog lifting, day by day. you were laughing more, you were sleeping through the night, and the sharp, jagged edges of your heartbreak were starting to smooth out. you looked at him across the table as he helped you with something mundane, a soft smile playing on his lips, and you just thought, god, i would be absolutely lost without him.
you were so busy soaking up the warmth of his 'best friend' care that you completely missed the way his eyes would linger on your face when you weren't looking. you missed the way heâd tighten his grip on your hand just a little too long when he helped you up, or how heâd instinctively shift to stand between you and the rest of the world, marking his territory in a way that felt like protection, but looked a lot like hunger.
you were blooming under his attention, finally feeling like yourself again, completely oblivious to the fact that you were just ripening into the version of yourself that he had been waiting for all along.
the champions league anthem started playing on the tv, that iconic, soaring melody that usually signaled the start of a war for him, but here, in the comfort of your living room, it just sounded like background noise. it was the most intense part of the season. the pressure on him and the club was suffocating; they were chasing that elusive first title, and the stakes meant every training session was grueling, every match a mental and physical marathon.
yet, despite the cameras constantly in his face and the crushing weight of expectation, he was here. again.
heâd just gotten back from a flight, his bag still by the door, and he looked exhausted. the dark circles under his eyes were faint, and there was a heavy, sluggish quality to his movements that you usually only saw after the most brutal games. you felt a twinge of guilt, watching him drop his keys on the counter and walk straight toward you, his eyes softening the second they landed on you.
"you didn't have to come over," you whispered, standing up from the sofa as he reached you. "youâre probably exhausted, and you have that press conference tomorrow morning. don't you have a team meeting?"
it was the same routine. heâd order food, change into his sweats, and sink into your sofa like it was the only place in the world where he was allowed to be anything other than a professional athlete.
sometimes, heâd fall asleep while you were talking, his head heavy on your lap, his hand reflexively clutching your wrist as if to make sure you didn't leave while he was under. other times, heâd spend the entire night with his laptop open, analyzing game footage, but heâd do it right next to you, his leg pressed firmly against yours the entire time.
you watched him tonight, biting into a slice of pizza, eyes glued to the tactical diagrams on his screen, yet his free hand was absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt. it was a strange, beautiful balance. he was chasing the biggest trophy of his career, carrying the hopes of an entire city, but he was still showing up for you with a consistency that left you breathless.
you didn't realize that for him, your presence had become his own personal sanctuary. he was playing for the championship, but he was resting for you. and as he finally closed his laptop and pulled you down to lean against his chest, the stadium lights and the roar of the crowd felt a million miles away. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a sharp, content sigh.
"youâre my good luck charm, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his arms winding around your waist to pull you flush against him. "don't ever stop being here. i don't think i could do any of this without you."
you just hummed, resting your head back against his, totally unaware of the way his hold on you tightenedâlike he was holding onto his most precious prize, the one thing he refused to let slip away, no matter how many trophies were on the line.
he doesn't pull away, though. he just watches you, that small, knowing smirk still playing on his lips, enjoying the fact that heâs the one who finally managed to rattle you.
to break the tensionâor maybe because youâre suddenly terrified of what happens if you stay quietâyou let out a nervous, high-pitched giggle and decide to lean into his joke. you pull back just enough to create a little bit of space, tossing your hair back with a playful, dramatic flourish.
"fine," you announce, your voice dripping with mock-seriousness as you stand up and gesture to the imaginary crowd in your living room. "if iâm going to be a 'wag,' i have to practice my reactions. i canât just be a normal fan, can i? i need to be the perfect one."
"alright then," he says, his voice thick with challenge. "show me. the trophy is in my hands, the final whistle just blew. what do you do?"
you take a deep breath, putting on a dramatic, over-the-top face. you clutch your chest, eyes wide and watery, and throw your head back as if youâre suddenly overcome with emotion. "oh my god!" you gasp, reaching out toward him as if he were miles away on a pitch. "oh, my hero! he did it! i knew he could do it!"
you start jumping up and down, putting on an exaggerated performance of a woman who just watched her husband win the world. you even throw in a dramatic, air-kiss directed straight at him, your laughter bubbling over as you play the part. "look at him! heâs mine, did you see that?! heâs the best in the world!"
"youâre a terrible actress," he wheezes, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "but god, youâre cute when you do that. keep going. i need to know if you can handle the paparazzi if we actually win."
youâre both laughing so hard that your sides ache, the heaviness of the past few weeks completely forgotten. for a moment, it feels like the world is nothing but the two of you, the flickering lights of the tv, and the infectious, easy warmth of a future that doesn't feel quite as hypothetical as it did a few minutes ago.
he noticed it immediately. of course he did. he noticed everything about you.
later, while the team was finishing up a series of drills and the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the pitch, he jogged over to you, wiping sweat from his forehead with his shirt. he didn't head for the water station; he came straight to you, invading your space as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur that only you could hear, the sound of his heavy breathing still audible. "youâre glued to my side today," he noted, a smirk tugging at his lips. he reached out, adjusting your hair, his fingers lingering on your neck, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line against your skin.
"you were doing great on your own with the guys," he continued, his eyes darkening. "but i don't mind you sticking close. honestly, i prefer it. itâs nice knowing exactly where you are every time i turn around."
he leaned in even closer, his scentâfresh grass, deep heat, and that intoxicating, clean smell of himâoverwhelming your senses. he wasn't just being a protective best friend anymore, and the way he was looking at youâwith that possessive, steady intensityâmade it clear that he was perfectly happy to keep you right where you were: tucked safely away in his world, and firmly under his wing.
you feel a sudden swell of genuine, quiet pride in your chest. looking at himâcovered in sweat, chest still heaving from the intensity of the drill, yet focused entirely on youâit hits you just how much heâs sacrificed to get to this point. heâs not just a player; heâs an athlete who gives everything, every single day.
his playful smirk softens, his gaze dropping to your face with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. you don't stop there. "and i really can't wait to see how much further this team goes," you continue, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "youâre so close to that final. itâs right there, almost in your hands. watching you guys get this far... it makes me want to scream from the stands."
the effect on him is immediate. the cocky, flirtatious mask slips, revealing a look of raw, unguarded vulnerability. heâs not used to people seeing past the 'star player' persona, but you? youâve always seen the man beneath the jersey.
he reaches out, his hand sliding behind your neck to pull you just an inch closer, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that feels like a silent promise. he doesn't look away from your eyes. "itâs a lot of pressure," he admits, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. "some days it feels like the whole world is watching, waiting for me to slip up. but knowing youâre in the stands... knowing youâre the one watching me reach for that trophy? it changes everything."
he leans down, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his breath warm against your lips. heâs grounding himself, using you as his touchstone in the middle of a chaotic, high-stakes season.
"weâre going to get there," he murmurs, his eyes dark and burning with a quiet, fierce determination. "and when we do, i want you to be the first person i look for. i want you there, right by my side, when we finally bring it home. you have no idea how much your belief in me... how much you... mean to this whole process."
the way he says itâthe possessiveness, the reliance, the sheer gravity of his wordsâit leaves you reeling. heâs not just talking about the game anymore. heâs talking about a future that heâs already building with you at the center of it.
yet, here he is. at your place again, three nights before the biggest game of his life.
earlier that day, you had heard him arguingâsoftly, but firmlyâover the phone with his manager. you caught snippets of it: âitâs not a distraction,â heâd snapped, his voice tight, âitâs the only reason iâm playing the way i am. leave it alone.â he didn't explain it to you, but you knew. you knew he was fighting to keep his time with you, even when the world was telling him to lock himself away in a hotel room.
heâs sitting on your floor now, leaning his back against the sofa, his laptop discarded on the coffee table. he looks drained, the exhaustion of the season finally etching lines of fatigue around his eyes, but his focus is laser-sharp on you. youâre sitting beside him, your hand absentmindedly twisting the fabric of his sweatpants, and heâs watching you with an intensity that makes your skin flush.
"the coach thinks iâm losing my mind," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. he reaches out, his fingers hooking under your chin to tilt your face up to his. "he thinks i should be staring at game footage until my eyes bleed, or sleeping in a pressurized chamber. he doesn't get it."
he shakes his head, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch electric. "no. youâre my concentration. youâre the only thing that actually keeps me centered. when iâm with you, everything elseâthe noise, the expectations, the terror of losingâit all just goes quiet."
your breath hitches. the weight of his words settles deep in your chest, and suddenly, the air in the room feels different. itâs not just the safety of your friendship anymore. itâs something elseâsomething heavier, more frantic, and entirely consuming.
you look at him, really look at him, and you realize the shift has already happened. youâre not just relying on him to get you through your heartbreak; youâre craving him. your heart isn't just fluttering because heâs a good friend; itâs racing because youâre terrified of the way you want him to pull you closer, the way you want his lips on yours, the way you want to be the reason his heart beats as fast as yours does right now.
the realization hits you like a tidal wave: youâre falling. not just a little, but completely and devastatingly. youâre not his 'best friend' who got her heart broken anymore. youâre a woman sitting on her floor, aching for the man who has spent every spare second of his most important season tethering himself to you.
you swallow hard, his gaze tracking the movement of your throat with predatory precision. he senses the shift in youâhe feels the change in your posture, the way your heartbeat has picked up beneath your skin. his eyes darken, a knowing, triumphant shadow crossing his face.
"you're thinking about it, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice a dangerous, velvet invitation. he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. "you're finally starting to feel it too."
"i'm not letting you watch this from a screen," he had told you two days ago, his voice firm as he handed you the ticket. "i need you there. i need to know you're in the stands, right where i can find you when the final whistle blows. iâm not going through the biggest night of my life without my good luck charm within reach."
the stadium lights are blinding, a harsh, electric glare that seems to reflect the nervous energy vibrating through your entire body. you are perched at the very edge of the VIP row, close enough to the pitch that you can practically feel the heat radiating off the manicured grass. the roar of the crowd is a physical weight, a wall of sound that makes your skin prickle, but your focus is entirely on the man warming up just a few dozen yards away.
you can feel his pressure as if it were your own. itâs a tight, hot knot in your stomach. you aren't just here to support him; you are here to be his witness, his motivation, and, if he manages to pull off the impossible, the person he comes to claim. the thought makes your heart hammer against your ribs so hard it hurts. you want this for him more than youâve ever wanted anything, because you finally understand that his victory is the key to the door youâve been terrified to open.
he pauses his drills for a second, his chest heaving under his jersey, and turns. he scans the front row of the stands, his eyes moving with a laser-like focus until they latch onto you. the moment he sees you, the intensity in his gaze doesn't softenâit deepens. he holds your stare for a heartbeat, his eyes dark and burning with an unspoken message that sets your blood on fire. he gives a single, sharp nod, his hand momentarily brushing his chest over his heart, before he turns back to the pitch, his focus absolute once more.
the refereeâs whistle echoes through the stadium, sharp and piercing, signaling the start of the match. the world around you seems to blur into a kaleidoscope of motion and noise. you grip your seat, your nails digging into the velvet, your breath shallow.
every time he touches the ball, the air in your lungs vanishes. you aren't just watching a match anymore; youâre watching the man youâre desperately falling for fight for the right to call you his. you realize that you aren't just rooting for a club or a trophy; youâre rooting for the start of your life with him. youâre rooting for the moment he finally walks off that pitch, crosses the barrier, and makes that promise real.
the stadium is no longer just a venue; itâs a crucible, and you are burning right along with it. when the ball leaves his foot for the second time, arching perfectly past the keeperâs desperate reach into the top corner, your entire world tilts on its axis.
a double. heâs done it.
youâre not even human in this moment; youâre pure, unfiltered sound. youâre jumping on your seat, hands pressed to your cheeks, screaming until your throat burns, completely oblivious to the thousands of people surrounding you. the sheer dominance heâs displaying on the pitch is dizzying. heâs not just playing; heâs performing a symphony of power, and you are the only one who knows exactly what heâs fighting for.
then, he does the one thing that makes your heart stop dead in your chest.
as he turns, that signature smirkâsharp, dangerous, and utterly possessiveâspreads across his face. he doesn't run to the bench. he doesn't embrace his teammates. he grabs the hem of his jersey, yanks it over his head, and tosses it aside, leaving him standing there in the middle of the pitch, chest heaving, skin glistening under the floodlights.
he starts walking. not toward the fans, not toward the cameras. he walks straight toward your corner, his stride heavy with a lethal, focused confidence. heâs looking right at you, his eyes locked onto yours with such intense, singular purpose that the stadium around you seems to dissolve into gray static.
the air in your lungs vanishes as the reality crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave. this isn't the guy who used to drive you home at 3:00 am just to listen to you cry. this isn't just your best friend.
as he stops just a few feet away from the barrier, holding your gaze, it hits you with the clarity of a lightning strike: he is the love of your life.
every suppressed feeling, every moment of 'just friends' banter, every night you spent in his armsâit all makes sense now. youâve been chasing this, and heâs been waiting for you to catch up. your hands are shaking, not from the cold, but from the sudden, terrifying realization that you are standing on the edge of everything.
the final whistle is minutes away. the trophy is practically in his grip. and you? you are fully, completely, and irrevocably his. you aren't just ready for the end of the match anymoreâyou are ready for the rest of your life to begin the moment he walks off that pitch and into your arms.
the final whistle pierces the air, sharp and final, a sound that instantly transforms the stadium into a riot of noise, confetti, and pure euphoria. itâs official. the psg have done itâthe dream youâve heard him whisper about for years is now reality. the trophy is theirs.
the dam inside you finally breaks. you donât just cry; you sob, your shoulders shaking as tears stream down your face, hot and fast. itâs an overwhelming cocktail of relief, pride, and the sheer magnitude of seeing him achieve everything he ever fought for. your vision is blurred, the pitch below turning into a hazy, vibrant sea of blue and red, and your legs feel like theyâve completely forgotten how to hold your weight.
you want to move. you want to runâto sprint past the security, to scramble over the barrier, to reach him before anyone else can touch him. you want to be the first one to feel the heat radiating off his skin and to tell him that he did it. but youâre paralyzed. youâre absolutely, completely captivated, your heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated awe against your ribs. you are frozen in the middle of the most beautiful, chaotic moment of your life, watching the confetti rain down on the man who owns your heart.
down on the pitch, he doesnât wait. heâs already scanning the crowd, his eyes wild, frantic, and filled with a desperate intensity that matches your own. he ignores the cameras, ignores the teammates trying to hoist him onto their shoulders, and ignores the massive trophy waiting for him. his focus is singular. heâs searching for you.
and then, his eyes lock onto yours.
his face, already radiant with the glow of victory, transforms into something even more raw. he doesnât stop to celebrate with the others. he starts pushing through the throng of people, his movements purposeful and urgent. heâs coming for you. heâs coming to claim the promise.
you stand there, chest heaving, tears still track-marking your face, your hands gripping the cold metal of the barrier until your knuckles ache. you can see him getting closer, his gaze never once wavering from your face, and the realization hits you with the force of a physical blow: heâs not coming for the trophy, and heâs not coming for the cameras.
heâs coming for his girl.
and as he reaches the front row, his chest heaving from the adrenaline of the final minutes, he doesn't even pause. he reaches out his hand toward you, his expression softening into a look of such intense, hungry adoration that your breath hitches in your throat.
"i told you," he says, his voice barely audible over the roaring crowd, but you hear every syllable as if he were whispering right against your ear. "i told you iâd win it all. and now iâm coming to collect my prize."
he isn't asking anymore. heâs waiting for you to take his hand.
you don't need words. the air in your lungs is gone, replaced by the crushing weight of relief and the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the moment. you don't even thinkâyou just move, vaulting over the barrier and letting your momentum carry you straight into him.
you collide with him, your arms wrapping around his neck as hard as you can, burying your face into the curve of his shoulder. he catches you instantly, his arms winding around your waist with a strength that pins you against him, lifting you off your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. heâs solid, heâs hot, and heâs shakingâa raw, rhythmic tremor that you can feel through the thin fabric of his jersey.
he buries his face in your hair, his breath hitching in his own throat. heâs not shouting, heâs not celebrating with the team; heâs just holding onto you, his grip so tight itâs almost painful, as if heâs trying to fuse the two of you together right there in front of everyone.
"i have you," he murmurs, his voice thick, rough, and vibrating against your ear. "i finally have you."
you sob harder, your tears soaking into his skin, your entire body trembling. you feel his heart hammering against your chest, a wild, frantic bird of a heartbeat that matches your own perfectly. in this chaos, amidst the fireworks, the screaming fans, and the deafening victory music, the world has narrowed down to just thisâthe scent of him, the strength of his arms, and the absolute, terrifying realization that there is no more 'best friend' and no more running.
he pulls back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, eyes bright with a mixture of sweat, joy, and a hunger that is entirely, undeniably yours. he doesn't let go of your waist, his hands roaming over your back, keeping you flush against him, making sure there is no space left between you.
he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his nose brushing yours, and he closes his eyes for a second, just breathing you in. he doesn't need to hear a confession. he feels the way youâve surrendered to him, the way youâre clutching his shirt as if heâs the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
"you're mine," he says again, not as a question this time, but as a vow. "you're finally mine. and i am never, ever letting go."
he kisses you thenâa messy, desperate, tear-stained kiss that tastes like everything youâve been afraid to admit for years. and as the stadium cheers around you, you realize that the trophy, the fame, the victoryânone of it compares to the feeling of being held by him, knowing that the only thing he wanted to win tonight was you.
you try to speak, a jumble of syllables and shaky, breathless gasps, but itâs completely unintelligibleâa messy, emotional confession that gets lost in the sheer overwhelming surge of your own heart. you feel foolish, but then his laugh breaks through the roar of the stadiumâa low, genuine sound that vibrates against your own chest.
he doesn't pull away to make you repeat yourself; instead, he cups your face with both hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. his eyes are filled with a tender, patient warmth that grounds you instantly. "shhh," he murmurs, his voice a soft anchor amidst the chaos. "i know. you don't have to say a word. i've got you."
before you can even catch your breath, he slips an arm firmly around your waist, pulling you into his side with a proprietary, unbreakable hold. he doesn't just invite you to follow himâhe leads you right into the center of the madness.
as he steps back onto the pitch with you tucked securely against him, you feel the reality of it finally sink in. the grass is cool beneath your feet, the air thick with gold confetti and the overwhelming hum of victory. everywhere you look, there is motion, light, and the deafening cheers of a stadium that belongs to him tonight. but heâs not looking at any of it. heâs looking at you, his hand a constant, reassuring weight on your hip, guiding you through the surge of his teammates as they begin their celebration.
you look up at him, and for the first time, you see the full scale of it. he has the trophy of his dreams, the ultimate pinnacle of the life heâs dedicated every heartbeat to. and then you look at yourselfâheld tight by the man who was always the dream beneath the dream.
it hits you with a clarity that takes your breath away: the stars finally aligned. he fought his war, he secured his crown, and through all of it, he never stopped coming for you. he isn't just the boy you teased or the friend who comforted you; he is your man, the one who was meant for you all along.
he catches you staring, a knowing, radiant grin breaking across his face. he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple, his voice barely audible over the chanting of the fans. "how does it feel?" he asks, his gaze burning into yours, full of a fierce, protective pride. "being right where you belong?"
the realization settles deep in your bones, warm and permanent. you aren't just in the middle of a celebration; you're standing at the starting line of the rest of your lives. you look at him, and this time, you don't stutter. you just smile, tucking your head into his shoulder, and hold on tighter, knowing that wherever he goes from here, youâre finally going with him.
sometimes you wondered if he even realized how obvious he was.
he sat there with one arm draped across the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly toward you, his attention never leaving your face.
every time you looked over, those brown eyes were already focused on you.
you talked for nearly twenty minutes straight and he didnât interrupt or complain, didnât even check his phone. he simply stayed there, listening like your voice was the most interesting thing in the world.
âare you even listening?â
his eyebrows lifted. âof course.â
âprove it.â
without missing a beat, he repeated almost everything you had just said.
âsee?â
âthatâs scary.â
âyou asked.â
you shook your head exasperated and his smile widened, he looked proud of himself as you tried not to smile back but failed immediately.
âyouâre such a puppy.â
âam i?â he smiled.
âyes.â
âwhy?â
âyou listen to everything i say and you follow me around everywhere.â
âthe last part is not true!â he said offended.
you raised an eyebrow. âyeah? because you literally came into the kitchen three times this morning just because i was there.â
âi was getting water.â
âthree times?â
âyes...â he leaned closer until his shoulder pressed against yours. âbut i like being around you.â
the confession almost caught you off guard, you looked at the soft expression on his face, the way he seemed perfectly content just sitting there beside you, being close and he looked exactly like what you had called him.
he was a puppy. a very football player puppy. one with doe eyes and an endless need for affection.
Heâs surrounded by cameras trying to capture every possible angle of him with the Champions League trophy, a huge smile spread across his face. He looks completely at ease, completely happy, like heâs exactly where heâs meant to be, enjoying every second of it because this is his moment.
You stay off to the side for a while, just watching him, even taking a few pictures yourself like the proud girlfriend you are, because itâs not every day that your boyfriend wins the Champions League.
At some point, he notices you. His eyes immediately find yours through the crowd and a smile appears on his lips as he shakes his head in amusement, realizing youâve been secretly taking photos of him.
He stands up, carefully places the trophy back on the ground, and motions for you to come over.
You take dozens of photos, laughing the entire time, and in one of them youâre both holding the trophy together, except itâs much heavier than expected and you almost lose your grip.He immediately laughs, sliding his hands over yours and wrapping his fingers around them to steady it.
âCareful, baby,â he says softly, as the trophy ends up resting between both of your hands, his chest lightly pressed against your shoulder while photographers capture the moment.
In another photo, he places his sunglasses on your face before carefully taking off his winnerâs medal and hanging it around your neck, his arm never once leaving your waist.
Sometimes his thumb absentmindedly rubs your hip while the cameras keep flashing around you, but he doesnât care. His smile stays soft and victorious, his eyes filled with a thousand emotions at once, the pride of achieving his dream, of making his family proud, of making his fans proud but most of all, the happiness of sharing it all with you.
Without overthinking it, he posts it on his Instagram story with the caption âmon cĆur,â simple but enough to instantly melt your heart, because it perfectly captures a moment neither of you will ever forget.
‷Joùo Neves
After the final whistle, while celebrating with his teammates, JoĂŁo has been looking for you the entire time. Even as the stadium shakes under the noise of it all, his eyes keep scanning the crowd, searching for you.
Then it happens when youâre finally allowed onto the pitch, the second you step into view, his gaze locks onto your silhouette and everything else disappears. His smile breaks wider instantly, softer in a way only you ever get to see.
âPrincesa!â he calls, his voice cutting effortlessly through the chaos, and before you can even fully react, heâs already running straight toward you.
You barely have time to laugh before he reaches you and crashes into you with full force, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulls you against his chest like he never wants to let go. His chin rests on top of your head, and he kisses your hair once, then again, like heâs been waiting the entire match just for this moment. You whisper how proud you are of him, of everything heâs achieved at such a young age, and instead of answering, he simply pulls back just enough to press soft kisses to your cheeks, one after another, unable to hide how overwhelmed and happy he is.
For a moment, itâs just you in his arms while everything continues around you. Even then, he doesnât let go properly. One arm stays around your shoulders as he keeps you tucked against his side, guiding you through the crowd toward the PSG supporters.
His teammates immediately start teasing him, calling him âloverboy,â which only makes him laugh while he still refuses to let go of you.
And as you walk beside him, you canât help but look at him more than anything else the soft features that make him look even younger up close, the freckles catching the stadium lights, the tiredness behind his happiness and you feel an overwhelming sense of pride, not just for what heâs won, but for him.
‷Warren Zaire-Emery
Youâre in the stands, surrounded by fans screaming with pure joy as Arsenal miss the penalty that seals PSGâs victory.
The whole stadium erupts. Youâre jumping with everyone around you, laughing, shouting, barely able to believe what youâre seeing. Across the pitch, players are running in every direction, some collapsing into teammatesâ arms, others disappearing under celebrations, but Warren doesnât move at first.
For a few seconds, he just stands there, chest rising and falling as he stares around the stadium, trying to process everything the noise, the lights, the supporters, the reality that PSG have actually done it.
Then suddenly he turns and starts running. Not toward the teammates, not toward the cameras, not even toward his fans, but straight toward you.
He sprints across the pitch like pure adrenaline is carrying him forward, weaving through staff, players, and security without slowing down. The moment you realize where heâs going, you push yourself against the barrier as far as you can, squeezed between celebrating supporters and overwhelmed security guards trying to hold everyone back.
âWarren!â you shout, your voice breaking between laughter and tears.
âYou did it!â
He hears you instantly. Of course he does. His head snaps up the second your voice reaches him, and within seconds heâs there, reaching the barrier, crashing straight into your arms. His forehead presses against your chest, his arms locking tightly around your waist as he holds onto you like he needs it to understand whatâs happening.
For a moment, he doesnât move or speak, just breathes you in while trying to ground himself after everything. You can feel him shaking slightly, overwhelmed by joy and disbelief all at once.
Behind him, his teammates realize he has completely disappeared, shouting and laughing as they point toward the stands.
You gently brush the damp curls from his forehead, and he finally looks up at you, his expression soft and his eyes are bit red.
âGo celebrate,â you tell him gently, but he immediately shakes his head.
âNo.â You laugh.
âWarren.â
âNo,â his answer comes just as quickly the second time, earning another laugh from you while the poor security guard beside you looks increasingly stressed by the entire situation.
Reluctantly, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your forehead before finally letting go.
And throughout the entire ceremony, he keeps his eyes on you.
Later, once families are finally allowed onto the pitch, Warren finds you almost immediately. Before you can even congratulate him properly, heâs already taking his medal from around his neck and placing it around yours instead. When you try to protest, he simply shakes his head and leaves it there.
From that moment on, he barely leaves your side. One arm stays around your shoulders as he pulls you into photos, celebrations, and conversations with his teammates. Even with the trophy finally in his hands, he keeps looking over at you with the same disbelieving smile, as if he still canât quite believe any of this is happening.
‷Vitinha
He should be running around with the others, jumping, singing, celebrating with the fans.
Instead, when you finally step onto the pitch, you notice heâs moving a little slower than everyone else. The season has been long, and you can see it now. In the way he walks, in the tiredness on his face, in the way he pauses between celebrations just to catch his breath.
After everything he gave this season, his body is finally feeling it. But the smile never leaves his face. Every time a teammate hugs him or he looks at the trophy or hears the fans singing, it only gets bigger.
Then his eyes find yours, and his smile softens instantly. Not the one heâs been giving the cameras all night, but the one thatâs only for you. Without thinking, you start running toward him.
You donât care about anything around you, you just want to reach him. The second he sees you coming, his arms open right away.
You reach him and nearly crash into him, and he laughs softly while steadying you, one hand on your back and the other around your waist. âIâm proud of you,â you whisper against his shoulder, holding him tight.
âYou were the best player on the pitch.â
For a moment, he doesnât answer. He just holds you closer, like heâs finally letting go of everything heâs been carrying all season.
When he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours and his eyes close for a second.
âI just needed you here, meu amor.â he admits quietly. Your heart melts instantly. One of your hands goes to his cheek, and he leans into it without thinking.
From that moment on, he stays close to you the entire night, never really leaving your side. Every now and then, when everything becomes a little too overwhelming or when the pain and exhaustion catch up with him, he leans into you slightly, using your presence to calm himself and take a moment to breathe, like you're the only stable thing in the chaos around him.
‷ Khvicha Kvaratskhelia
During the celebrations on the pitch, most of your time is spent trying to find Khvicha, or at least trying to keep track of him.
Every time you spot him, a few seconds later heâs somewhere else; hugging teammates, running toward the fans, taking pictures with the trophy before disappearing again.
Heâs everywhere at once, completely carried away by the excitement, and watching him makes you smile because he looks so happy, almost like a child living the best day of his life.
Eventually, you stop trying to follow him, knowing heâll find you again anyway.
You spend time talking with other families, enjoying the chaos and laughter around you, until suddenly something is placed over your shoulders. You look down and immediately recognize it:
a Georgian flag.
You smile instantly because there is only one person who would do that. Before you can even turn around, two arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar chest.
âYou were looking for me?â Khvicha teases, his voice close to your ear.
You laugh. âYou donât stay still for one second.â
His arms tighten briefly before he finally lets you turn around, and when you do, you see him slightly out of breath, hair messy, medal hanging crookedly around his neck.
For the first time all evening, he actually looks still. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your temple, and you stay like that for a moment, just enjoying the calm in the middle of everything.
But it doesnât last long, because this is Khvicha.
A few seconds later heâs already taking your hand and pulling you forward.
âKhvicha, what are you doing?â you laugh.
He grins. âThe party just started.â
And before you can protest, heâs already dragging you back into the celebrations, completely full of energy again,
like the night is only getting started.
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he has a crazed look in his eye, incredulous laugh muffled by you slotting his head in between your thighs.
you push back polyesterâs bangs, forehead glistening in sweat while you thrust against his mouth.
âdidnât know you wereââ he gasps, hands trying to push you back, âso rough!â you pay him no mind, ignoring the desperate gasps heâs trying to take while you rock your hips against his nose, fully smothering him.
you moan, getting off to his pathetic muffling.
âcan you, like, let me breathe for a second?ââ
polyester groans, half feeling frustrated and half feeling, well, aroused as fuck.
its not everyday he can find someone as brash and domineering in the bedroom. heâs eating it up, literally.
âoh no babyâŠâ you coo. âyouâre gonna let me use this mouth of yours, mkay?â
he moans in embarrassment.
âyâgonna let me?â propping your hand on the wall, polyester feels slick drip towards his chest, fingers coming up to spread it all over his chest.
he feels his hair getting pulled back, eyes meeting yours, strings of saliva connecting his jaw and towards your pussy.
âanswer.â you enunciate your point with a tug, catching sight of him playing with his slick covered nipples. âbitch, answer.â
you shake his head, and polyester almost feels his dick pop out of his pants.
âohhhh my fucking god, yes! goddamn, yes, use it!â he whines, feeling his shame mix with his arousal.
grabbing both sides of his head, you push and pull at it while finding your rhythm, relishing in the way his eyes cross.
âfuck, thatâs good.â you hum, grinning at his messy hair and disheveled appearance, such a big contrast to the neat and tidy look he usually sports.
gathering spit onto your tongue, you let out a small âfwah..â watching the glob land on his forehead, slowly dripping down onto the eye he usually keeps covered under his bangs, making him close it.
the angel under you lets out a whine thats swallowed into your folds, your clit vibrating against his nose while his tongue goes to town with your hole.
âwant another? huh, baby?â you goad, hips rolling. polyester moans, nodding while his eyes begs for you. you smile, âyouâre nasty.â
he feels another glob hit the space between his eyebrows, face scrunching at the pure arousal heâs feeling.
âare all angels up there like this?â you whisper in a lust filled daze, looking at the ceiling as if to make a point. âyour brother like this too?â
you laugh at his face, watching him try, and fail, to glare at you (not that he can ever look threatening when his jaw is aching from lapping into you anyways.)
âjealous?â you huff out a snort, ââshiit, youâre gonna make me cum.â
polyester has a hand down his pants now, precum dripping like crazy while his nipples glisten, still soaked in your wetness.
you swear, panting and moaning while you chase that relief, taking advantage of the angelâs invulnerability to treat his face like a rocking chair.
polyester was on the same boat, hand pumping his cock in a rushed manner, desperate thrusting into his palm while his face got choked between your legs.
and with what felt like an explosion, you feel your limbs relax as you feel the rush and tingle spread all over you, moaning into the air.
slowly tilting your head down, you lean back to see polyesterâs cum dribbling out like lava from a volcano. his head rests against the walls, mouth wide and hanging in gasps and small whines with your juice and saliva still coating the lower half of his face and body.
âholy fuck.â you groan, cupping his cheek. âopen.â you whisper, watching proudly when he does so, eyes still unfocused but still conscious enough to be obedient.
you spit onto his tongue, before scooping up some of the sticky lines connecting your thighs to his face and twirling them onto his forehead, circling him like a perverted tiara.
humming, polyester closes his eyes, swallows everything before moaning, dick still twitching against his hands.
âthat wasâŠâ his voice cracks, hooded eyes gazing up at you with a hazy smile, âlikeâ so fucking hot.â
You stared at the girl in front of you, temporarily awestruck by her beauty. Her ivory skin was brought out by her gothic state of dress. Itâs very frilly and feminine. Underneath she wears blue striped stockings underneath that contrasts with her dark appearance. Her hair is so long it goes down to her waist.
She clears her throat, bringing you back to reality. She smiles, âShould I pull up a chair or are you fine by yourself today?â
Dumbly, you blink at her. The girlsâ smile grows tight the longer you stare. And finally, looking between her and the crowd behind her â their expressions ranging from disgusted to shocked â you realize she's giving you out from the asskicking Tracy was about to unleash on you.
âYeah.â you blurt out. âYeah, sit anywhere.â You then pat the chair beside you. âAs a matter of fact, sit next to meâŠif you want!â
âThanks!â she chirps.
Going around the table, the angelic goth girl sits beside you. You began to eat, or at least try to. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the narrowed gazes of Tracy and pig heads and the tooth picks before they walked away. You let out a sigh you didnât know you were holding and turned to look at the angel girl. You hadn't expected her cheerful demeanor to disappear as soon as you made eye contact. Her bright blue eyes were absolutely haunting when paired with her cold expression.
âUm⊠thanks forââ
âDonât mention it. Ever.â She cut you off, taking out what looked to be a lunchbox and taking off the top. Inside was a cup of creme brulee. âI just hate to see good food go to waste. I heard what you did to that jerk off, Chad. Youâve got some guts.â she mused.
Your cheeks flushed slightly, âThanksââ
She waved a hand, âDonât let it go to your head.â
You felt whatever hopes you had crashed against the table as she spoke. But oddly enough, you felt you needed it. If she hadnât been so blunt, you mightâve thought you had a chance of making an actual friend.
How corny right?
But if she was being direct on not wanting you to be chummy with her and yet protecting you from Tracy that could only mean one other thingâŠ
Sighing, you pushed your plate aside and placed your elbows on the table, resting your head upon your threaded fingers. âSo what do you want?â
Angel girl was in the middle of eating her creme brulee when she paused and looked your way. âExcuse me?â
âWhat. Do. You. Want?â You repeated, âMy lunch money? What?â
She scoffed, âIâm eating creme brulee.â
âAnd?â
âAnd. You donât have anything I want. And if you do, itâs nothing I canât get myself.â She punctuated this as she stuck her spoon in her mouth, savoring the dessertsâ taste with a hum.
Okay, dammit. You actually wanted to pay her back in some way since she had basically rescued you by social intervention. But her supercilious attitude was really starting to get on your nerves.
âThen why did you step in like that?â you asked.
She shrugged, âLike I said, you have guts. Most of the students here would bend over and sharpen a pencil in their ass if I told them to.â
Okaaay?
âBut when whatshisface came along you held your own.â
âI wasnât trying to start anythingâŠâ
âYou didnât, but you were aiming to finish it. And sure, you had no chance in hell of fighting that guy alone but you didnât lose your nerve.â
âSo I impressed you?â you snapped. âIs that why you came over, because you wanted to see a good fight?â
The girl blinked at you, a hint of surprise passing across her large eyes. A very small part of you felt guilty and extremely embarrassed of your outburst. This part of you was so embarrassed it wanted to prostrate itself against her and beg for forgiveness. The larger, more stubborn part of you hated that, however, and wanted you to tell her off.
For a moment or so you held each othersâ stare before she made a small noise akin to a snicker.
âI donât need your help and I donât want your attention. If you want to see a fat bitch fight, put on some sumo wrestling.â
Angel girl then stood, packing her box dessert up as she mused. âThen you wonât have any problems on your own when Chad gets back from suspension.â
Shit. She was right. When it got back to Chad that Tracy couldnât psyche you out heâd definitely be an issue.
The apparent fear on your face made her smile grow and she turned to walk away. âHave a good rest of your week. Youâre gonna need it.â
â
âReally? She blew you off?â
Panty gave her little sister an incredulous look as she recounted the events at lunch period.
âYeah. Guess thatâs what you get for extending sympathy. Everyoneâs suddenly so proud.â Stocking said, pulling the tongue from Honekoneko before letting it snap back in its face.
Currently they were riding on the highway with their jeep, See-Through. Panty had not really had a need for hand eye coordination, so only a glance back at the road while she talked with Stocking assured her they wouldnât crash on their way to the church.
âSheesh, whatever happened to fat bitches sticking together?â Panty scoffed, âIâm honestly surprised she didnât jump at the opportunity to make you friendship bracelets and scale each other on your weight loss journeyâŠâ
Stocking shrugged, âI donât really blame her. She didnât ask for my help.â And I didnât have to give it to herâŠ
Due to the Anarchy sisters revered beauty, it wasnât a secret that they were practically worshiped at Daten High School. Everybody wanted them and wanted to be them, even if they hated them. She supposed that with you being new to the scene, you hadnât gotten the memo that they were many ticks above your social status.
But that was fine⊠it was almost kind of refreshing.
They soon arrived at the church, hopping out on opposite sides. Panty rested her hands behind her head and looked up at the sky. âHow much do you bet sheâll get her ass kicked by the cheerleaders tomorrow morning?â
âThe cheerleaders are gonna do that?â
âItâs arranged by that Barbie chick. I can book us some front row seats on the shoulders of jocks and a donut hole for you if youâre down?â
Stocking snorted, âSure whatever, I could use the entertainment. Maybe this time I can properly get to see a fat bitch fight.â
