it was just too much—anniversarries, gifts, physical affection, other sappy romantic stuff. all of that required too much effort. all of that was just simply a hassle to him and nothing more.
that was his mindset until you came around.
it was like thanos snapped his fingers and nagi's perspective towards romance instantly changed.
all of a sudden, anniversaries didn't seem so troublesome when they meant getting to spend the entire day with you.
gifts weren't a hassle when he got to watch your face light up over something he'd picked out specifically for you.
even physical affection, something he used to find especially bothersome, became something he always craved from you.
one night, nagi was sprawled across the couch beside you, his head resting comfortably in your lap while you absentmindedly played with his hair.
"you're really heavy," you mumbled.
"mm."
"you should move."
"t'much effort."
you rolled your eyes but didn't actually push him away. your fingers continued combing through his white hair, occasionally scratching lightly against his scalp.
nagi's eyes fluttered shut. unconciously, he let out a soft sigh.
this was nice—way too nice for a lazy bum like him.
nagi never understood why people went through all the trouble of dating someone. now he understood. having someone like you with him made doing absolutely nothing feel like the best thing and the most productive thing in the world.
nagi opened one eye and looked up at you.
"hey."
"hm? what's up, sei?" you asked curiously, tilting your head slightly.
"love you," nagi mumbled and immediately closed his eye from shyness despite knowing you could see him blushing.
"aw you're so adorable seishi," you cooed. "i love you too!"
you began pinching his cheeks, which did slightly hurt, but he would gladly accept that hassle.
CL♡SE THE DOOR AND OPEN UP TO ME | vivian hugo x reader
❥ summary: watching sex scenes in movies are awkward, especially when watching them with people. but the temporary image of their euphoric faces leaves you with a throbbing feeling and a thought: did it ever feel that good like in those films? how would it feel like if you ever engaged it with your footballer boyfriend? ‘guess you’d have to find out. (in which hugo accidentally stumbles upon your search history filled with porn videos)
❥ a/n: haven’t wrote for blue lock in like…three years but hey ive never guessed a 6’1 frenchman would drag me back to this god forsaken fandom. yes, this is also based on the song. THIS IS A LONG ONE BUT BEAR W ME PLEASE, THIS TOOK ME LONG ToT
❥ wc: 16.7k
❥ pairing: vivian hugo x fem!reader
❥ cw: 18+ [n]sfw, mdni, prn with plot, no use of y/n, virginity loss, oral s*x, f*ngering, protective s*x, size difference, reader is kind of a secret freak ;0, reader cries from shame for a bit, lots of kissing, making out, they both tried french kissing like losers, reader is in university, yearner hugo agenda
“o-oh yes, there!”
movie nights are always something you’d look up to, especially after weeks or months of non-stop grinding for project and class requirements. you swore, your eyes were nearly peeling off your face by the time you were able to click ‘submit’ to the final assignment that’s been making you lose your mind for months in your current semester.
university life is always equally exhausting; rest days are gems you would claw your way through to get, but they exist for a brief period before time passes and you’re back moving to society in an endless cycle.
gah, you were thinking like this again…
you weren’t always a negative thinker, you never considered yourself one. negative thinking makes you submerge in endless thoughts that distracts you from what you’re originally doing, and frankly, you don’t have time for it no matter the situation.
besides—three days! it was a lucky scratch off from your hard work. three whole rest days where you could just relax and take a breather, maybe even nap throughout the weekend or go out, do some yoga…or maybe invite your athletic boyfriend over to keep you company..
but, what’s a better way to spend your rare three-day rest days spending time in the comfort of your own home?
well…that was originally the plan.
the next thing you knew, three of your closest friends from campus barged into your door, smiles wide on their faces with the thought that they had succeeded in surprising you first thing at 7pm after your shift from your work. you had to admit, it did work, considering the reaction you wore when they first appeared on your front door, though, perhaps you should’ve seen it coming..
one of them had texted you earlier about a movie she stumbled across online that was going viral for its tension. according to her, the reviews were “so-so”, but it was obvious how she was only interested because of an actor in the film whom she found hot. it was whatever, not like it mattered, and it wasn’t like you hated your friend for it.
unfortunately for you (and fortunately for her), the movie happened to be available on one of the streaming services you were faithfully paying for every month. sure, house bills were more important, but it wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of system of enjoyment.
and speaking of enjoyment…the characters on the screen were most definitely enjoying themselves in sweat-stained sheets and loud creaks of a bed.
truthfully, there was nobody to blame here about it; neither of you knew there was going to be bed rocking involving the two leading roles in the film, and frankly–it wasn’t odd that a film with a 6.3 imdb review and a few 5 stars from women who had only watched the film to see the main actor’s abs, was going to have a steamy sex scene involved with it.
do you agree the plot was worth it? nope, and safe to assume there was barely any plot, but at least this scene alone managed to at least grab two minutes of your attention.
your living room was dimmed (“to strengthen the theatric atmosphere”, one of your buddies said), leaving only your television and fairy lights to illuminate the surrounding area that was bright enough to show where the snacks and drinks are. two of them were closely cuddled next to each other, giggling and whispering how awkward the two main leads must’ve felt when acting this part.
the third one among your group; was sat close to you on the couch, her head lying on your shoulder as she sipped slowly from her diet coke cup. she didn’t seem impressed by the scene at all, a face of distaste written all over her expression as if the diet cola’s taste was gone thanks to all the ice she tossed in her cup.
who wouldn’t be? there was nothing more awkward than watching a sex scene with your friends, when all came to have a good movie night whilst pointing at the tv and laugh.
and you? well…you’d be lying if you say you weren’t intrigued by the subtle and suggestive touches from the screen.
the scene had set the mood just perfectly for an intimate setting; dim lighting, faint light from the windows with the white curtains dancing from the wind, skin on skin with intertwined fingers, quiet atmosphere, and all more. hushed moans and kisses lingered between them, with the lead actor licking a small stripe up on the actress’ sweaty neck, followed by a small praise.
you shivered, and your friend must’ve felt so as she turned slightly to look at you.
“you good?” she asked quietly, only you could hear her from the constant giggles from your other two. you immediately shifted your position, adjusting your sleeve as you nodded. there was no way this scene was making you feel tingles.
“y-yeah, all good. just the cold,” you quickly came up, trying to act cool when you know you’re not. gosh, you should’ve just slept for the day. but then again, your friends would’ve totally still woken you up for this movie. your friend snickers, quick to adjust herself back on the comfort of your shoulder.
“told you this film would be worth it. i doubt this scene will last longer, we’re only halfway through.”
well thank fucking god?
the small bicker between them exchanged quickly, back and forth. your friend beside you joins in with no hesitation, laughing at their stupid conversation with a relaxed chortle. if only your head was just as relaxed as theirs when a sexual segment like this plays out; but you were just a little dazed by the intimacy.
why? well, for one: you were a “curious” virgin. two: you have a boyfriend, though the two of you were yet to decide if it was finally the right time to have sex. and three: you hate to admit that the thought of having sex must feel like heaven if women make those kinds of noises from fluttering touches, and thus– you were feeling frustrated with the lack of bold intimacy between the both of you. did that make any sense?
it wasn’t like you were blaming your boyfriend–hugo, for the lack of sexual intimacy between the two of you. sure, there were small suggestive hand touches here and there, but taking it slow was always something you two wanted in your relationship, and the thought of immediately wanting to have sex was just something that never crossed his mind, it wasn’t something he registered as appropriate to quickly do with you.
he wanted to take his time, and you find it sweet of how his efforts are with including both you and his career in football; you didn’t mind waiting for the right moment either with someone like him who was so patient, so thoughtful, so honest, so…huge–
“ahn!”
a small fit of chuckling escapes your friend beside you. meanwhile, you had your fucking thighs pressed together from the sudden noise erupting from the screen. three and less minutes of a movie sex scene, your ass…
the two main leads press themselves against one another, the actress wrapping her arms comfortably around the actor’s neck while he covers her neck in faint kisses, his breathing soft against her ear before pressing a small kiss. it was more intimate than sexual, but it was enough to get your imagination swimming in endless thoughts.
did it really feel that good? they’re sweating in that heated room, yet all they could focus on was chasing that release together. wouldn’t it be uncomfortable pressing sweaty skin together like that?
they seem to be clingy rather than letting each other go. and the feeling, god–the feeling…how did intimacy really feel like together with a partner you know you want so badly? was it better than masterbaiting? (you didn’t want to tell hugo you masterbaited to the thought of him touching you a lot). also, was it true you bleed for the first time?
oh god, the thought was terrifying but you couldn’t help but want it to happen. the touches, the kisses, hushed whispers and pleasure slowly building, just made you wish you had your virginity taken…
was hugo big?
you nearly slap yourself to focus back on the film in front of you. not here, no right here in front of your friends…seriously, you ought to watch porn online after this shit.
and after nearly five minutes of watching two people fuck in front of your friends, the movie finally cuts back to a new scene, returning to the original plot (in this case, you have already forgotten).
a sigh of relief threatens to escape your lips, but you hold it in with a stretch instead. yeah, never again…never again are you letting one of your buddies decide which movie to watch at your place.
that simpleton of a film really left you opening a new tab on your laptop, not even five minutes after your friends left.
okay, with full honesty, you had always been curious with the thought of sex ever since one of your other friends gave you the ‘sex talk’. or maybe you had gotten curious ever since hugo entered your life, who knows? all you know at the moment, you have found yourself typing in a porn website with red ears like a teenage boy discovering it for the first time. there wasn’t anything wrong with it, more people search up porn more than you, so what gives?
positions, toys, genre preferences…in the world of sex, you’re practically a fish out of water, but boy–was there a lot.
riding, creampies, doggy style, missionary…
you let yourself blink twice while scrolling down the web of thousands of videos. did hugo have any preferences when it comes to sex? was there anything specific he wanted to see you in? does he want you tied up? kneeling between his legs? there are hundreds of options, but you find yourself more focused on discovering things you never knew you were into.
getting gagged, seeing girls get their ass slapped until the redness formed, blindfolds and–fuck machines? the human mind evolves too fast when it comes to the topic of pleasure, and it seems you were no different.
your mind was stuck in a daze, almost as if your brain was drooling with all this new images displayed on your screen while you mindlessly clicked on one video with a woman having her throat fucked. didn’t that hurt or was it apart of the fantasy?
this was stupid. what were you even doing, searching up kinky porn? you should be reviewing for future lessons on the next term, not whatever this was. maybe it would’ve been better if you focused more on going out? yet through each scroll of your mouse, you could feel that familiar throb between your legs numb you while you watch the girls in the videos enjoy themselves.
one footage you (accidentally) clicked on, shows one woman getting herself choked while she bubbles out incoherent nonsense, dick plunging in and out of her hole as if that was her source of life.
you gulped, feeling your saliva slide down your throat.
another click of your mouse.
next one had a man this time, bound in ropes; wrists together while his girl shamelessly rode him from above; the pace relentless, that you swore you might see the bed breaking anytime soon. her head rolls back, a sign of evident euphoria written across her eyes glimmered with tears. you had to suck in a breath, never realizing that your hands instinctively went between your plush thighs to satisfy the lingering feeling.
shit…it would’ve been ten times better if it were his hands. hugo’s hands were much more bigger, thick fingers that laced with yours whenever you both headed out for a stroll, something that was difficult to ignore.
god, you’re so pathetic for thinking like this. hugo had told you dozens of times if there was anything you needed to say, don’t hesitate in telling him because he was sure he’d understand anything you’re going through (and by means: “going through” as in your sexual frustration).
but then again, how the hell were you supposed to be sincere in letting him know you want to be fucked by him? pointing a gun to your own head was much simpler. not to mention how his body was just the perfect candidate for the fantasy you didn’t know you were building up.
maybe you needed real advice.
just as you were about to switch off another tab, another footage began to play.
“HORNY BITCH GETS DICKED DOWN AND DEGRADED! SHE SQUIRTS QUICK!!”
yeah, how the fuck were you going to tell him all about this now?
hugo: u there?
im currently heading over to your place.
well shit…
one misconception you’ve assumed about hugo was that he avoided too much surprises. you were someone who assumes he prefers telling you right before doing anything he suggested as he ‘respected’ your thoughts. yet now, you find yourself standing face to face with him, who was standing right in front of your doorstep, a small box of macarons, transparent in hand, his face as flat as ever as his dark eyes stared right down on you (or maybe he was staring down somewhere else); just seven minutes after he texted you.
was it just you, or did he get even more muscular than he was before? somewhere between the curve of his jaw or arms, or perhaps it was the way his jacket looked more bigger than it was. it was either something definitely changed about him, or you were just extremely horny after watching adult content non-stop for the past 15 minutes before his sudden arrival.
hugo’s hair was somewhat drenched, small droplets falling off his long lashes, but he wasn't fully soaked from the afternoon rain. his eyes were piercing…no, wait, that’s what they usually look? fuck, you need to get ahead of yourself, what the hell is up? hugo looks just fine. there was nothing different.
crap, you forgot to put on a goddamn bra…
not to mention, your hair was a mess, and all you got on was a white spaghetti strap top on, and a pair of shorts; something you always casually wear when you’re home alone, which you usually are.
great, just fucking great…the least thing you could do now was pretend you weren’t scrolling through hardcore porn minutes ago.
a surprised smile found its way onto your face as you adjusted your top, surprise still visible. “vivian! w-when…how are you here so fast, you just texted like–seven minutes ago? also, did you run here? your hair’s dripping.” it was probably a stupid way to greet your boyfriend after three days apart, but the question slipped out before you could think of anything better.
hugo let out a quiet breath through his nose before holding up the small pastry box in his hand, offering it to you. you accepted it carefully.
“oh! you shouldn’t have, really, i still have some chouquettes in the fridge…”
"just a little treat for the both of us." his voice was as calm as ever. "as for your question... i was already halfway here when i sent that message. i was originally planning to surprise you."
‘well, it wasn’t a surprise now, was it?’ you thought to yourself.
"but i figured there was a chance you weren't home, so i texted just to make sure." he paused for a moment. "and no, i didn't run. i found somewhere to wait before it started raining."
his gaze then shifted toward the warmth of your apartment.
"...may i come in? It's cold."
at least he was honest. you stepped aside, giving him a huge space for him to pass through as he enters your place, and shuts the door behind him after.
your apartment wasn't where the two of you usually spent time together. every now and then, sure, but more often than not do you end up at hugo's place. his apartment was bigger, more comfortable, and somehow always felt a little quieter, which is unsurprising as he was pretty well off thanks to his football career. you'd lost count of how many evenings you'd spent there, curled up on his couch or absentmindedly leaving little trinkets around that somehow never made their way back home.
you were pretty sure he liked it that way.
setting the box of macarons on the table, you nudged aside the basket of fruit your grandma had dropped off earlier that morning, insisting your place needed "a bit more life." from the corner of your eye, you watched hugo shrug off his damp coat by the door.
he pushed the heavy fabric from his shoulders before running a hand through his rain-soaked hair, shaking loose a few lingering droplets. a slow breath escaped him, almost inaudible, before he finally looked up and made his way over to you who was adjusting the small mess on your kitchen table.
“i’m sorry, the place is kind of a wreck. my friends came by last night for a movie marathon, i didn’t get a chance to clean after they left earlier.”
to be frank, the place was indeed kind of a disaster.
the glass cups your friends used for their diet coke and pepsi were still lounging on your sink, the bags of unfinished chips still rolled up on your table; waiting for somebody to finally finish it, and some of your pillows from your bedroom were still lying on the living room couch, evident that they never belonged there in the first place. was hugo used to seeing your house a wreck? sometimes, but it’s usually ‘college-load’ type of wreckage.
he places his hand on yours, touch gentle before bringing it up to his lips for a quick peck at your knuckles. “i don’t mind, chérie. no need to apologize.”
“still…i should’ve at least picked up a little clutter around. it’s my fault for reading the message late..”
“like i said, i don’t mind at all. i could help you around in removing the small mess, if that’s what you want.”
patience had always been one of hugo's best qualities.
you'd admired it long before the two of you started dating, and even now, it still left you wondering what he'd seen in you to begin with. sometimes, you were convinced he'd overestimated you somewhere along the way.
you caught yourself before your thoughts could spiral any further. reaching for his hands, you wrapped both of yours around them with a quiet giggle. “It’s fine! It’s not too much anyways. it won’t take long, i swear. besides, it’s a little embarrassing to let you work and pick up mess around my place.”
hugo opens his mouth, ready to argue, yet you quickly beat him to it. “you should wait in my room for a bit. i’ll just set some things aside then i’ll get to you once i’m finished, that okay?”
“i’m fine with waiting. but are you sure you don’t need an extra hand?”
“i told you before; i’m fine! you should focus more on drying those lashes of yours, they’re dripping more than your hair.”
with that comment, hugo’s fingers subconsciously lift to feel his long lashes, feeling a damp droplet fall on his thumb and forefinger. huh…’guess his teammates weren’t exaggerating about the eyelashes. but he was used to them being pointed out anyway.
“i didn’t think it was that bad..”
“it’s a joke. there’s towels in my room if you want to use any. they’re in my closet drawer, go help yourself.”
if your eyes were cameras, that blank little look on his face would've already been immortalized. it was the expression he wore whenever something caught him off guard; not dramatic enough to be obvious, but just enough for you to notice.
your boyfriend had never been particularly expressive, yet his eyes always seemed to say everything his face didn't. his gaze lingered for a beat before dropping to below (on your lips? you weren’t so certain). whatever he had been about to say stayed unspoken. instead, he gave a small nod and quietly made his way toward your room.
the moment his footsteps faded down the hallway, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
you were moving before you could think twice, weaving around the living room as you gathered whatever had been left behind. half-empty bags of chips found their way into the trash, abandoned glasses disappeared into the sink, and the bowls your friend had filled with cheetos were stacked neatly in your arms. wedged between the couch cushions, you even found one of your friend’s scrunchies, the one she’d been whining about on her way out of the door.
"seriously?"
you took it with a sigh.
you really should've cleaned up before hugo arrived.
not that your apartment was in complete disarray; it wasn't. there weren't clothes strewn across the floor or dishes piled high in the sink. it was simply lived in. the kind of mess that inevitably followed a long evening spent with friends. still, you couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed. you weren't usually this untidy, and of all days for hugo to stop by, it had to be one where your living room looked like it had only just recovered from hosting company.
after setting the dishes aside, you made your way towards the couch to grab the pillows from your bedroom, ones that were comfortably lying on the couch. god, they smelled like your friend’s shampoo..your nose scrunches.
in hindsight, you probably could've asked hugo to carry these back to your room if he was so insistent on helping. giving the pillows a quick pat to dust them off, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.
was your room clean? a frown etches on your face as you were trying to picture it in your head. you honestly couldn't remember. maybe you should've checked before telling hugo to wait there. your friends had practically barged into your apartment, insisting on a movie night because one of them swore this film was worth watching. spoiler: it wasn't.
well…the plot wasn't. it had turned out to be little more than two hours of painfully unnecessary sex scenes stitched together by the occasional excuse of a storyline. if only you focused more on alone time, then maybe–
you froze, your grip tightening around the pillow.
movie night..that movie..your room, your laptop–
oh..
oh fuck..
you never closed your goddamn laptop.
the pillow you were holding was already on the floor with a dull thud before you even arrived to your room, eyes wide in panic like an ice bucket of water was just thrown over your head.
fuck, fuck, fuck…
fuck!
this was the worst, this was just the worst!
scrambling feet were already carrying you down the hallway before your brain had fully caught up. the apartment blurred past in your peripheral vision, your pulse pounding loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. you reached your bedroom door in what felt like seconds, hand fumbling for the doorknob before wrenching it open.
“..v-vivian?!”
the bedroom door flew open with a loud creak, the handle striking the wall with enough force to make the framed pictures beside it rattle. you stood frozen in the doorway, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths with a few loose strands of hair fallen across your face, though you hardly noticed them. you were too late.
hugo stood quietly beside your desk, his attention fixed on the glow of your laptop screen. at the sound of the door and the call of his name, he turned to look at you.
there had to be some scientific explanation for people vanishing into thin air. quantum physics, parallel universes, spontaneous human combustion, or maybe an explanation that the backrooms exist..anything. because if there had ever been a moment to disappear without a trace, this was the perfect moment to do so.
your brain short-circuited. without another thought, you lunged across the room and snapped the laptop shut with a sharp clack, the noise from the device also disappearing along with the footage. the color from your face drains, leaving only a visible crimson from shame.
there was silence for a moment between the two of you.
should you say something? something to clear the awkward air that was thickening around you both. but, what was there to say?
your mouth parted, only for every excuse that came to mind to wither away before it could leave your lips. what were you even supposed to say? you couldn’t just wave this off like it was nothing, your boyfriend just stumbled upon your porn session videos.
you could hear the loud thump from your chest, small beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead. you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at hugo, look at the expression of his face from the ungodly discovery he just walked in on your room when this was supposed to be a normal day.
at this point, you much preferred if your room was the aftermath of a tornado rather than this, because at least it was something you could clean up. yet before anything exits your mouth, hugo spoke, voice calm despite the alarmness your mind was going through.
“you seem to be in a hurry to do that.”
if only jumping off was a decent reply to that.
you finally turn to look at him, voice tumbling, trying to find the perfect reply to clear the air for yourself, but the nervousness etched at your throat stopped you.
“i–it’s really not what it looks like, i-i was just…i can explain..” the words stumbled over one another before collapsing into complete nonsense. hugo watched you quietly. there was no judgment on his face. if anything, he looked thoughtful.
you avoided his gaze, eyes darting anywhere but his as you bit your bottom lip. he responded, voice casual like this was nothing. “you don’t have to,” he says.
oh thank god…
“i just wasn’t aware you were into that.”
your soul left your body. your eyes slowly lifted to meet his. hugo was already looking at you, his expression as composed as ever, save for the faint curiosity lingering in his gaze.
“i-it’s not that, i-i was just…”
“no?”
the single word slipped from his lips before you could finish, gently cutting off whatever excuse your panicking brain had been trying to piece together.
hugo sits down slowly at the edge of your bed, eyes still stuck to yours before sliding onto a now-closed laptop on your study desk. you swore you found the end of his lips lift a little. was he finding this funny?
“viv..”
“yes?”
“c-can we just…” your hands found its way towards your face before you could even realize, shame taking over your head. “...can you pretend you never saw it?”
hugo tilts his head, puzzled by your reply. “and why is that?”
“because..! is it not obvious??”
“i do not understand what is ‘obvious.’ ah, do you mean the pornography website that you had open, or…?”
you turned your face away, groaning on your palm. he said that so casually while you were dying over here from embarrassment.“please don't say it out loud."
"alright. the adult website?"
"vivi..”
"the one left in the open?"
"vivian."
"i see."
the room fell silent. you pressed your burning face deeper into your palms. "you're saying it so casually..."
"i wasn't aware there was another way to say it. is there a way to say “bdsm” in a lighter term?”
you could feel the smile on his face as he said that. not once in your entire life had you imagined you'd find yourself in a situation this mortifying. hugo's gaze lingered on you. somehow, in your desperate attempt to escape the conversation, you'd backed yourself against the closet beside your desk.
your face had long since turned a dangerous shade of red, and beneath your breath, you continued mumbling something unintelligible to yourself as if repeating the same few words enough times would somehow make this nightmare disappear. he blinked. just as he was about to speak, your voice beat him to it.
“..’m sorry..”
the apology came out barely above a whisper, nearly smothered behind your hands. hugo frowned, not out of disappointment, but confusion.
"sorry?"
you gave the smallest nod. unable to bear looking at him any longer, you slowly slid down the closet door until you were sitting on the floor. your knees drew close to your chest, both hands still stubbornly shielding your face as though hiding from him might somehow undo the last five minutes.
hugo stares at you, surprised how easily you accepted the outcome. he shortly crossed the short distance between the two of you and stopped just in front of you, offering a hand without a second thought. he hadn't expected you to be this embarrassed to be caught for something so common (at least, he thinks is common).
the moment he places a comforting hand on your shoulder, the tension in your body eased ever so slightly, a quiet breath slipping past your lips. your hands, however, remained firmly over your face.
“chérie”
no reply. hugo rubs over your shoulders. “hey, look at me.”
still no answer for him. he wasn't quite sure how to coax you out from behind your hands, nor did he want to force you before you were ready. still, seeing you shrink into yourself like this tugged at something inside him. he truly hadn't expected this to affect you so much. the thought settled quietly in his mind. hugo leaned in with quiet care.
he tipped his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your ear as he spoke in a voice barely louder than a breath.
"please?"
the whisper sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. his hand paused against your shoulder.
“i’m not poking fun at you, i swear. i don’t think less of you, everyone has things they'd rather keep private. i understand that."
crap, this was too much for you.
a large hand reaches up, hugo's fingers curled lightly around one of your own, gently coaxing your hands away from your face instead of forcing them. you simply let him.
his touch was impossibly gentle, lingering just enough to make the knot in your chest loosen ever so slightly. a strange warmth settled low in your stomach, subtle but impossible to ignore. hugo carefully managed to pry one of your hands off your face, finally taking a glimpse of your reddened expression. he pauses.
your eyes shimmered beneath lowered lashes, the faint gloss along your waterline catching the afternoon rain light before a single tear had the chance to fall.
were you about to tear up?
by the time you realized he had saw your glistening eyelids, you ducked your head again, nearly burying your face against your knees with a muffled groan.
“this is stupid…”
a quiet hum escaped hugo, “it is."
you let out a long, defeated sigh. “you're not helping."
"was i supposed to?"
despite yourself, the corner of your mouth threatened to twitch, only for your embarrassment to catch up with you all over again. hugo's hand remained where it rested on your shoulder, his thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth. after a moment, he spoke again.
"hey..."
you peeked at him through your arms. he exhales out of his nose, gaze meeting yours.
"why do you look like you're about to cry?" there wasn't a trace of teasing in his voice, only concern. you quickly shook your head.
"i'm not."
"you are."
"fine, maybe a little."
your confession came out in a whisper. "it's just...t-this is really embarrassing."
"because i saw it?"
you gave the smallest nod.
"you weren’t supposed to. i didn’t want you to have the wrong idea."
silence settled between you again, though this time it felt gentler. hugo lowered himself to the floor beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “the wrong idea?” he repeated. you nodded without lifting your head. you feel your boyfriend pull you closer next to him, his hand never retreating from your shoulder.
“what idea would that be?” he asks you. you frown, “you know.”
“i’m certain i don’t.”
you wish you could let out another groan, yet at this point–you’re feeling tired having this conversation back and forth when all you wanted to do was just forget about it. “you’ll think i’m...weird.”
hugo’s eyebrows drew together. “for watching porn? i don’t. and i don’t understand why i would,” his answer came so naturally that, for a second, you wondered if he'd misunderstood you instead.
you finally raised your head, eyes locking on him instantly as he stared at you with soft hues. “i don't see anything unusual about someone your legal age watching adult videos in the privacy of their own home. i imagine most people do when there aren’t anyone around.”
“w-well, yeah. but–”
“then what seems to be the problem?”
you finally released the groan you were holding back in your throat, fingers rubbing your temples. “that’s not what i’m talking about. do you even understand what i’m trying to say here?”
“then what are you talking about?” hugo turned toward you completely, giving you his undivided attention.
well, what now? this was an opportunity to explain yourself about what he saw on your laptop, give him a bright reasoning on what you were exactly embarrassed about, and why specifically ‘rough sex’ on the porn video he saw. heck, he probably remembered exactly what had been on the screen.
the urge to bury your face in your hands returned almost instantly. You had to physically stop yourself. “just…y-you saw the kind of video it was…it wasn’t exactly tame..” you tell him. a faint flush crept across the tips of his ears, subtle enough that you almost thought you'd imagined it.
“ah, i see. you don’t think it’s normal?”
“isn’t it obvious?”
a breath escaped you, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh of disbelief. rain continued to patter softly against the windows, filling the silence that settled thickly between the two of you. you kept your eyes fixed on the floor. even without looking, you could feel hugo watching you, like a mix of both admiration and interest.
after what felt like an eternity, he shifted closer. his arm brushed yours before settling comfortably against it, the quiet touch grounding enough that some of the tension in your shoulders eased.
“did you enjoy it?”
it came out in a whisper that made the end of your hairs stand. your face turned to him as quick after he asked that. was he fucking insane? “i-i’m sorry?”
“i said, did you enjoy it? the video you left open, i mean.”
your pulse stumbled. for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. he asked it so naturally that it almost made you wonder if he realized what he'd just said. heat rushed to your face all over again. without thinking, you found yourself inching away from him, your heart hammering against your ribs as if it were trying to escape your chest.
“did that come out odd?” was all he says when he noticed your sudden distance. “i mean it genuinely.”
you shook your head. “n-no, it's just…it was a sudden question. i...don’t know how to answer that.”
“so you’re also confused about what it made you feel?”
“wha–wait, why are you asking that? that's... that's not what we're talking about. i don't care about that. well, i do, but—"
you stopped yourself with an exasperated sigh.
"you weren't supposed to see it, okay? it was just...really embarrassing having it out in the open like that."
you couldn't bring yourself to say anything more. the conversation had been going in circles for what felt like forever. at this point, you were exhausted, and maybe it was better to end it here, tell him to forget the whole thing, pretend this afternoon had never happened. just as you opened your mouth, hugo spoke.
"if that is all…"
you looked at him.
"then perhaps i should show you mine as well."
you stared. "what?"
"my browsing history. specifically the porn i’ve consumed.”
he said it with such quiet sincerity that it took your brain several long seconds to process what he'd actually proposed.
he adjusts his position, finally removing his hand off your shoulder. "if we've both seen something private, then we're even."
silence.
today couldn't possibly be real. you searched his face for even the slightest hint that he was joking. there wasn't one.
hugo sits up slightly, his hands crawling down to his pockets before fishing out his phone. you could see the glow from his screen, lock opening before scrolling through the apps.
oh fuck, was he serious? you practically lunged at him, your hand catching his wrist before he could tap another thing.
“w-wait! vivi, what are you doing??”
he paused immediately, looking back at you with the same composed expression he'd worn this entire conversation. “showing you my browsing history. it's only fair i show you too, yeah?”
"you can't just say that like it's normal!"
a faint crease appeared between his brows. "i thought it would make you feel better."
"it won't!"
"you seemed worried that i'd judge you."
"i was!"
"then if you know i watch them often, too..." he cocks his head, the tiny strands falling down his forehead as he did so. "...wouldn't that make us even?"
all you could do was stare at him.
hugo blinks, expression never changing.
“why do you look surprised that i do watch? in this nature, i’m still a man, you know?”
your face heats up, immediately lost for your own words, and he chuckles softly. it was almost hard to believe this was the same man who finds enjoyment in reading blank books during his free time
“i’m just joking. but, you know what i mean. i wouldn’t mind showing you everything either. so, you wanna see it?”
somehow, none of this did anything to settle the unease twisting in your stomach. if anything, it only made you more aware of everything around you. the rain still drummed softly against the windows, filling the room with its steady rhythm, yet the air between you had somehow grown warmer. or perhaps...it was just you.
only then did you notice the way hugo was looking at you, not intensely, simply...looking.
your breath caught.
the spaghetti strap you mindlessly thrown on comfortably after your friends left earlier suddenly didn't feel quite as comforting as it had before. sitting this close to him left little to the imagination, and for the first time since this conversation had started, you became painfully aware of just how little space separated the two of you.
if you leaned forward even an inch–
“can i ask you something?”
the words left your lips before you could even realize. hugo’s gaze never left yours, not even the slightest (they’ve always been looking at you, no one else).
“hm?”
“have you…thought about those things before?”
he doesn’t answer for a brief moment, almost like he was looking for the right words to your question. “thought about what, cherie?”
“sex,” you finally mustered.
hugo leans back, eyes finally leaving yours as he leans on the closet behind the two of you. he heaves out a slow breath, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, “do you want an honest answer?”
you’ve never nodded so quickly in your life. he looks at you for a split second, all before returning his gaze to the small poster in your bedroom, displayed right in front of the opposite direction.
“more than once.”
your breath got caught from the confession.
hugo kept going. “it’s a common thought for couples like us. whenever i watch videos like that, i think of you.”
your hand grips tighter on your knee, so hard you felt like you left visible marks.
the rain had never been more louder than before, accompanied by the small tick of your vintage clock. the silence drowns you both, leaving the raindrops as the main eyewitnesses to everything going down. you could feel your cheeks flush, the thoughts in your head running all sorts of words.
hugo just opened up into telling he thought of you when jacking off. the thought made your head spin.
finally, you break the ice. a small giggle escapes your lips, grabbing his attention. “you’re impossible…”
“sorry. was the answer too weird?” he asks you.
you shake your head, attempting to stifle your own giggles. “n-no, it’s just…i didn’t expect you to answer so honestly. maybe too honestly…how are you not shy about this?”
“well…you asked. why would i shy away from my partner when you’re the person i naturally have to open up to?”
"i know." you groaned, dropping your forehead against your knees for a second. "that's not what i mean."
hugo waited. you let out a small sigh before peeking back up at him.
"i just didn't think you'd say it so casually."
"should i have?"
"i-i don't know!" you laughed again, your face warming all over. "most people would at least hesitate before dropping something like that."
he considered your words for a moment.
"but i did hesitate,” he replies, voice soft. “i wasn't sure if hearing it would make things easier or embarrass you even more.”
you weren’t sure if it was either your head, heart, or even the tingling between your legs made you think of your next reply. your fingers idly play with each other, eyes gleaming with an unnoticeable twinkle of need. your lips pressed together.
“it’s fine. for what it's worth, i do the same.” you tell him, voice in a hush, blending in with the soft patter of rain.
“when i watched the videos…i ended up thinking of…you, too.”
god, you were hopeless. or maybe the two of you were. your thumb brushes over your knuckles.
“we’ve..never really talked about this topic, didn’t we? i just think the moment will come eventually when fate decides…when it happens, then it happens. so, i never tried to bring it up, but now we’re both here, and..” you sigh.
“..and we’re talking about this. i guess i was just afraid you'd think i was impatient or needy…which..." you rubbed the back of your hand, almost like you were warming yourself from the increasing cold from the rain, unable to hide the sheepish smile creeping onto your face.
"...wouldn't exactly be wrong. maybe i have thought about sex for a while, and the videos just..”
hugo doesn’t reply, his stare lingering for as long. one of your hand crawls up to cover your crimson face, mind in disbelief for your sudden admission. maybe you did think of him through the entire time when searching up porn. was it out of curiosity? sure. sexual frustration? perhaps. likely, it was a mixture of both in your head.
though the confession felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, you still couldn’t help but feel ashamed. and maybe, the embarrassment dwelled on you enough because the topic of sex never came between you and your boyfriend before. however, it was already here, along with the cold rain asking you to warm up somewhere before it gets colder.
another moment of silence anchors the room. this was just the perfect moment to stop on what was ahead, discuss this next time when the time is right, and just maybe…
“fate, huh?”
the quiet murmur barely reached your ears. his body shifts, pulling one of his knees near his chest to rest his arm on.
yes, this was fate, he thinks. this was meant to happen, and the timing had felt too right. this is just what destiny worked for him.
“may i be honest again?” hugo’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you turn back to him, and he was already rubbing his face. he dragged a hand slowly over his face, exhaling a breath that sounded just a little less steady than the ones before.
“you're making it difficult for me to keep pretending i'm unaffected."
for once, his composure shifted, you noticed it. his finger twitches, like he wanted to reach out and hold you, but was simply holding himself back. you only became aware of how close you'd drifted sometime during the conversation; close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever one of you shifted.
your heart stumbled. it wasn't just you anymore. for the first time that evening, hugo looked restless.
his fingers flexed once against his knee before settling again. even his breathing had lost its usual unhurried rhythm. most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but you'd spent enough time loving him to recognize it immediately. he wasn't as composed as he wanted you to believe anymore.
“may i ask you something else?”
“another question?”
“mm. may i kiss you?”
your gaze searched his face. there it was.
the slight tension in his jaw, the careful rise and fall of his breathing, the uncertainty quietly waiting behind eyes that had been so calm all evening. that question was just the opening for you.
without a word, you nodded your head.
hugo doesn’t hesitate anymore as his hands were immediately on your face; his thumb brushed lightly along your skin before he leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away if you wanted. you didn't.
the distance between you disappeared a little at a time until your foreheads nearly brushed. you felt his breath before anything else.
"...chérie," he murmured, barely above a whisper. then, finally, his lips met yours.
you’ve kissed hugo before; when greeting him, on walks, afternoons with pastries, or even after hugs. the kisses you’ve shared with him were nothing out of the ordinary. his lips weren’t chapped, just as soft as yours whenever they meet, clasping like locks. it was just a sign he loves you just as much as you loved him.
yet this one was different.
maybe it was everything the two of you had confessed moments ago or maybe it was the way he'd looked at you before asking, or the uncertainty hidden beneath his usually calm expression. whatever it was, the kiss lingered just a little longer than usual.
there was no rush behind the way he kissed you, no urgency to claim more than you were willing to give…at least you thought it would stay like this.
then it changes. a small gasp escapes your mouth when he deepens the kiss, your heart giving an uneven beat. when your fingers found the fabric of his collar, curling there without thinking, you felt him pause for the briefest second.
his hands start moving, fingers crawling its way to your jaw, down further to your waist until it meets with your bare thighs. hugo pulls away for a brief moment, only to dive back in, not giving you a moment to breathe like you were his source of air.
shit…this feels good, was all you could think. how can a kiss feel so good? as if you were drowning in the feeling..
your hands unknowingly pull him closer, head tilting to fit your mouths more better to deepen it. it was like you were in a haze, your mind fogging up with nothing else but him. you want him to consume you whole, devour you, have his hands all over your skin…finally have the opportunity to be open with him..
hugo, hugo, hugo…
he pulls away after what felt like an hour with your lips, a small strand of saliva connecting your tongues to finally catch air. your hands were still curled to his top, breath panting heavily, eyes half-lidded, mouth agape as you take in the chance to breathe as you take in the sight of him. hugo wasn't much better off.
his cheeks were flushed, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead from the warmth that had settled between you. even when the rain had gone colder, the tension had made him sweat a bit.
the steady calm you'd always associated with him had softened into something quieter. his breathing was uneven, his gaze lingering on you with an openness that hadn't been there before. for the first time, he looked completely undone. you couldn’t help but reach your hand up to brush the strand of his hair off his forehead, chest still heaving.
he leans to your touch, like a cat receiving the affection of its owner. hugo presses a slow, light kiss to your inner palm, eyes closing before opening them back up to meet your gaze.
you’ve always believed hugo wasn’t the most expressive individual, but his eyes tell more of the tale; and you were right. his eyes glimmered with something laced with both intimacy and need. he leans in again, kissing the spot beneath your ear that makes you sigh.
“vivi..”
“mon amour..”
another kiss, this time further below your jaw and on the bare skin of your neck. he breathes out your name. your arms instinctively wrap around him, eyes closed as you let him continue to scatter kisses on skin. at this point, you barely noticed how much you were shivering from the contact of his lips on you rather from the cold.
hugo pulls away gently, hand brushing your hair off of your face before kissing your jaw, then back up to the opening of your lips. you finally let the whimper out of your throat, and you feel him quiver. the kiss this time wasn’t out of patience, but of need, lips smacking openly in your room. you hold onto him tighter, hands gripping on his biceps, and in return–hugo pulls you closer, bringing your chest to his until he felt your breasts squeeze against him.
large hands grip the back of your neck to pull you in deeper, another hand thumbing its way from your hip to your waist. your brain hangs when his hands sneak its way beneath your spaghetti top, heated fingertips touching your bare waist and pressing your skin to pull the whimpers off your throat.
cocoa, you thought to yourself. he tasted like cocoa. cocoa similar to the chocolates he eats when it was on eclairs he enjoyed consuming. he tasted sweet, with a small salty flavor from his lips.
the two of you pull away once more, hooded eyes speaking louder than words. he wanted you too, his eyes says, just as much as you needed him. thank the stars you finally opened up to him.
this was the moment fate wanted you both in.
hugo pushes his head down, letting out the (probably) 7th sigh of the day before burying his face between your chest. you paused, your arms still around him while you pat his back.
“vivi?’
“ever since you opened that door..”
you paused.
he buries his face further down, his ears tipped red. “ever since you opened that door, wearing this…i’ve been losing my mind, don’t you see that, cherie? you’re always making me lose my mind, ‘ts not fair..”
oh.
so it wasn’t just you. it wasn’t just you who was feeling frustrated about the missing intimacy, the want of skin against skin from the one you love. hugo had been holding back just as you were. this entire time, you both were equally losing your minds.
your hands finally moved, adjusting to hold his face and make him look at you. hugo lets you, eyes looking like they’ve been hypnotized by the mere sight of your glimmering hues.
“vivian..”
“just tell me if you want to..” was all he replied, almost like he knew what you were about to tell him. your breath hitches, thumb lovingly brushing against his cheek. hugo’s thumb also waits idly above your hip, skimming up and down as he awaits your answer, almost sounding like he was begging.
there was a thin thread just holding above you both, and one pull was enough to make everything happen; you just needed to say it. you could barely register the sound of the rain anymore, the sound of your vintage clock, or even the sound of your own heaving breaths. all you could focus on was the way your boyfriend stared at you.
this was the moment.
one second passes. then two.
the thread had clearly already been pulled the moment you wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face between his collarbone and neck.
“please, vivian…” your breath shakes. “i want to try…with you..”
that was all he ever needed.
he slowly stands, his hands on yours before gently pulling you up from the floor. you had forgotten you guys were there the entire time, but none of it matters now.
your legs wobbled by the time you stood, breath still uneven from the deep kisses the two of you shared just moments before, yet it didn’t take long before you tugged on his hand, taking a small step backward towards your bed. he lets you lead him.
your head hits the soft cushions instantly, arms instinctively wrap back around his neck by the time you pull him down with you to share another kiss. he was quick to reciprocate.
the kiss was much more different than the other two, this time, the feeling went straight between your legs like sparks. you couldn’t put a finger on how it was different. perhaps it was the way his lips seared on yours, as if he was marking the roof of your mouth with your own mewls, or perhaps it was the way his touches ignited on your sensitive skin.
hugo’s hands traveled sneakily; one hand rubbing up and down your bare thigh, while the other decided to mark on the skin of your waist that made you shiver between kisses.
he pulls away, back enough to peer through your eyes and red cheeks, his forehead however, still presses against yours. “cherie,” he breathes out softly, thumb sliding over your bottom lip, glistening from shared spit.
“stick your tongue out.”
it was a sudden request, one that differs than the usual praises he gives when kissing you last time. yet you obliged without a question, pink tongue webbing out the moment he asked as if it was nothing.
hugo dives right in, tongue brushing against the roof of yours before sliding slowly inside your mouth, the slimy sensation making your entire body tingle directly without another word. hugo swallowed up all your whines, his hand on your leg traveling up to interlock his fingers with yours; removing one of them off around his neck as he pins them next to your head.
holy shit…
you’ve ever kissed anyone like this before, never had the feeling of tongue on tongue. you were always batted on how disgusting it looked seeing other people on screen do so, but now, you were starting to understand why they like it. the feeling made your core throb in need, aching for a touch.
your other hand finds its way to his hair, tangling into his locks, pulling him closer to the cavern of your mouth.
so gross, yet so good…this feels good.
his tongue swipes against yours once, twice more, all before drawing himself breathlessly back to stare at you, followed by a small string.
you were a wreck. eyes twinkling with desire, cheeks red, mouth glistening with saliva, and chest heaving so heavily he could see the sweat form down your collarbone. fuck, you were beautiful. your mouth opens, “m-more…one more, please? ‘feels so good..”
“yeah? one more kiss, amour?”
you nodded your head, hands finding their way to his collar to pull him back down. he doesn’t refuse, lips reconnecting without a second thought. your mouths were constantly on one another, refusing to leave the other like they were magnets. you were growing addicted to the feeling of his tongue dragging on yours, letting him explore the expanse of your mouth with expertise.
the need pumps up inside your body, aching for some other feeling that can quench this thirst of yours like electricity running in your veins.
hugo seemed to have noticed.
without a word, his lips still on yours with a hum, his hands carefully travelling down between your legs, feeling the thin fabric of this thing you call ‘shorts’, lay like a useless barrier between him and your entrance. he cups your core, two fingers lazily rubbing against your clothed pussy as he teases the wet patch that began to form.
you gasp in his mouth, pulling away as the male begins to attack over your soft neck, lips reaming near your ear.
“so pretty…” he whispers. “always so pretty. i’m sorry…i’m a bad boyfriend, no? never noticing your frustration. won’t you forgive me, ma chérie?”
his middle finger rubs more frequently than the rest of his digits, moving it up and down on that one spot through your shorts that makes your hips roll. hugo began to press his kisses further and further down, leaving a trail of kisses from your cheeks, all the way below your collarbone.
his free hand grabs the hem of your spaghetti top, eyes searching yours like a silent plea, looking for permission.
your hand shakily follows his, mindlessly guiding him by the wrist as you push your shirt up, just enough to expose your tummy and letting the cold air touch your skin; making you tremble. he dips his head down, lips latching above your bellybutton before he begins to kiss down, further and further down, almost like he was sending sparks to each part of your skin, leaving a mark.
a hand works up to tangle onto his hair, quivering from each feather-like tickle his mouth presses on your tummy.
“i’ll make it up..”
kiss
“..to you..”
kiss
“i promise..”
kiss
“so let me in..”
kiss
“yeah?”
your eyes followed him until he was face to face with your pelvis, breath fanning just right over your shorts.
he pauses, eyes focused, as if he’s deciding something in his head. hugo sticks his tongue out, wet muscle sliding from beneath your bellybutton before leading back up like he’s drawing a line. his hand pushes your top farther from your chest, exposing more and more of your skin until your breasts are bare out in the open.
with a new expanse out in the open, he slides his tongue trails up more, until it slides between the valley of your breast and right back up to your collarbone. his hand trembles between your legs, curling just perfectly on your clothed mound.
a wobbly sigh escapes your lips, eyes fluttering shut as your hands explore through his burgundy locks. “vivi..” your mouth exhales. hugo nuzzles his head back onto the side of your neck, pressing a loving kiss onto the skin,
“m right here..”
the hand between your legs suddenly disappears, making you whine from the missing ache. to make up for the sudden withdrawal, his other hand snakes up, letting him feel the softness of your tits.
“will always be here..”
hugo suddenly sneaks his hand back down on your stomach, softly wandering the waistband of your shorts and panties, and finally breaking in. your body winces, back lightly arching against his touch, fingers curling tightly against his shoulders. he presses a quick peck on your lips, almost like an effort in lulling you.
“say…what were you thinking when watching those videos?” the male questions you, observing the look of need written across your face; like you were holding back your whimpers. hugo rubs his ring and middle finger right between your folds, a small slick coating his fingertips that made him groan under his breath.
his other hand idly fondles on your breasts, thumb tweening on your hardening nipples. your body jolts, hands automatically clinging to his hand between your legs.
“ah!”
“care to tell me? i’d be really pleased if you do..”
his fingers shift, replacing his middle and ring with his thumb, slowly and lightly pressing down on the small nub of your entrance. your legs squeeze his hand, yet hugo was quick to slowly spread them back apart. he steadily repositions his body in a more comfortable angle so he won’t accidentally crush you, his lips brushing against your earlobe.
“i wanna know. did your head envision something like this while watching?”
it came out of his mouth in a tone that was teasing rather than one that was out of genuine interest. he speaks again, dragging your focus back by caressing the soft plump of your cheek. “well, do you?”
you didn’t answer, head hazy from the feeling of his thick fingers finally prodding near your folds.
you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. it was all so sudden that you didn’t have time to realize how quick this was escalating. but were you complaining? with all honesty: not really. in fact, this wasn’t enough. a slight nod of your head replies to his words rather than letting your mouth do the talking.
hugo hums, “yes? how so? tell me, chérie…let’s be more open. i want to know..” he plants a wet kiss on your jaw. “..i need to know.”
it was crazy to believe he was yours.
the moment was getting to hugo, body heat giving you the warmth you had been waiting for ever since the rain began to set the mood. you squeeze his shoulders, trying to stay composed as much you wanted to with no avail.
“t-thought of you…” you hide your face on the side of his neck, his hair tickling across your face. “..touching me just there, a-and kissing my neck..”
“oh, so exactly what i’m doing now?”
you knew that tone of his, and it was often the tone he used when he connects one in one together. in other words, what he believed is ‘destined.’ coincidences aren’t just coincidences to him. with nothing else more coming, hugo moves his head, pressing a long kiss on your lips.
you sigh against his mouth, eyes closing with your heart pounding loud that you swore he must also be hearing it. then, he pulls away.
“like that?”
“mm..”
his lips faintly curled up, head moving up to place a kiss on the crown of your head. hugo sighs, fingers near your entrance playfully parting your pussy with the slick he gathered. at that point, you had drenched them fully. a moan escapes your lips.
“tell me more..” he murmurs in your hair. your hands hold onto him tighter, legs trembling with each tease of his digits. “v-vivi..”
“there must be more, right? if you tell me more, i’ll tell you mine.”
huh?
you didn’t have any time to think about what he said before his entire hand cups your pussy, emitting a loud gasp from your throat.
thank the stars football physique was strict…
you mindlessly roll your hips, head rolling to the side as you bit on your bottom lip to suppress the noises. god, it would be much more better if he had just pulled your undergarments to the side and make this quick before you exploded on the spot.
your mouth opens, voice choking out another confession so you could move on from the fingers.
“t-thought of..thought of you kissing me down there, pulling down my shorts, and…licking me..”
you had freely let your mouth run, your mind clouded with nothing else but your own perverted thoughts of what you had always imagined hugo doing to you. he was following your words.
the next thing you knew, he was descending down your chest, light kisses scattering on your soft skin before he was right back near your pelvis. it was a sensual position, having your boyfriend breathing in the sight of your nearly naked body just near your hip, eyes hooded as he follows the scenario you exactly imagined yourself in. it was a dream, almost like a dream..
without warning, a small puff of air escapes his lips, intentionally blowing below your bellybutton. you jerked in surprise. this guy…
“vivian!”
for a brief second, he looked almost pleased with himself. his eyes meet yours, right before focusing back down on your tummy. he places a small kiss on the spot he blew on.
“you’re too tense. just relax, you’re making me nervous, too.”
‘too’
though he was collected from the tone of his voice, you just knew his mind was running on the fuel your bare body was making him. hugo removes his hand from your core, quickly wasting no time to pull on the waistband of your shorts with a teasing edge that made you whimper.
“did i pull your shorts down slowly? or fast?” he asks you. your hand travels down to his broad shoulders, holding on. his lips ghost over your tummy. “chérie?”
“slowly, v-very slowly. and..”
“and?”
the feeling of meekness reaches you, your hand flying to cover your mouth with the back of your palm. “you..”
“hm?”
fuck, this was embarassing.
“y-you didn’t have a shirt on.”
you could feel him freeze for a split second, taking in on what you had told him before feeling hugo smile faintly against your pelvis. “is that so?”
“you’re making fun of me..”
“m not. just letting it sink in. but i’m not complaining, i like it.”
before you could say anything else, he reached behind his neck, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
it was no surprise he had an amazing build.
you'd seen him in training gear countless times, but seeing him like this while standing only an arm's length away—was entirely different. years on the field had shaped him into something quietly breathtaking, and you were certain if you placed a hand on his chest, the feeling of his muscles had a high chance to be rock-hard.
the thought makes you drool.
he throws his shirt elsewhere, leaving his top like a puddle on the floor of your room before leaning back down, his face near your hip. “better?”
you didn’t answer, way too hazed by the glimpse of him shirtless. yes, this wasn’t your first time seeing him shirtless, as you’ve come across him during his short exercises before, yet this sight was just something that drives you nuts.
“should’ve told me sooner, though. you didn’t need to find an excuse to see me shirtless.”
“w-was not an excuse..”
your distraction was quickly discarded when you feel the fabric of your bottoms slowly slipping past your hip, so slowly you thought he was purposely driving you insane. little by little did the cold, rainy air kiss over your naked skin with each tug, until hugo lost his remaining patience– fully pushing the clothing down below your ankles. you kick them off.
he seemed entranced by your panties at first glance, and on the second glance…he was absolutely hypnotized.
a curious finger lifts up from his hand, eyes still stuck to the view of the wet patch formed on your panties. without a word, his forefinger brushes against the wet spot, making you wince from the sudden contact.
“you’re drenched.” he swallows. “and you’re wearing the same pair.”
the same…pair? did he mean your panties? what did he mean by that?
hugo sighs heavily, his breath fanning across your inner thigh before burying his face right at your clothed pussy, inhaling the scent. your legs squeezed his head in surprise. meanwhile, his hand soothes your thighs, snaking up to your hips to hold you in place.
“so lucky…this the best. it really is the same one.”
it was a mumble over your core, voice low. your hands tugged on his hair, eyes peering on him from above while he relishes on your body like you were an offering made for him. he looks at you, vision visibly clouded with desire. it was like the sight of your panties alone was enough to set him loose.
hugo’s fingers toy with the hem of your garment, tracing small circles through the cloth just right above your aching nub. you couldn’t help but squirm, electric sparks running to your shaky legs with each rub of his hand.
he opens his mouth, voice in a hush whisper. “always imagined this particular pair of yours.” it was an admission. he continued, head still lowered.
“i never said anything, i didn’t think it was my place..” his thumb brushes against the dampened patch, eyes not being able to dart away from the spot. “it was that day, i remember. you bent down to pick up the spoon you dropped, and i just happened to catch a glimpse.”
what…what on earth was he talking about?
“i shouldn’t have, but i couldn’t stop thinking about it after that. kept thinking about it even when watching. and now, you’re letting me do this. chérie, you’re too good to me.”
was he always this talkative? heat crawls up slowly to your face, and the urge to bury your head on the pillows was strong. but you couldn’t help but stare at him, stare at how your boyfriend was practically doting on fucking panties–your panties, and how he was worshipping every second of your body.
hugo finally makes a move, tongue darting out as he licks a long stripe at the outline of your poor aching cunt, the action sending a clear reaction. a moan comes flying out of your lips, hands reaching up to immediately cover your mouth.
“shit.” he curses, thumb parting your folds through the fabric. “you really are dripping. such is a signal you are turned on, yes?”
“i-is that not obvious already?!”
“mm. i just didn’t think you were that wet.”
he takes another lick, like he was confirming your taste. your hips lifted, legs folding on the air as you tug on his thick locks. “vivi!”
“off…we can take it off now, yeah?”
you’ve never nodded so quickly ever in your goddamn life.
hugo doesn’t hesitate, kissing above the waistband of your panties as he slowly pulls the garment down, his breath fanning over your skin. he wasn’t in a hurry, however. he takes his time to admire each new skin your panties presented under all that clothing, and you can tell he was getting more and more excited.
in what felt like forever, hugo managed to fully slide your panties down, just right above your ankle. the cold air instantly hits against your naked cunt, causing your body to shudder from the bare display. your legs attempt to close, but hugo was quick to push it back apart, not giving you a chance to hide.
“there she is.” his digits rub over your inner thigh, just right close to your soaking entrance with a soft, reassuring soothe.
just seeing him having a deep stare-off with your pussy was enough to have your slick leak right out of your folds. hugo massages your thighs, pulling you closer until his nose was just inches away from your entrance. “so pretty..”
“d-don’t just stare at it, ‘ts embarrassing..”
“just relax, chérie”
you were certain to leave your pleasure in his hands, as he seemed aware of what he was doing with what he was doing. a thick thumb brushes across your entrance, smearing your wetness against your skin with a sigh escaping hugo’s lips. he hadn’t realized how tight his pants were getting, cock growing a visible tent.
“your clit is all pink. it's cute.”
“can you just–!”
he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue licking a lengthy strip on your weeping slit all up onto your sensitive bud. a bolt of ecstasy rushes through your legs, head rolled back on the soft surface of your pillow as your hands came tangling down his maroon locks. hugo pulls back, mouth agape in surprise like the taste of you caught him off guard.
“liars…”
“h-huh??”
“they say it tastes unpleasant. seems like it's a good thing i didn’t believe them until i got myself a taste.”
“vivi, w-what are you talking abou–”
he launches back in on your cunt, tongue sweeping right across your slit before swirling the wet muscle on your clit. the male between your legs lets out a huffy groan that vibrated over your folds, digging his fingers on the fat of your thighs as he slurps in the sanctuary of your pussy like a man having his first taste of dessert.
this was too much…!
he withdraws back, a strand of saliva connecting from your labia to his tongue as a short pant escapes his throat. he swallows, his back hand wiping his slick-stained lips. “i’ve looked through a thread online on what it’s like to eat a woman out."
did this jackass just admit he searched up on what it’s like to give a woman head? you blink down at him, watching as hugo parts the flap of your folds, admiring the flowing slick sliding down your slit.
“and all replied how it wasn’t pleasant. ‘guess they’re just full of themselves. because you taste amazing, chérie”
he ends his sentence by having his entire mouth vacuuming your entrance shut, giving one harsh suck on your pussy before his tongue moves around the aching bud once more, making you go insane. your back arches, pulling roughly on his hair as he groans, hips mindlessly grinding against his tongue for more friction as small mewls exit past your lips.
“o-oh my god vivi–” you cry out, hand failing to cover your noises.
a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. shit, that near already?
hugo’s head bobs, almost like in a nodding motion while his mouth focuses on your clit, his finger pressing on your weeping hole. it was like he was trying to bury himself within your pussy.
hugo grumbles as he pulls back, eyes still glued between your legs.
“wet enough,” his voice was low in a murmur, finger patting on your clit. “i’ll do one finger now, ‘kay?”
words fail to come out of your mouth, only sighing with a nod of your head.
slow, measured, feather-like touches tease your entrance, almost contemplating whether to just go all in or start with one or two fingers. it fortunately didn’t take long, his ring and middle massaging your folds all before letting his middle digit take the first dive inside of you. hugo wasn’t rushing, he never rushes.
your fingers clenched, eyes screwed shut as you feel him his middle finger eagerly and steadily dip in–coating in your juices. it nuzzles comfortably in your tight walls, making your hips twitch involuntarily from the contact before adjusting to his finger. his fingers were much more different from yours when you masterbait; the width, length, and texture of his skin differs greatly in comparisons you can’t think of.
in other words, his fingers were much, much more bigger.
it plants there for a while, snuggled inside while you take in slow breaths. he sighs. “fuck, you’re…tight.”
his stilled finger began to move, trying to test the waters, pumping unhurriedly in your warm cavern with ease as he watches your expression from below. it was subtle, but enough for your face to contort slightly, eyes closing while you relax your body.
“vivi, it h-hurts a bit..”
“shh, just breathe through it.”
it started with a few pumps, trying to tune his way for a proper rhythm that doesn’t hurt you, before finally finding the perfect pace. you breathe out, legs tensing around his head before hugo repositions them over his shoulders.
“let’s see, let’s see…what am i supposed to do next after this?” though the words weren’t directed towards you, you could hear hugo’s mutterings just clearly. this guy wasn’t even being subtle about it. his thumb strokes against your labia, finger still pistoning as gently as he could at your core.
“is it perhaps here?” his other hand raises to pat over your clit, and you moan. a small click of the tongue comes out of hugo.
“maybe here..” this time, the tip of his finger presses into the one spongy spot inside of you. you jerk with another tug on his hair. a hum escapes him.
“huh…this is more difficult than i thought.” another harsh tap over your clit while you wince in return. was this guy seriously playing buttons on your goddamn pussy?
you look down on him, blushing profusely. “w-what the hell are you even doing down there??”
“i remember being informed about a certain spot in a girl that makes one feel super good. as you can see, i’m trying to find yours, and–”
the middle finger that nestled inside of your cunt suddenly curls, catching you off guard as a loud whine exits your throat, bumping into that oh, good sweet spot of yours that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“o-ouhhh…!!”
“oh, i found it.”
hugo’s ring brushes against your slit, gathering enough of your juices before squeezing in alongside his other finger. he continues his mind-fogging pace, eyes focused on nowhere else but on the two, thick digits who were currently working on your glistening pussy.
the soft sound of the rain were soon muffled by the loud squelches of your slobbering core, overtaking the rest of the background noises while you sob in ecstasy, drowning in the state of euphoria all just by his fingers. your hips jerked against his digits, dragging more of that addicting rush straight to your spongy spot.
the squelching was loud, so loud that it sounded like it was your pussy making the puddles rather than the outside rain.
hugo was so focused, almost laser-focused as if he were back on the soccer field. his fingers pistoning in and out of you, nudging on over and over on your g-spot until they were both fully coated in the substance of your folds. you were unraveling in no time, breath heavy in your chest, hands pulling on his hair so hard you swore you might pull out a few strands.
how the hell was he making you feel this good? and this wasn’t even the main course. you were gonna fucking die.
the knot in your stomach tightens, pulling and pulling further more down the pit of your belly, signalling how it might pop any second. right on the prize. hugo leans close, his tongue beginning to nastily dance along his pumping fingers just right on your puffy clit.
your entire body squirms, thighs trapping his head between your legs as you couldn’t keep your head still on the pillow. amazing, this felt so fucking amazing. tears form on the corner of your eyes, mouth shaped in a visible ‘o’, before biting on your bottom lip.
ooohh, this was bad….you were about to cum.
“v-vivian, hold on. i-i’m–!!” you managed to squeal, hands flying up to pull on the sheets to give his poor hair a break. he doesn’t reply, tongue painting circles and fingers hungrily pulling your first orgasm that was nearly approaching any moment. your head rolls back, legs squeezing him like a compress, and–
his fingers and tongue pulls away.
your eyes blew wide, chest still heaving from the continuous rush he was giving, only to have disappeared like the wind. a soft whine escapes you, legs keeping him trapped in place as your greedy cunt humps the air in a final attempt to make yourself cum. “vivi, w-why did you..” your voice tried its best to not come out like a teary whine, but it reached his ears just like it.
hugo whips his mouth, mind hazy with your taste.
“not yet..” he whispers. he crawls back up to your body, mouth quickly finding yours before making you taste yourself on his lips.
salty..
you admit, it wasn’t the most heavenly taste, but it also wasn’t like you were expecting a 5-course dish down there either. yet since the both of you were turned on to the point of no return, it wasn’t something you minded at all. you were sure this is how the people in porn were like, too.
the state of sexual need is truly amazing.
by the time he pulled back, he rests his head on your shoulder, pressing a wet kiss against your naked skin accompanied by a soft squeeze to your breast. he pauses, like he was thinking.
something hard pokes on your knee through his jeans.
oh fuck, was that…?
“i-i have condoms…if that’s what you’re thinking of.”
the words flew out of your mouth before you even realized. hugo draws himself back, just enough to come face to face with you. you were red, head looking over to the side.
“my friends gave me a pack as a joke, so…” that was your genius excuse.
as if you weren’t overthinking about your boyfriend’s dick size and bought an entire pack ‘just in case.’ it wasn’t like you could tell him you bought it because the thought made you horny, or how it was an accidental thought because it was right in front of you on a supermarket shelf.
hugo was surprised by your words, pupils already evident by adrenaline before he returns back to his normal expression. nice call, you think.
“how convenient.” he began, pulling back to look around your room. “it’s necessary for us to use one. our paths are simply still headed to another destination rather than skipping steps. after all, the future we have is a long way, and–
“vivi, the condoms are just over there in the drawer. c-can you please just grab one?”
“right.”
his body turns, head looking around the room before eventually landing on the wooden drawer that was sitting near your bedside. “over there?”
you nodded.
without another word, he leaned over and pulled the drawer open. his movements remained as careful as ever, quietly rummaging for only a second before his fingers nudged over the box you mentioned, tucked neatly inside right next to papers and receipts.
he leafed through the rubbers, taking note of the sizes written on the side before pulling one of them out of the box. the crinkly, elusive square rests on his hand, the packet logo visibly seen alongside the size.
‘L’
no fucking way.
your gaze lingered on the label for another second.
no, that couldn't be right. maybe your eyes had skimmed over it too quickly. or maybe you were blind, because at least that would be believable. you blinked, clearing your eyes a little more, then looked again.
still ‘L’
you hear the packet wrinkling in his hands, giving it a quick flap of his wrist before travelling below his belt. the sound of metal hitting metal rings in your ears, gaze refusing to look at what was happening in front of you. just the idea of hugo removing his belt while he was right between your parted legs, body bare and open for him, was enough to send your heart into an orbital pit.
his dark irises loom over your limp and naked figure; you could feel it. he pulls off his belt, fingers digging down the waistband of his pants, pulling it down along not too fully accompanied by his boxers, and–
perhaps the word ‘staring’ was an understatement. no matter how much you wanted to dart away, your eyes was already searing a hole onto his dick.
sure, you’ve seen dicks in porn, some were larger than the average, and some…well, the average. and you were certain there was no difference in seeing a dick on-screen and in real-life.
hugo’s was…in your opinion, somehow a confusing mix of both; you weren’t sure how to describe it. it was certainly lengthy when it slaps on his stomach, making you even more terrified of having it inside of you when you were already sobbing on his fingers. what caught your attention the most was the sensitive, angry mushroom tip blooming with a pearly white substance peeking out of his slit.
he sighs heavily, but you assume it was more like a groan escaping his lips when he does a few pumps over his twitching length. with nothing else more to say; seeing you go silent with shuddering legs, hugo takes the condom wrapper between his teeth, eye contact with you still heavy, tearing it open in one go with a faint riiippp!
the wrapper comes flying off elsewhere on the floor of your room, leaving the white, hanging plastic in his hands as he slowly slides the rubber comfortably around his dick.
he leans down, face hovering above yours right before pressing a quick peck on your lips, arms planted neatly between your head. he brushes a few strands off your face, wanting to see your face more clearly in his view.
“are you certain about this, cherie?” the question was full of sincerity. though you were hesitant, eyes darting off to the side before looking back at his, you nod your head.
“just…go slow? this is my first time.”
hugo goes frozen. he blinks at you. “this is your first?”
“d-don’t make fun of me.”
“tell me, do i look like i asked just to poke fun at you?”
you groan, hands crawling up to his shoulders. “j-just…shut up and stop making me more nervous.”
and he obliges, shutting his mouth the second you told him too. however, it didn’t take too long before he opens it back up.
“so i’m your first..”
“well…yeah..”
“your first…”
“vivi, can you just–”
his lips sealed your mouth shut, lips mended in a feverish kiss as he positions himself just right at your entrance. he pulls away, forehead clinging to yours. “will you believe me when i say you are also my first?”
your breath hitches.
no, that was too good to be true.
far too good. who in their right mind wouldn’t shoot their chance to sleep with a u-20 athlete star, vivian hugo? the thought of him being a virgin was just mind-boggling to you. yet at the same time, it made sense. he wasn’t focusing on anything in his life other than football, reading boring blank books, speaking of his philosophies, and training before he met you.
if anything, seeing him sleeping around didn’t match the hugo you know at all, add the fact that he never mentioned any previous partners before you, nor did he mention not being a virgin. no wonder this loser was reading online forums about pussy taste..
before you could think any further, a warm hand came cradling on your cheek, snapping your attention back to him.
he was faintly smiling. your heart throbs.
“the world has spoken. we truly are destined, mon amour.”
ah. there it was.
you feel the large, protected tip rub against your clit, smearing both your juices just messily from before. your body arches, fingers digging into his shoulders.
(you hope to god you won’t bleed.)
hugo showers small, reassuring kisses all over your face, from your forehead, all down to your jaw then to your earlobe. he whispers, voice hush right next to your ear, “tell me if it hurts, alright? or tug on my hair twice, anything to grab my attention.”
he begins to push, slowly. so slowly, in fact, yet the movement still made your legs squirm around his waist–keeping him there. the crown of his tip pops in, passing through your tight cavern as you close your eyes shut, tears threatening to come out. he lets out a breathy “fuck,” body focusing on your walls streching around the tip.
christ, it was just the tip.
your arms instantly encircle around his neck, burying your face on his shoulder. “h-holy shit…v-vivi…”
“is this okay..?” his voice sounded like he was in pain. you nod your head, pulling him closer.
his body moves further, pushing big effort into patiently pushing inside of you. holy fuck, it hurts…but you didn’t want him to stop, god, it was a rush…
thank the stars you were soaking wet, as your slick created the best lubricant for the two of you that made it easier to plunge himself inside. and what felt like forever…hugo finally slips himself halfway in.
a heavy breath escapes you, legs shaking, mind going insane by the sheer size of him as your pussy tried its absolute best to accommodate his cock that already nestled in your cavern. hugo lies down, not fully, but just enough to have his chest press slightly against yours. he lets out a shaky breath, teeth nipping at your neck.
“m-merde..”
“vivi..”
“sorry, does it hurt?”
“n-no. feels…” you were at loss for words. your cunt pulses, feeling the excess slick slide slowly down between your ass crack. your arms tug your boyfriend closer, tears staining his bare shoulder as he kisses them away on the corner of your eyes.
“p-please…it feels amazing..”
you were practically drooling. his hips shift a little bit more, steadily letting more of him squeeze into your fluttering cunt. just a few more inches.
he looks down between your bodies, seeing the maw of your entrance stretched to the oblivion by his cock.
fuck.
you unraveled before you realized, mind going blank by the time he finished bottoming out, pelvis meeting yours, and his beefy arms holding you tight against him.
holy fuck..
“i-it’s all in. you’re…so warm. so beautiful..” he announces, breath panting.
why wouldn’t he be? your pussy was basically clamping down hard on him. the two of you were trembling at the new pleasure introduced in your system, a pleasure that was beyond strokes and fingers that made your eyes wide open.
the two of you stay like that for a while, allowing you to adjust to his cock, letting you breathe.
eventually, he spoke, kissing your cheek affectionately. “will you allow me to move now?”
“i-it’s fine, you can..”
“i’ll go slow, no worries.”
he goes back to his words. he always does. with a small and gentle lift to his hips, hands holding on your hips, he moves, pace unhurried, just testing. hugo carefully studied your reactions, looking for any form of discomfort in your expressions. he was surprised to find the opposite.
which each mellow thrust, you felt as if the air was already pushed out of your head, head falling to the side as hugo scatters kitten-like kisses all over your cheeks, whispering sweet nothings to distract you from any pain. it worked, to say the least.
two pairs of eyes gazed below, watching the repeated and gentle way his length pistons in and out. hugo was quick to find a rhythm, one where it didn’t hurt, and something that was enough to make your eyes pinching shut from the feeling.
“this–mnh…t-this okay?”
“m-mm..”
“are you certain, cherie? because you’re..kind of holding too tight.”
your hands let go of his shoulders, face red. you hadn’t realized you were holding on like a lifeline. a chuckle comes straight out of hugo’s lips.
“i don’t mean your hands, amour. i meant down there..”
oh.
if only your hands weren’t shaky, you would've given him a good smack to the head. but your pleasure took over your own senses, unintentionally suffocating the entire base of his dick. his hips stuttered from the contact, nudging and bumping immediately into the spongy surface of your syrupy walls that pushed the air straight out of your lugs.
you’ve never felt more frail in his hands, the size difference getting to you as your legs anchored around his waist, heels dug to the expanse of his back.
another kiss presses to your sensitive cavern, spilling slick all over the protective barrier worn around his cock. this time, your nails raked down on his biceps, voice more pitched up, more whinier, and more louder. he hasn’t even excessively thrusted yet, but his cock had already managed to hit that spot inside of you.
little by little did the slow, gentle thrusts transition into a more moderate pace, rhythm never faltering but finding a more perfect angle to the pulse of your pussy. it felt sticky, mixing sweat and juices all on the skin of your legs, but the warmth radiating between the both of you eased the feeling and made it more bearable.
you weren’t sure when you started sweating. it was so cold in the room, but at the same time–so hot.
hugo’s face nuzzles onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue darting out before biting softly into your skin, drowning his deep groans.
the bed begins to creak, rocking softly from each movement of his hips. his dick sheaths and unsheaths repeatedly in your gummy walls, coring his shape until he felt your legs go numb. in blur of his own head from all the pleasure your pussy was leaking down on him, hugo could only think if there was a way to fasten up the pace without hurting you.
he draws himself back, the hot skin on skin contact from your chests disappearing, welcoming the frigid air back to your bare breasts and straight back to your hard nipples. his hands grab both of your legs, pulling you closer to him, allowing his cock to punch straight to your cervix with a loud ‘plap!’
you gasp below him, nails curling deep into his biceps hard enough to sting. hugo hooks your right leg under his arm, keeping you open and wide for him before his thrusts have fully found the perfect pace that made your eyes roll.
how could he ever look at anyone else after this?
both large hands compress on your hips, keeping you tethered there, whining and teary from the fresh overload forming in your stomach. he thrusts, once, twice more, the red crown hitting that angelic sweet spot deep in your cunt that made you weep.
“v-v-vivi..”
“you’re drooling,” was all he tells you, thumb moving up to wipe the excess saliva sliding down your jaw. when did you even start to drool?
you can’t blame yourself for it, not with the way his movements were a total, dramatic change compared to the first few thrusts–cock plunging in and out of your loud pussy with dramatic squelches.
you weren’t sure if it was some unknown force, or the blurry haze drowning in ecstasy inside of your head, but automatically did your hips begin to roll, clit catching on his skin that made your voice shiver in anticipation as you begin to chase the friction.
your hands began to pull over the sheets beside your head, so hard you might think you’d pull them off the cushions of your mattress.
his breath had started to grow heavy, sweat beginning to form on his forehead as his head lays low. hugo pulls his thumb down from the corner of your lips, snaking so evilly slow until it lands on your sensitive clit. he rubs, small circles drawing over the bud.
the sound you made was beautiful.
your head snaps to look down, watching as the pad of his thumb ignites flames on your slobbering clit along with his steady and relentless thrusts.
“o-oh my god, vivi..!”
“feels good?
“y-yes, so good..”
“yeah?”
you nod, hand flying to cover your mouth before rolling your head to the side. he seemed pleased to know you were in paradise under his touch. he wanted to see more. needed to see more.
you feel his pace halt, body adjusting and fixing the grip on your legs. it was difficult to see the look on his eyes, not when they were low and hooded. hugo pulls back, leaving you empty and shaking. the base of his cock leaves your cunt, leaving only the tip remaining inside.
at that moment, you swore it felt like he was going to leave you like that.
and within 2 seconds later–he thrusts back fully inside, quickly knocking any source of air out of your throat.
a broken cry shattered out of you, eyes blown open when you felt the crown of his tip push against your womb with one full thrust.
one of your pillows fell on the floor.
yet neither of you faltered. hugo sets a steady, relentless pace, each thrust drawing all the way back to his base before pushing back in–like he wanted to leave his shape to mark your insides. your fingers scrambled to hold onto his shoulders, arms, anywhere you could grab.
your voice was a broken record, crying out each time his tip visits your cervix. his grip weakens on your legs, hands finding its way to grip on your waist while keeping his unfaltering thrusts as he felt the pleasure heating in his abdomen.
even with the condom on, you could feel the veins outlining through the white rubber, adding that sickly, addicting feeling of friction plummeting in you.
“f-fuck..” he curses, his lashes already fluttering against his eyelids. “so soft, so soft..”
close. so close.
your voice was going hoarse from moaning non-stop, body trembling, skin sticky, and bed moving beneath your weight. hugo steadies his legs, repositioning them into a more comfortable position as his knees dug roughly on the sheets–focused on making you reach into that euphoric state you’ve always wanted to feel.
“v-vivi…vivi, i-i’m close..!”
“i know, i know..”
his eyes roam over your breasts, watching as they bounce in front of him that makes his brain freeze. without a word, his hands leave your waist–fingers joining to feel the softness of your tits, thumb rolling your hardened nipples. he feels you jolt, legs tightening around his hips.
“vivi..”
“yeah?”
“h-hold me…hold me, please..”
he complies as quick as you asked. hugo pulls you up by the arm, wrapping them around his neck while still buried deep inside your warmth as he hoists you on his lap. your chest presses against his, breasts compressing against his in a hugging posture whilst continuing to thrust up to your slobbering cunt.
it was all too much, head lagging behind the back of your head, feeling his dick mix your insides and balls slapping against your ass from below.
you pull him closer, tears staining on his skin, before your release crashed before you with a loud cry, spilling slick all over the protective barrier on his plunging cock.
your boyfriend groans, feeling the pressure that had been building inside of him threatening to snap at any moment. he holds you close, voice muffled on your shoulder as his world turns white.
“f-fuck…fuck, i’m close..i’m so close..” he stammers under his breath, arms tightening around your body as his voice becomes incoherent with each sentence.
“pretty, you’re so pretty, so pretty. fu-huck..…i l-love you–”
his hips thrust upwards, three more times before his hips ground deep into your cunt, spurting his cum straight to the poor, overworked condom until it fills to the brim.
there was finally silence in your bedroom.
his weight comes falling down on you, crashing back on the bed. you were floating in your head. the two of you lay like that for a while, taking your time to breathe, to finally catch your breath from the first time you shared with hugo.
after what felt like forever, hugo slowly sits back, his gaze finding yours before crashing his lips on yours for a long, feverish kiss. you reciprocate, hands cradling his cheek before you pull away. his adam’s apple bobs, eyes staring deep into yours before he spoke, voice still wavy. “are you alright?”
“mhm.”
“sure? no aches?”
“vivi, i-i’m fine. just…tired.”
“are your legs alright?”
you groan, hand covering his mouth to push him away, yet he remains just as close. he pulls your hand down, thumb rubbing against your knuckles.
“hey.”
“hm?”
“you didn’t say it back.”
you blink, brushing a strand behind your ear. “huh?”
“you didn’t say “i love you” back.” he tells you.
ugh. your fingers cradle in his hair, smile soft as you pull him back in your arms. “i love you, too, vivian.”
the word rings in his ears, and only did hugo realize how the rain had finally stopped.
a/n i honestly didn't expect this to be longer than i expected it to be ToT i may be taking some requests, so feel free to share ur thoughts ! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
Your life in Paris is an anxious, boring mess. But when your coworkers drag you out for happy hour, you were a drunkyard making a fool of yourself
Suddenly, you're aggressively pinching the cheek of a gorgeous, red-haired stranger with impossibly long lashes, wailing about your life.
You think he’s a pretty hallucination. What your drunk brain doesn't realize is that he is Vivian Hugo—an elite, untouchable global football star. He's notoriously terrifying on the pitch, but your chaotic breakdown just got him completely whipped. And since you've passed out cold against his shirt without an address, he has no choice but to carry you home.
Notes : Anxious Reader ??? Oh we go crazy when we go drunk, i tried my best to he ambiguous as possible! rom-com plot written out of pure boredom, we are twenty-year-olds in this cliché plot. Heavy swearing and an accidental kidnapping trope where a character takes the protagonist home. characterization is not canon-accurate to Vivian—I tried. Whipped Vivian who is heavily infatuated, this is not proofread and half of the french dialogue is google translate :p
“Sorry, mom… I’m a boring person.”
You sat deeply in the red velvet seat of the cinema. It felt cold, swallowing you into the dark of the half-empty theater.
Outside, Paris was very much alive, teeming with people rushing to vibrant destinations. Yet here you were, staring up at a wide silver screen, watching a grainy, black-and-white 1960s Nouvelle Vague film.
Your brain immediately took that contrast and ran a marathon with it.
Seriously, why? Why choose to be a “boring”person? Why not go out on dates, to lively parties, or even just basic group hangouts with your colleagues?
Normal people with a real adult paycheck in Paris would be sipping wine at a trendy bar right now or was just like you—really…staying in their own comfort.
Sure, you could sit in a café for three hours straight, but you weren't really doing anything with your life.
Why be so lonely all the time? You actually had a perfectly good outfit on—the boots were great, the skirt was a bold choice, and the turtleneck was a classic piece to tie it all together. You could’ve been at-least going on a date, but you hated going to meet up people, they were so…you don’t mean to be picky…but you felt being so uncomfortable going on dates, they are either that or they would completely stood you up or the third reason was just to have a one night stand.
The more you thought about these things, you shuffled on your seat and clothes were getting was rubbing against the frayed theater seat. You hated the itchy feeling of the fabric.
Ugghhhhh. You hated deprecating yourself like this, caught in a vicious cycle of your own thoughts because it always went like this…
1. You stayed in because you were tired from your job and, which only made you feel lonely for staying in.
2. Whenever you actually tried to be yourself around others, the room went quiet….(not true maybe…you were probably overthinking it..)
3. When you spoke French, you felt shy by your own foreign accent—but how could you ever get better without speaking?
4. You always ended up right back where you started which is…being trapped inside your own head! #yey…
5. The only times you were out there would be : grocery shop, shopping, walking by yourself, going to the park by yourself, eating out, and hanging out by yourself…
Your mom loved to tell you that you made too many excuses for yourself. Usually, that thought just irritated you.
But God, looking around the empty theater, you hated admitting that maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a bit too stubborn to try. “Sorry mom…that your daughter ended up being a boring person.”
It wasn’t like you tried to be a hermit, but you were definitely the main culprit behind your own predicament.
You had exactly zero friends in this city. No work best friends, no casual text buddies—literally no one….yet? Hopefully you won’t be this way for long.
No because…seriously, your life was a highly predictable, seven-step loop: work, shower, eat, sleep, shop, watch a movie, take a lonely walk, and then—just in case you forgot your purpose—work, work, work again.
You had been brooding so loudly in your own mind that you forgot you were even supposed to be paying attention to the movie.
Suddenly, your eyes snapped back to the screen. A man with a cigarette dangling from his lip stared desperately at a woman with sharp, dramatic eyeliner.
“Je t'aime, Anna,” the man said. His voice echoed through the vintage speakers, heavy with a tragic longing.
The woman turned her head away, her expression cold yet deeply wounded. “Non,” she replied sharply. “Jean, je ne sais pas ce que je ressens pour toi... ne dis pas ces choses.”
When the two-hour film finally ended, the house lights flickered on with an unprompted, harsh brightness that made you wince.
You stood up, adjusting your coat, and left the screening room alongside a few middle-aged patrons and two elderly couples. But among them were three people who looked to be right around your age. They were just standing near the lobby exit, but they carried an effortless, magnetic energy that felt completely out of your league.
You couldn’t take your eyes off them. You looked down at your own clothes, suddenly feeling plain, and then looked back up in absolute awe. Everything about their style and how they wore it had so much confidence and charm. You were completely mesmerized by how they dressed and carried their own self.
As you kept staring, the shift happened. One of them tilted their head, sensing your gaze, and locked eyes straight with you.
Panic flared hot in your chest, rushing straight to your face. Fearing you had been caught being incredibly rude, you snapped your head away. Moving instantly, you lowered your head, glued your eyes to the floor, and quickly pushed through the heavy glass doors to exit the lobby.
The reality of the cold, loud Paris street hit you all at once. As you hurried away, the neon sign of the cinema blurred into the distance behind you. Motorbikes roared past, bicyclists rang their bells, and crowds of laughing groups spilled out from under the heated awnings of nearby cafés.
Tires splashed through slick rain puddles, sending a chill through the air. You pulled your coat tighter around your frame, smoothing out the wrinkles, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of that sudden eye contact.
Your knee-high boots clicked rhythmically against the wet pavement, against the bustling sounds of the city life.
Beneath your heavy coat, your short mini skirt and turtleneck combo was your absolute staple for chilly days.
At least, it felt like a staple until a particularly vicious gust of wind appeared ; cutted straight through your tights. You shivered violently, your hands stuffed so deep into your pockets you thought you might tear the lining.
Why didn’t I just wear pants? you lamented, cursing your life choices.
Then, reality hit you with a dull thud. You paused, your fingers nervously fidgeting with a loose thread inside your pocket as you remembered the mess that was currently your apartment.
Right. You hadn’t done laundry in a solid two weeks. Your place was a chaotic sea of clothes spread across every surface.
How many days in a row did I wear those last jeans? Three? Four? Six? Let’s pray to the gods of denim that it wasn't six….
"Stupid, stupid," you muttered under your breath, puffing out a cloud of white condensation. A passing businessman gave you a sideways glance, and your words instantly vanished into the ambient noise.
You lowered your head and kept walking aimlessly, weaving through the thick crowd of strangers.
Naturally, because your brain refused to ever give you peace, your bad habit of talking to yourself always appears whenever you aren’t occupied.
First, you pondered your job. Then, your eyes drifted to a pair of lovers huddled under an umbrella, laughing softly. That, of course, triggered a massive mental tangent about fairy tales.
Honestly, what the hell happened to old-school love at first sight? Where or when was your meet-cute?
Where was the devastatingly handsome stranger who accidentally bumps into you on a rainy street corner, drops his book, looks into your eyes, and instantly falls in love with you?
Nowhere, they don’t exist. you thought bittersweets, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. Because you never actually go anywhere….
You were just so utterly done with the modern swipe-culture. You hated being expected to market yourself like a piece of livestock just to get a text back.
It was always the same mind games. You had to wait exactly forty-seven minutes to reply so you didn’t seem "desperate," only for them to send a dry, one-word response three days later. It was pathetic…
Honestly, it annoyed you to your very core because you would a million times rather just stay locked in your apartment, cooped up under a heavy blanket, sleeping, or reading fanfics
(Fanfics It weren’t just a phase, either. )
You had discovered fics at the tender age of ten, and here you were, well into your twenties, still reading them.
Of course, you were way too shy to ever admit that to anyone. Even if the internet made it seem more mainstream now, you could never openly confess that you preferred staying in to read about, fictional people who would never be real.
You could daydream for literal eternity about those impossible scenarios, totally stuck in your own head and completely content with your own company.
Besides, you knew exactly how a real-world "meet-cute" would play out for you. If a handsome stranger bumped into you right now, you wouldn’t have a movie moment. You’d probably just squeak out a panicked, incredibly high-pitched "Sorry!" in an embarrassing, accented voice. And you’d stand there like a frozen statue, awkwardly staring at him until he got uncomfortable. Or, worse, he wouldn't even care.
He’d just shove past you with a frustrated scoff, leaving you to obsess over the interaction at three o'clock in the morning, drowning in a sea of toxic guilt and self-loathing.
In those old movies, people longed for each other. They wrote letters. You know when you can see that love in their eyes, but this generation? You were just staring at a glowing rectangle, praying a guy didn't leave you on "read" or send you a low-effort, midnight text that just said "u up?"
The local dating pool was an absolute tragedy—an endless parade of men whose bios proudly boasted about wanting "one-night stands, no strings attached," or guys who looked like they judged your entire personality based on your looks or of you were too “free”.
What the Fuck does that even mean, free…?
You scoffed out loud, your grip tightening on your coat. It was always the same type of guy—the self-important, ego-driven pseudo-intellectuals who used backhanded compliments to mask their own insecurities.
But you knew your worth. you worked hard for your own money, you eanted to he educated and get a job and most certainly you didn't have time to be a doormat board for some insecure man's fragile ego.
Whenever those self-absorbed men started running their mouths on dates, you didn't even waste your energy arguing with them. You would simply go completely silent, freeze them out with a blank stare, and walk the hell out.
You had even desperately tried one of those fast-paced speed-dating events last month, but it was just a disaster. They kept drilling you with rapid-fire questions, and your brain completely short-circuited. You didn't have time to process, let alone answer quickly, leaving you looking like a confused deer in headlights.
"Why do I even bothe—" you muttered to yourself, cutting off your own thought. Your fingers tightly gripped the collar of your coat as you abruptly stopped in front of a brightly lit boutique window.
Inside, showcased on a light brown wooden pedestal like a relic, an it was a genuinely gorgeous pair of shoes.
They were deep, rich brown leather boots that went all the way up to the knee, featuring the most magnificent, sturdy, chunky heel.
They were so pretty it actually hurt to look at them. You stared for a solid, unblinking two minutes, your chest aching with pure want and need.
Thanks to your adult paycheck, you could totally afford them. It wouldn't even bounce your card.
But then, a wave of practicality washed over you. You looked down at the black knee-high boots currently clicking against the pavement.
Do I really need two pairs of knee-high boots? you argued with yourself. I just bought three tops, two bottoms and a pair of heels last month... do I really need this many clothes?
Then again, you looked closer at the black pair you were currently wearing. They were three years old. You clicked your heels against the ground again, listening to the worn-out sound.
Letting out a heavy, dragged-out sigh that felt like it came from your very toes, you finally tore your eyes away from the glass. You turned on your heel and just walked away, pouting like a petulant child who didn't get their favorite doll.
You kept walking for half a block, your fingers anxiously twisting and fidgeting with the hem of your coat. But your mind stayed locked onto that boutique window.
It was a good shoe. A really, really good shoe. And now it was gone forever, destined to be bought by someone else.
Your pace slowed. The cold wind bit at your bare thighs again.
Wait. You stopped dead in your tracks, right in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. A teenager on a bicycle had to swerve violently to miss you, ringing his bell angrily, and shouted at you. Though in that moment you didn't even care…you were busy being stuck in your head.
Your fingers stopped fidgeting. You looked back over your shoulder.
Why am I punishing myself? you thought, a sudden spark of defiance flaring to life. You had no friends in this city. You had no dates. You had a giant pile of mess waiting for you at home, and your job was exhausting.
If you were going to be single, lonely, and trapped in your own head in the middle of Paris, you were damn well going to buy things since you basically had nothing else to spend your extra money on.
You could afford rent, you could afford food, and right now, absolutely no one was stopping you. You deserved this. It wasn't like you splurged on yourself all the time anyway.
"Screw it," you muttered.
You spun around, completely abandoning your aimless walk, and marched right back down the pavement toward the boutique—a woman on an absolute mission.
“We are buying that shoe!” And then another person scoffed at you when they bump into you, making your confidence a few seconds ago, go away.
“Who even says that!”
Snap !
The sharp sound of a plastic lid popping onto a paper cup echoed through the room.You were standing in the bleak, fluorescent-lit breakroom of your corporate office.
You were right back in your cubicle world, staring down at the pool of dark liquid swirling inside your cup and the steam rising from it.
Honestly, the sad office machine made the espresso taste surprisingly good, which was about the only highlight of your morning. You sighed softly, adjusting the sleeves of your work cardigan, just as you were about to turn around and head back to your desk to face an inbox with sixty unread emails and a mountain of group projects.
You took a slow sip, preparing for the worst, when Camille stepped up to the coffee station.
God, you admired Camille. She was so beautiful and always carried herself with the kind of firm, effortless confidence you could only dream of possessing.
Every single day, her outfits were flawlessly styled, her bright eyes practically radiated warmth, and you were low-key obsessed with how she effortlessly styled her hair. Beyond her looks, she was just an incredible leader—you liked the sound of her voice too it was soothing. Camille was holding her own mug, she looked at you, her smile turning the bleak breakroom a little brighter.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the counter with easy grace. "A bunch of us are going to grab drinks at that place down the street after we wrap up today. Do you wanna go?"
Your brain immediately panicked and froze up completely. You stood there like a deer in headlights, staring at her with a totally blank expression while your mind frantically tried to think acceptable response. Go out? To a bar? Me out?
Noticing your sudden catatonic state, Camille chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Alors, t'es en plein burnout review already, or are you just daydreaming about your next congé?" she joked, nudging your shoulder playfully to snap you out of it. "Don't worry, c'est pas la mer à boire! It's just a casual happy hour. No pressure."
Her friendly voice softened the panic slightly, but your mind was still racing. If you said no, you’d just go home to your messy apartment and stay up to yourself for not going out..But if you said yes...then..then..
Scared of your own thoughts and terrified of letting the awkward silence stretch a single second longer, you completely fumbled your words.
"Uhm—y-yeah, sure!" you stuttered out, the words flying out of your mouth a bit too fast, your voice a little higher than normal.
Camille’s smile widened, completely unfazed by your absolute panic. She gave a reassuring nod that instantly made you feel less like a total weirdo. "Awesome! On se voit là-bas around six or seven, then!" she said, tapping the side of her mug before turning on her heel and heading back toward the cubicles.
You stood completely alone by the coffee machine, your heart hammering against your ribs, wondering what the hell you had just agreed to.
You stood alone by the coffee machine, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
Oh god. Who says and stutters that way like who even says that! Who even stutters and says 'y-yeah' dammit..." you muttered to yourself
You actually said yes. Your palms were already sweating, leaving damp, tragic little prints on the side of your paper cup. You took a long, shaky breath that did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves, wiped your hands down your sides, and forced your legs to carry you back to your cubicle.
you immediately began to adjust your work attire to look at-least decent you hoped you looked well in-front of Camille and wasn’t an incompetent fool. You smoothed down your long maxi skirt, meticulously straightened the white lace overlayer of your top, and gave the edges of your cardigan a frantic tug.
Pulling a small compact mirror from your desk drawer, you checked your reflection. You lightly dabbed on some powder, praying it would hide the sweat—which, logically, you knew was a terrible idea that would probably just create a cakey paste, but you wanted to look decent….
you stared at your reflection and let out a heavy, sigh.
Snap!
Just as you clicked the compact shut, Amélie from the marketing team paused right outside your cubicle wall. She glanced down at your outfit, her face lighting up with a genuinely warm smile.
"Ah, j’adore ta jupe ! C'est vraiment très joli," she said, her accent smooth and melodic.
The unexpected compliment caught you completely off guard.
Your cheeks felt hot when you heard someone caught you off guard and complimented you. You forced a nice, genuine smile onto your face. "Oh, merci beaucoup," you replied.
Your voice only cracked a tiny bit on the beaucoup.
Before you could spiral back into your thoughts or overanalyze that one syllable, a clear voice floated over from the main aisle. Camille was walking back to her desk, casual and commanding as always, announcing the post-work plans to the rest of the floor.
"Hey, by the way, she's actually coming with us for drinks tonight!" Camille called out, gesturing toward your cubicle.
Suddenly, a wave of enthusiastic voices chimed in from the surrounding desks, and you found yourself showered in an unexpected avalanche of praise.
"Wait, really? Oh, génial !" a guy’s voice called out from the back row.
"Finally! You're always working so hard, you definitely deserve a break," another colleague added, leaning directly over their divider to beam at you.
"Finally having fun?, I was getting concerned about you taking all those files home and cooping yourself up with work," a senior manager joined in, rolling his chair into view with a chuckle.
You sat frozen in your ergonomic office chair, your cheeks went 10x hotter and your throat felt blocked .
You smiled awkwardly, your fingers tightly gripping your desk. "Oui, Je... Je suis très reconnaissant," you stuttered out, your English slipping through in your panic. "Sorry for not talking much... I thought..."
"Ah, t'inquiète pas ! Don't apologize," Camille interrupted with a warm wave of her hand, completely brushing off your awkward stutter. "
"Ah, merci... c'est gentil," you managed to say , your voice soft but deeply genuine as you looked around at their smiling faces. "Je... I am looking forward to it!"
"Super !" Amélie cheered, clapping her hands together. "Ce soir, on va fêter ça !"
The guy from the back row—Lucas, you remembered his name was Lucas—leaned back in his rolling chair, laughing softly at your wide-eyed, frozen expression.
"Regardez-la, on dirait qu'on vient de lui annoncer une terrible nouvelle !" Lucas joked, his voice full of warmth as he teased you in French.
(Look at her, it looks like we just broke terrible news to her!)
The people chuckled at your sheer panic. Before you could even open your mouth to try and stutter out a defense, Lucas let out another laugh, giving you a playful, reassuring smile.
"t'es coincée avec nous maintenant ! he teased, his grin widening.,
( you're stuck with us now!)
You fidgeted with your fingers, but as you looked around at them laughing and lightheartedly joking about your obvious awkwardness,
You let out a small, breathless laugh of your own, your shoulders finally dropping an inch. You gave them a shy but genuine smile, adjusting your cardigan one last time and sat back down, As they all went back to typing, a strange, nervous warmth settled in your chest.
“I don’t remember anything…hahaha..get me out of here.”
The meeting hour wasn't right after work. Leaving the office around 6:45 PM pushed the party meetup back to around 7:30 or 8:00 PM. it gave you time to head back to your apartment to rest, change, and mentally prepare for the party.
"I'll eat, then shower, and get ready," you mumbled to yourself like a chant as your knee-high boots clicked against the pavement.
You unlocked the heavy door to your apartment building, exhaling a massive breath of relief. On the way up the stairs, you ran into the sweet old lady from next door.
She was genuinely a darling and treated you practically like her own daughter, always checking up on your hermit lifestyle and sliding you generous containers of home-cooked food whenever she made too much. You greeted her politely in your absolute best and gratefully took the little container of food whenever she offered, and finally slipped inside your own apartment.
To be completely honest, your apartment was tiny—just a single small room with barely enough space to swing a cat, let alone house a two functioning adult.
Exhausted ,you slumped onto your couch, closed your eyes, and figured a quick, innocent ten-minute nap wouldn't hurt.
You lazily looked around at the absolute explosion of a mess surrounding you—clothes draped everywhere, shoes scattered—and sighed.
Closing your eyes was your first major mistake.
When your eyes snapped open, you glanced at the clock. It was past seven o'clock. To be exact, it was way past seven.
"Oh, shit, shit, fuck!, shit!" you screamed into the quiet room.
The next fifteen minutes were a blur of pure, unadulterated chaos. You kept up a steady stream of cussing, aggressively calling yourself stupid for sleeping. You scrambled across the tiny room, tripping over your own feet while frantically ripping random clothes out of your closet.
"Are you kidding me? Of all the days to nap, you did this?!" you yelled at yourself, sprinting headfirst into the bathroom. You threw yourself into the shower stall.
"Fuck! The water is freezing—fuck it, doesn't matter, we are running out of time! Who am I even talking to?!" you screamed to the empty tiles, your eyes wide with panic. "Why am I like this? Seriously, why?!"
You hopped out a minute later, shivering violently like a drowned alley cat and cursing under your breath as your wet hair dripped mercilessly onto the hardwood floor.
Tippy-toeing around the trail of water, and you realized you didn't even have time for a proper blowout. You just frantically began searching for a stylish outfit to save whatever sliver of dignity you had left.
"Where are those damn boots? Shit, where did I put them? If I am late to the one social event I actually agreed to after five whole months, fuck my life!" you muttered, aggressively throwing a mountain of unwashed laundry out of the way.
"Boots or heels? Boots or heels?!" you frantically muttered, spinning around in the middle of your tiny apartment like a malfunctioning compass. "Shit! Definitely boots."
You dove toward the closet, practically throwing your entire torso into the clothes racks. You needed a top. A skirt. Pants. Anything that didn't look like you had spent the last several hours drooling into a couch cushion.
"Where is the black skirt? Not that one—too corporate. Shit! Where is the silk one?" You started melting down. "The white lace top, where is it?!"
Your hands were shaking so hard you nearly broke the plastic hanger as you yanked the top free. Clothes were now draped over the bed, shoes were across the entryway, and your makeup bag looked like it had exploded all over the bathroom counter.
"Makeup, makeup, makeup!" you gasped, sprinting back to the sink. You grabbed your eyeliner, your hands trembling so violently you almost stabbed yourself directly in the iris. You dragged the marker across your lid. "God, merde, shit, fuck, why is the left side thicker?!"
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Yielding to defeat, you slapped on some lipstick, threw your compact back onto the counter, and ran back to the bedroom area. You still needed earrings.
You frantically rummaged through a tiny ceramic dish, cursing loudly when a pair of studs slipped from your fingers and rolled directly under the bed frame.
"Are you kidding me right now?!" you screamed at the floorboards. "I do not have time for hide-and-seek!"
Abandoning the lost jewelry, you grabbed another pair of simple studs, shoved them into your ears, and simultaneously began a blind search for your purse. Your keys, your wallet, your phone—where was the damn bag? You finally found it buried under a depressing pile of junk mail on the kitchen counter.
"Shit!" you exclaimed, checking the time on your screen. Your hair was still damp, your room looked like a natural disaster area, but you had no choice. You snatched your keys, stuffed your phone into your bag, and rushed toward the door, praying you didn't look as completely unhinged as you felt.
You flew out of your apartment, slamming the door shut behind you, and sprinted straight for the stairs. Your boots clicking down the narrow staircase was incredibly, deafeningly loud. To make matters worse, the stairs wasn't empty. You rounded the first corner only to find a bunch of neighborhood kids hanging out on the steps, forcing you to perform a high-speed slalom around them in your heavy boots.
And right behind them, of course, was the sweet old grandma from next door.
Seeing you fly down the steps like a woman possessed, the old lady let out a loud, highly disapproving click of her tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," she tutted, shaking her head. "Ne cours pas comme ça, ma petite ! Tu vas te casser la jambe !"
(Don't run like that, my little one! You're going to break your leg!)
Before you could even stammer out a frantic, breathless apology for being a disturbance , her expression suddenly softened. She looked you up and down, taking in your rushed makeup, the white lace top, and the high boots. "Mais regarde-toi... tu es tellement jolie ce soir. Amuse-toi bien !"
(But look at you... you're so pretty tonight. Have fun!)
"Merci! Merci beaucoup!" you gasped out, your voice a breathless squeak as you kept your momentum, practically flying down the final flights of stairs and out the door.
The moment you burst onto the sidewalk, you whipped out your phone with trembling fingers to check the group chat. Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. They were probably already at the venue, a few were already there as they photos of colorful cocktails and laughing emojis. Should you run to the nearest Métro station, or risk walking?
Metro. I am not risking the walking…
You sprinted straight toward the green neon Métro sign, deciding the underground transit was your best shot at beating the clock. As you hustled down the tiled stairs, you whipped out your phone with sweaty fingers and fired off a frantic, text to the office group chat:
“So sorry guys, ran completely late. I’m on my way”
You stood anxiously on the platform, your heart hammering as you checked your reflection in the glass of a poster. Your left eyeliner wing was still definitely twice as thick as the right, but at this point, you just had to own it.
Bzzzt. Your phone buzzed in your hand.
You looked down, bracing yourself for a string of passive-aggressive, responses about punctuality. Instead, Camille replied instantly,
“Pas de soucis !! Honestly, take your time, a few of us are literally stuck in a traffic jam right now. We haven’t even made it to the bar yet :( !!”
You stared at the screen, letting out a loud, disbelief-filled laugh. The heavy iron Métro train finally roared into the station, screeching to a halt.
As you stepped through the sliding doors, a new wave of panic locked your chest. In your rush, you hadn't checked if your monthly transit pass renewal actually went through properly. You looked around the tiled station, suddenly terrified of the notorious French ticket inspectors.
Please God, do not let them inspect my ticket tonight, you prayed, squeezing your purse tightly against your ribcage. I cannot get fined by the French government. I just can't. Can’t do this right now.
You approached the turnstiles and—of course—your transit pass decided this was the exact moment to go on strike. You aggressively tapped it against the sensor. Red light. Error beep. You tapped it again, harder this time, feeling the judgmental eyes of the line forming behind you.
"Don’t do this to me now," you muttered under your breath. You violently shoved your entire wallet against the glass reader. Green light. You slammed through the turnstile, catching the edge of your stylish skirt on the metal barrier. You ripped it free, praying you didn't just ruin the fabric, and bolted for the platform.
You shoved your way into the crowded car and managed to snag a plastic seat as the train doors slammed shut. To your left, a guy was blasting a techno remix of classic Édith Piaf songs at maximum volume. Directly across from you, a group of teens dressed entirely in rave outfits were loudly arguing. Next to them, a man in a suit was fast asleep, completely unfazed. And a family, with three kids and the husband and mom are trying to calm them down.
When the train finally screeched to a halt at your station, you practically flew through the opening doors. You darted up the tiled stairs, your knee-high boots hitting the pavement just as a cool night breeze swept across your face. Ahead of you, the lights of the bar glowed warmly against the slick, rain-soaked sidewalk.
As you smoothed down your skirt and took one last deep breath to shed the chaotic transit energy, a taxi pulled up right to the curb. The doors popped open, and out stepped your coworkers, groaning loudly about the absolute nightmare of Paris traffic.
"Ah, you made it!" Camille called out, spotting you under the awning.
Amélie from marketing, who had loved your skirt earlier, naturally linked her arm through yours as you all headed toward the entrance. "See? We told you pas de soucis. You look gorgeous, by the way!"
“Oh…thanks—uhm—you too!” You replied back, hoping she took it as genuine and not forced.
Inside, the bar was warm, trendy, and buzzing with late-night energy. As the hostess led your group to a plush velvet booth,
Once inside the bar, the corporate boundaries dissolved completely. The sheer relief of surviving your panic-stricken evening caught up to you, and your colleagues immediately began ordering rounds of drinks to celebrate you finally joining the team. One cocktail turned into two, then three, and because you were drinking on a relatively empty stomach, the alcohol hit you quick.
You loosened up completely. To everyone’s absolute shock, you were actually funny…really funny…
With your social anxiety thoroughly drowned in alcohol, you started cracking jokes and joking around everyone in the room.
Your coworkers were absolutely loving it, howling with laughter and raising their glasses to you.
Before long, you transitioned from delightfully tipsy to blissfully, beautifully drunk.
An uncontrollable case of the giggles took over. You sat back in the velvet booth, completely lost in your own happy world, quietly giggling to yourself at absolutely nothing. Everything was suddenly hilarious—the low amber lights, the loud chatter of the bar, the fact that you were a vibrating mess of giggles.
Through the hazy, spinning room, your wandering gaze suddenly locked onto the end of the table.
Sitting right next to your coworker was a man you hadn't noticed before. He had striking, vibrant red hair that stood out effortlessly under the lounge lights, but what really caught your attention were his eyes—specifically, his impossibly long, thick eyelashes and pretty eyes, that brushed against his cheekbones whenever he blinked.
Blame it on the alcohol, but your brain's filter was entirely gone. You didn't just look at him; you stared. You leaned slightly forward, resting your chin heavily in your hands, your eyes wide as you openly and shamelessly tracked every movement of his face. He was gorgeous, straight out of one the world.
Obviously, your staring didn't go unnoticed.
The red-haired man paused mid-conversation, sensing the intense, unblinking weight of your gaze. He turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting yours through the dim amber lounge lighting. Instead of looking annoyed by your absolute lack of boundary, a faint, highly amused smile tugged at his pale-red lips.
He slid smoothly across the velvet booth toward your end of the table. Up close, his impossibly long, thick eyelashes fluttered as he tilted his head with genuine curiosity. When he spoke, his voice was a smooth, clear baritone that cut right through your giggling fit.
"Hey," he murmured, "Comment vous appelez-vous ?"
Your voice completely dissolved into another helpless burst of giggles. The drinks had utterly disassembled your brain’s filter, leaving you sitting there grinning like an absolute fool.
"Je... Je m'appelle..." you slurred. You tried your absolute best to offer a polite introduction, but your tongue felt five sizes too big for your mouth. You managed to trip over your own name, completely butchering the pronunciation before just giving up entirely and laughing out loud.
Why is this beautiful museum statue of a person looking at me? Look at those eyelashes. Awhh he is so cute! He’s not real. He’s a hallucination. Hahaha, he is so pretty….
The gorgeous red-haired man didn't look offended at all with your staring and was simply interested in you..he let out a soft, amused chuckle, nodding along to your drunken rambling with perfect composure.
"Enchanté," he said smoothly. He leaned across the sticky bar table and extended a hand, his fingers wrapping around yours in a surprisingly firm, polite handshake. "I'm Vivian. Vivian Hugo."
As he released your hand, Vivian subtly cast a knowing, highly amused glance over his shoulder toward his friend sitting slightly behind him in the booth. "Ahem, Julian..." he muttered.
You casually blinked through your blurry, alcohol-induced haze at the guy named Julian—who was literally Julian Loki. You just sat there giggling, your brain completely empty of any useful thoughts.
You had absolutely zero idea that the pretty guy currently holding your hand was a global football celebrity
You didn't know Vivian Hugo was a member of the New Generation World XI
You didn't know he was a literal god on the pitch for Arsenal, or that he and Loki were basically the most popular, untouchable athletes in all of France To your, drunken mind, he was just a spectacularly pretty French guy with spectacular lashes.
"Tu es tellement... pretty," you giggled, your filter completely shattered as you leaned way too close across the table. "Like, realllly pretty. How are your eyelashes even real?"
You beamed a wide, goofy smile, entirely unbothered by the fact that the literal Julian Loki was currently hiding a massive laugh behind his hand. Before your brain could register the sheer social audacity of what you were doing, you fully extended your arm across the table. Your fingers moved forward, and you firmly, aggressively pinched Vivian Hugo's cheek.
The entire table of coworkers went dead silent. Camille's drink froze halfway to her mouth.
Vivian was completely froze. For a guy who was notoriously terrifying and precise on the football field, he never saw this coming. His eyes widened slightly, momentarily blanking out into pure shock.
His skin was incredibly soft under your fingertips, and as you let go with another loud giggle, a small, genuine, and unusually soft smile pulled at his lips.
He didn't pull away. He just adjusted his posture, his eyes locking onto yours with a completely new, intense kind of curiosity.
"You are a very bold stranger," Vivian murmured.
With the alcohol entirely running the show, you didn't even notice how closely he was looking at you. Instead, you just started talking.
You joked about your life with a, self-deprecating humor, slurring through the absolute tragedy of your boring life. You complained loudly about your mom calling you an excuse-maker, how you tripped that one time in the middle of the Parisian streets, and that time you fell asleep for an entire day because you stayed up way too long.
"I know I’m pretty…i thinkl!" you pouted, gesturing vaguely to your white lace top and the three-year-old knee-high boots hiding under the table. "But I never even go out! And it's me. It's me, it's my fault!" you cried to him, your lower lip trembling.
Through all of it, Vivian Hugo just listened. He didn't interrupt your rambling for a single second. His gaze remained entirely watching the way your hands moved and your face looked.
To a guy like Vivian—who was deeply obsessed with concepts of destiny, fate, and "suitable destinies"—seeing you in this state was completely fascinating
. You were being a total fool, but he found himself utterly charmed by your wit, even through the slurred words.
Yeah, to vivian probably he saw you as part of his destiny life.
"Don't be like that, hm?" Vivian softly echoed, his voice laced with a gentle affection that went entirely over your drunk head. He reached out, his thumb incredibly soft as he gently wiped away an eyelash.
But you were so deep into the alcohol that the bar might as well have been spinning on an axis. Before Vivian could even finish his sentence, you leaned entirely across the booth, grabbed him firmly by his broad shoulders, and gave him an aggressive, unprompted shake.
"You don't understand, Vivian!" you wailed.
Before he could reply, you immediately collapsed forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck in a massive, clumsy, drunken hug.
Vivian froze yet again. His arms hovered in the air for a fraction of a second, his brain completely short-circuiting from the sudden blast of your warmth and the sweet scent of your perfume.
But as your fingers tangled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, a soft, utterly helpless expression took over his handsome face. He wrapped one large, secure hand around your waist, holding you firmly against him so you wouldn't slide off the velvet booth.
Behind him, Julian Loki just covered his mouth, his shoulders actively shaking with silent, hysterical laughter at the sight of the untouchable Vivian Hugo being turned into a literal teddy bear.
You didn't care. You buried your face straight into his shoulder and just kept complaining, pouring your heart out right into his collarbone. "I'm just so scared, you know? Like, what am I doing with my life? I'm in my twenties and I'm just... cooped up! I'm a stupid houseplant!"
You sniffled loudly against his expensive shirt. "And people... my friends back home are like... I don't know, I'm invited to like three weddings! Hahaha! And all my friends are with people, and like... look at me!" you cried, your voice muffled against his neck. "I have no one. No one likes me!"
Then, midway through your dramatic crying, you abruptly snapped backward and started laughing out loud at your own misery.
You pulled back, your face mere inches from his. Your lower lip trembled into a ridiculous, dramatic pout. You didn't even notice how Vivian's breath hitched at the sudden proximity, or how his dark eyes dipped down to your lips for a split second before locking back onto your messy eyeliner.
Vivian’s eyes never left you. Not for a single second. The rest of the table was chatting and drinking, but his world had shrunk entirely to the girl clinging to his clothes.
He was completely, utterly whipped.
Vician was currently using every ounce of his concentration just to track the way you sighed, the way your lips formed a pout, and the stories you were telling him.
He leaned in even closer, his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his palm as he listened to your next unhinged rant with absolute, undivided intent.
He loved every single messy, anxious word coming out of your mouth.
You kept on wailing and complaining to him and Vivian—well—he listened to your ramblings and he was really focused and looking at you while you talked. "And then!" you gasped, slamming your hands onto your own knees as you pivoted in the booth to face him completely.
Across the table, Camille and Amélie paused mid-sip, their eyes darting from your gestures straight to the elite athlete who was currently listening to your endless ramblings
Camille leaned back against the plush velvet, a massive, knowing grin spreading across her face. She nudged Amélie’s elbow, gesturing with her cocktail glass toward your side of the booth.
"Regarde-moi ça," Camille chuckled softly, her voice dripping with amusement. "Our quiet little cubicle mouse gets drunk, makes us all laugh and we just left her for a minute and now she’s with vivian.”
Amélie let out a, giggling snort, resting her chin in her hand as she watched you aggressively point a finger at Vivian's chest to emphasize your point.
"Elle est trop drôle," Amélie whispered back, completely charmed by your sudden lack of a filter. "Who knew she was this sweet and cute, honestly was always scared and afraid of talking to her, thought she might get freaked out by a single small talk."
Camille laughed quietly, taking another sip of her drink. "I knew I liked her for a reason…."
You, of course, were entirely oblivious to your coworkers' commentary. You were far too busy leaning back into Vivian’s space, your face a mere inch from his.
Amélie whispered back, to camille. "Look at how he's staring at her. He has gone completely soft. Looking totally whipped boyfriend already, and i don’t even think she knows who he even is."
Suddenly, Lucas popped up from the other side of the table, he slumped down next to the girls, holding up his glowing phone screen to show off a freshly snapped selfie of himself grinning like an idiot next to a highly amused, peace-sign-flashing Julian Loki.
"Look!!" Lucas crowed, practically shoving the phone into Camille's face. "I just got a picture with my number one. My life is complete!!!"
He then cut his eyes over to you, watching as you threw your head back in another helpless, giggling fit.
"And that’s what happened!" you said to him while you sat there looking vivian. Then your laughter suddenly died down, replacing your humor with a wave of drunken vulnerability. You slumped against the plush velvet seat, your lower lip trembling as you looked down at your hands.
"I feel so horrible about how I look right now," you muttered softly, pouting as you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "My hair is still half-damp, my clothes are a rushed mess, and my eyeliner..."
Vivian’s expression immediately softened. The, amused look vanished from his face, replaced by a deep, intense sincerity
He reached out, gently catching your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look directly into his dark, mesmerizing eyes.
"You could never look horrible," Vivian murmured,
“yada—yada, yap-yap-yap”
You couldn’t even make sense of what he was talking about, all you couldn’t understand was the sincerity in his voice with his words.
Your eyes welled up with big, drunk tears, and before he could even blink, and continue his monologue, you let out a soft sob, lunged forward, and wrapped your arms around his neck in an absolute death grip.
"Thank you, Vivian!" you wailed into his shoulder, completely weeping now. "You are literally the nicest, most gorgeous statue ever!"
Still clinging to his neck, you pulled back just enough to aggressively shake his broad shoulders again, your tears spilling over your cheeks. "No, seriously! You don't understand how much I needed to hear that!"
Vivian sat completely shocked. His breath hitched, his eyes widening in pure surprise at how incredibly bold you were being.
A complete 180 to what he assumed how his day was supposed to be. Usually he was more blunt and straightforward, vivian is a chill person but this was awfully funny .
But as your hands squeezed his shoulders, a soft, helpless expression melted across his face. He leaned into the embrace, wrapping his long arms securely around you, pulling your back close against his chest to steady your swaying body.
As he held you, he took a breath and immediately winced slightly. You were absolutely reeking of alcohol. It smelled like you had practically bathed in whatever drinks your colleagues had been buying you all night.
A amused chuckle vibrated through his chest against yours. He pulled back just a fraction, looking down at your tear-stained, messy face with a teasing, flirtatious glint in his dark eyes.
"Are you secretly an alcoholic, ma petite?" he joked
"No!" You threw your head back and letting out another loud, sudden burst of giggles. "I'm not an alcoholic!
You laughed and laughed, wiping a tear from your cheek, though if anyone asked you what was so funny, you genuinely had no idea either. Your brain was entirely fried….
1. For one, you had spent the last twenty minutes talking entirely to yourself inside your own head while a gorgeous French celebrity just watched you…that you didn’t know at the time.
2. Two, you were actively embarrassing yourself loudly!
3. And three... honestly, you didn't even know anymore. The numbers didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that you were hella drunk and being a mess and you regretted being that way because you were a different person when you are drunk.
Across the table, Julian Loki finally lost his composure completely, slamming a hand on the table as he roared with laughter at Vivian's utterly stunned, face. But his friend still decided to go along with your antics.
Vivian just watched you laugh, a soft, incredibly fond smile breaking across his face. His thumb gently reached up to catch the fresh tear tracks on your cheek. He was so incredibly whipped, at this point…there was no turning back.
Your head suddenly felt five times heavier than it did a second ago. The frantic laughter faded into a long, dramatic yawn, and your eyelids felt like lead. The liquid courage was finally wearing off, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion. Without a shred of hesitation, your head dropped right onto Vivian’s broad shoulder, your face burying into the warm crook of his neck as your body went completely limp.
Vivian caught you effortlessly, his arms tightening around your waist as you instantly drifted off to sleep against his collarbone. He looked across the table at Julian and looking for your coworkers, his expression shifting into something intensely protective.
"I think you need to go home," Vivian murmured softly, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your sleeping face.
Your head suddenly felt five times heavier than it did a second ago. The frantic laughter faded into a long, dramatic yawn, and your eyelids felt like lead. Without a shred of social hesitation, your head dropped right onto Vivian’s broad shoulder, your face burying into the warm crook of his neck as your body went completely limp.
He cleared his throat, a light flush creeping onto his pale cheeks, and gave your arm a gentle, desperate little shake to try and wake you up.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice cracking a tiny bit in sheer panic. "You cannot sleep here. Wake up."
You didn't wake up. Instead, you just dozed off further into his expensive shirt, letting out a soft, hazy giggle against his skin. "Mmm... pretty man," you slurred into his shoulder, completely unbothered. "So pretty... long lashes..."
When you passed out, Vivian had absolutely no idea what to do. He stared down at your sleeping form, entirely panicked.
He looked around the bar, desperately searching for your coworkers, but Camille and the others were completely lost somewhere in the thick crowd on the other side of the venue. He didn't have your keys, he didn't know your address, and he couldn't exactly leave a vulnerable, sleeping girl on a sticky booth cushion.
Right on cue, Julian Loki walked back up to the table, holding a fresh drink. He took one look at vivian, anxiously cradling a sleeping girl like she was a fragile piece of glass, and he burst out laughing.
"Oh, I didn't know you would score tonight," Loki wheezed, covering his mouth as his shoulders shook with silent, helpless laughter at the entire absurd sight.
"Please be quiet Julian," and Carefully adjusting your weight, Vivian slipped one arm under your knees and the other securely behind your back, “where you taking her?” Julian asked.
“To my apartment, i’ll text you tomorrow morning.” Julian just nodded in response.
Vivian lifted you up into his arms with effortless athletic strength. Your head lolled heavy against his chest, your three-year-old knee-high boots dangling in the air as he held you close.
Since he couldn't leave you and had absolutely no way of knowing where your tiny apartment was, Vivian had no choice. He was bringing you back to his place.
He wouldn't do anything, of course—he was a gentleman, albeit an incredibly whipped one—but as he carried you out of the loud bar by using the back exit and Vivian walked carrying you bridal style into the cool, damp Paris night air.
The rain had cleared, leaving the streets slick and mirroring the bright neon signs of the boulevards
As he stepped onto the sidewalk, you let out a tiny, sleepy sigh. Your body shifted closer against him, and you shoved your face right into the center of his chest, seeking his warmth. Your hair brushed against his jawline.
Vivian’s throat went dry. He paused on the pavement, his chest locking tightly as he swallowed hard, a visible gulp moving down his throat.
He walked over to his sleek, luxury car parked by the curb. Balancing your weight with one arm, he unlocked the door, opened it, and carefully lowered you onto the leather passenger seat.
Vivian leaned into the car to pull the strap across you, but you weren’t making it easy. Even in your deep, alcohol-induced sleep, you kept moving, squirming against the leather seat, and letting out quiet, breathless giggles. You were still talking to yourself, your lips moving as you muttered completely nonsensical fragments of your earlier rants.
Vivian didn’t mind at all. In fact, a soft, incredibly amused chuckle escaped his lips. Catching your stray hand before it could swat him again.
Vivian closed the passenger door gently and walked around to the driver's side. Instead of starting the engine immediately, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, staring straight through the windshield into the quiet street.
Vivian began contemplating his life choices. Is this even a good idea? He was Vivian Hugo, He was taking an incredibly drunk, completely unconscious girl back to his private apartment. If a single paparazzi caught a glimpse of this, the French sports tabloids would have an absolute field day by morning.
Beyond the media risk, it was just entirely outside his comfort zone h e rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a long, heavy exhale. He glanced over at you, watching the soft rise and fall of your shoulders A small, defeated, and completely whipped smile broke across his face.
When the car finally pulled over to his apartment , He carried you into his spacious bedroom and carefully laid you down on the center of his massive, comfortable bed. He leaned down, gently gripping your knee-high boots, and slid them off one by one so you could actually rest comfortably, setting them neatly by the closet
As he pulled the heavy duvet up over your shoulders, covering youyour lips parted again. You mumbled a few more sleepy, incoherent words to him, shifting your face deep into his expensive pillows.
Vivian just stood by the edge of the bed, staring down at you with an intensely soft, completely whipped expression. He knew he was sleeping on the couch tonight, but honestly? He didn't care.
Before turning away, Vivian leaned over the bed one last time, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His dark eyes softened as he watched your peaceful, sleeping face.
"Dors bien, ma belle," he murmured, his voice incredibly low, sweet, and thick with an affection.
With that, he quietly left the room, shutting the door gently to let you sleep in absolute peace.
The next morning, your eyes snapped open, and the immediate sensation was a thumping headache directly inside your skull. Your vision was completely blurry and groggy. You blinked once. You blinked two, three times, trying to clear the haze, expecting to see the cracked plaster ceiling of your apartment.
Instead, your eyes focused on massive, floor-to-ceiling windows showing a sweeping view of Paris.
Wait. This wasn't your room. Heck, this wasn't even a room you could afford if you saved your salary for the next ten years.
"Oh my god," you muttered, the horrific realization hitting your brain. A pure spike of panic shot straight through your hangover. You felt like throwing up; you felt lightheaded.
You gasped and let out a sharp scream, instantly ripping the heavy duvet open to check yourself under the sheets.
You frantically patted down your clothes—okay, you still had your bra on, your top and your skirt were still completely on, though your knee-high boots were gone.
You lightly pressed to check that your underwear was still on and that nothing bad had happened. Then you looked around, your hands trembling.
Who am I with? Did I get kidnapped? Am I a missing person? What happened?! WHO BROUGHT ME HERE???
Hearing the commotion, and your loud frantic screaming the bedroom door flew open in a rush. bounded into the room, looking completely alert, panicked, and worried.
But your blurry, hungover eyes didn't register who he was. You just saw a tall, incredibly muscular stranger invading your room—well the room.
And Your brain instantly assumed the absolute worst-case scenario.
"STAY BACK!" you screamed at the top of your lungs. You screamed again in front of him, making him freeze.
In a frantic, blind panic, you grabbed the nearest down pillow and hurled it directly at his head with surprisingly good aim. Vivian didn't even flinch; his reflexes kicked in, and he casually swiped the pillow out of the air with one hand, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Get away from me!" you panicked, scrambling like a chaotic crab to the edge of the mattress, desperate to get out of the bed and run for your life.
But you underestimated how high the bed was, how tangled you were in the sheets, and just how violently the room would spin the moment you moved.
Your feet hit the floor, your knees immediately buckled like noodle strings, and you just plopped right back down onto the hardwood floor in a messy, uncoordinated heap with a loud thud!
"Ow, fuck!" you whined weakly from the floor, clutching the head that you bumped, which was already suffering from a hangover.
Vivian’s tough, unreadable demeanor completely melted. He seemed amused yet rushed to the side of the bed, dropping to his knees right in front of you, his hands hovering over your shoulders with pure, genuine concern.
This was too much for you to bare….
"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Vivian asked, his voice urgent but incredibly gentle as he looked down at your groggy, terrified face. "Don't move so fast. You had far too much to drink last night."
You blinked up at him, your vision finally focusing on his incredibly long, thick eyelashes and those dark, mesmerizing eyes.
The memories of the bar started flashing back in painful, embarrassing fragments: you joking with your coworkers, laughing and shouting at the top of your lungs, you pinching his cheeks, you hugging his neck, you crying into his shirt about your life... you clinging onto him.
Your eyes widened in pure horror as you remembered everything. You remembered staring shamelessly at him and aggressively shaking his broad shoulders.
You froze completely, turning into a literal statue on the edge of his bed. Your jaw dropped, your breath hitching in your throat.
Oh my god. I did that. I did all of that to a man I barely know.
Vivian stood right in front of you, dropping his hands from your shoulders but remaining close. He tilted his head, his dark, almond-shaped eyes locking onto your frozen expression.
"So," Vivian murmured, his voice smooth and low. "Do you remember or no?"
You looked up at him, your gaze traveling from his messy hair down to his strikingly handsome features. And then, the final, most catastrophic realization hit you.
Vivi...
Vivian...
Hugo….
Vivian Hugo…..
VIVIAN HUGO!
Your brain finally connected the dots. And you stared at him , this wasn't just a random, pretty French guy from the office. NO, he wasn’t even from the office.
This was the prodigy midfielder for Arsenal and part of the France national team and a a literal member of the New Generation World XI. He was a global sports icon, a millionaire celebrity, and someone whose face was plastered on billboards across Europe. You’ve seen him before, you’ve seen him model for brands and be the front cover of multiple magazines.
And you had treated him like a giant, fluffy teddy bear, wept on his shoulder, slapped his hand and pinched his face.
You sat back down at the edge of the bed , staring at one of the most popular athlete in France, completely speechless as the sheer absurdity of your life.
You just sat there, the sheer, suffocating weight of your own embarrassment crashed down on you like a tidal wave.
You let out a sudden, hysterical laugh. It wasn't a cute, giggly laugh drunk laugh—it was the unhinged cackle of a woman who had officially reached the end of her life and had officially lost it.
In the middle of your laughing fit, your mom’s voice echoed in your head with
“If you keep drinking like that, you are going to ruin your life. Don’t end up like those old drunkards. Always be polite and mindful and never drink because you’re always a mess.”
"You were right, Mom," you choked out, laughing so hard a tear leaked from your eye. "You were so right. I ruined it. I ruined everything!”
Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and you began to completely tweak out.
You grabbed chunks of your own hair, pulling at it frantically as you rocked back and forth on the mattress.
You were muttering to yourself in a mix of French and English, your eyes wide and staring blankly into space.
Vivian eyes widened, his pupils losing their sharp focus as he watched you completely unravel right in front of him.
He actually took a step backward, his hands raising slightly in self-defense as if he were trying to placate a wild animal.
To say at-least you were probably concerning him from his point of view for acting a tad bit—no—for acting deranged.
"Hey," Vivian said, his voice dropping its smooth tone, replaced by a very real, very concerned panic.
You just looked up at him, your hair completely disheveled, your white lace top slightly wrinkled, and your face flushed bright red from pure embarrassment.
You couldn’t stop. Your brain had completely exited the atmosphere, leaving you in a state of pure, unadulterated panic.
"I can't believe it," you whispered hysterically, your fingers still violently tangled in your own hair. "I actually cannot believe this is happening. This is a simulation. I am in a fever dream.Nothing is real. We are all living in a simulation,…you are not real ” You muttered to yourself.
Fuck me. Fuck me and my fucking life, and my fucking self, and my fucking stupid, dumbass self," you swallowed hard.
You swallowed hard for a couple of reasons.
One, you were embarrassing yourself while dealing with a big-ass migraine, and two, you had this guy standing right in front of you... and this was just so awkward.
Then snapped your head up and looked directly at him. You stared at Vivian Hugo—the guy whose face was literally on the sports banners you walked past every day—standing in his own bedroom, looking at you with concer.
"You're…Vivian …Hugo," you pointed trailing off with pointing an accusing, trembling finger at his chest, your voice rising to a frantic squeak. "And I... I... I touched your face! I hugged you! I complained to you about my life!"
Vivian swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he tracked your chaotic movements. Vivian nodded and then you stood up, patted your self down and neatly fixed your hair and tried to make a run for it.
He grabbed you gently by the shoulders, grounding you before you could escape into the hallway.
"Where exactly do you think you are going, hmm?" Vivian asked, his voice a mix of sheer disbelief and muffled amusement.
"I—I have to leave!" you insisted, trying to squirm out of his grip, but his hands on your shoulders were solid. You looked up at him, your face burning a violent shade of pink. "I'm so, so , so sorry. For being like that yesterday, please forget about me.” You looked at his face.
"No," Vivian said flatly, looking expressionless.
You stopped your tracks, “why no..?”
"No."
"I am not letting you leave like this."
"I like you," Vivian corrected flatly, with the absolute, confidence. He leaned a bit closer, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.
He was so blunt and his face had barely any expression going on and that scared you…because you can’t tell what’s going on.
He was too close. Waayyy too close. Too close that you could almost fill your lips brushing with him.
Your heart was beating like a bass drum. This is it, you thought with certainty. What do people hear when they are about to die? Because right now,you were hearing every single lecture my mother has ever given me.
You swallowed hard, You could practically see the pearly gates opening up right through Vivian’s expensive ceiling.
You were entirely convinced that a choir of angels are going to take your soul away.
In your mind's eye, you pictured your ancestors gathered in a semi-circle, waiting for you on the other side. They were probably looking at you with a collective mix of disappointment and profound confusion. On how you died and live your life
Honestly, at this rate, you weren't even sure if your ancestors would accept you into heaven, or if there was such a thing as paradise.
You were completely stunned—too many things were happening at once (who even wrote this scenario?) and you were completely embarrassed and humiliating yourself, if anyone was in this situation they would probably act normal..
In a desperate, knee-jerk reaction to protect your remaining sanity, you extended a single, trembling index finger, pressed it right against the center of his forehead, and firmly pushed his face away from yours.
Vivian blinked, completely caught off guard as his head tilted back from your finger.
The confident, smooth smirk vanished from his elegant features, instantly replaced by a genuinely sad, puppy-dog expression.
"You don't like me?"
His shoulders slumped, and his dark eyes looked up at you through those ridiculously long lashes with an almost wounded pout.
"If my presence is too overwhelming for you right now," he murmured, his voice laced with a sudden, soft earnestness, "let me take you out. Properly. Date me."
Your brain completely stalled. Date him? A world-class football player? And you...you…
You looked at his handsome, slightly desperate face. And glanced back
Really? Was this actually happening? He wasn’t weirded out…? You don’t mind….I mean….like…shit…you would definitely want to go out with him…who wouldn’t?
"Uhm... three dates," you stammered out, lifting three fingers while trying to maintain whatever dignity you had left. "Give me three dates, and I’ll think about it...!"
Vivian’s sad expression vanished in a split second. A bright, victorious, and completely whipped smile broke across his face.
He smiled, a soft, victorious hum vibrating in his chest as he accepted your counter-offer.
"Three dates," he repeated smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, melted tone that sent an immediate shiver straight down your spine. "Comme tu veux, ma chérie."
You just sat there on the edge of the mattress, completely motionless, as Vivian stood in front of you.
He stared down at your frozen figure,
"You are very quiet now, ma chérie," Vivian He took a slow step closer, leaning down just enough to look directly into your wide eyes.
"Where did all that loud energy go? Last night, you were not quiet at all. In fact, you were clinging onto me You wouldn't let go of my neck, no matter how many times I told you we had arrived."
Hearing the vivid reminder of your shameless behavior, a bolt of electricity shot straight through your spine.
You jolted upward, your hands flying out instinctively to clap over his mouth and shut him up before he could utter another humiliating detail.
"Stop talking! Do not say another word!" you gasped, your voice a frantic squeak.
But the moment your palms made contact with his jawline, you realized exactly how you were acting.
You were touching his face , Again.
Catching yourself, you instantly pulled your hands back. You sat back down on the bed in a hurried, embarrassed heap, tucking your chin into your chest.
Then all the sudden he traced the pad of his thumb slowly across the curve of your cheek. His touch was warm, heavy, and completely mesmerizing.
You nervously leaned your head back, tilting your face away from his touch to break the contact. Vivian’s thumb hovered in the empty air for a bit.
He blinked, staring at his empty hand, and then looked back up at you. You scrambled backward on the mattress, creating as much physical distance between you and him , as humanly possible.
You aren’t going to give in that easily.
Your bare feet tangled slightly in the duvet again, but you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, your chest heaving as you frantically searched your brain for an excuse because this was already akward enough, you would want to date him but at the same time you were scared to date him.
"Paparazzi!" you suddenly blurted out, the word flying from your mouth like a bullet. You pointed a trembling hand toward the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the sweeping view of Paris.
"Oh my god, the paparazzi! Vivian, we can’t go or be together y’know! There are photographers everywhere in this city. What if someone saw me come in here last night? What if they took a picture of me staggering out of your car? My face will be all over the tabloids by noon! I'll be labeled as your girl, and my face is going to be ruined across Europe and people—“
You were practically hyperventilating, the terrifying vision of your messy, hungover face plastered on the front page of French sports magazines flashing before your eyes.
Vivian remained on his knees by the edge of the bed, watching your crisis unfold. Completely unfazed.
"Ah, the media," Vivian said smoothly, his voice laced with a heavy, deeply unbothered amusement. "Yes, about that. You do not have to worry about them finding out from a sneaky photograph."
You blinked, your frantic breathing pausing for a fraction of a second. "What do you mean?"
"Because I already told them."
"You... what?" you whispered, your heart stopping completely.
"I told the media about it," he repeated flatly, the utter nonchalance in his tone contrasting violently with the bomb he had just dropped. He tilted his head, "When I was carrying you out of the bar last night, a few reporters from were waiting near my car. You were very busy at the time."
"Busy doing what?!" you gasped, gripping the sheets tightly.
"Well," Vivian chuckled, leaning forward slightly to thoroughly enjoy your escalating horror. "You had both of your hands securely wrapped around my neck. And right as the flashes went off, you looked directly at the cameras and shouted, 'I love my life!' at the top of your lungs. Then I tried to calm you down but you just told me to shut up”
Your jaw dropped so low you thought it might unhinge and fall onto the floor. A high-pitched, strangled noise escaped your throat. "No. No, you are lying. You have to be lying…."
"I am," Vivian admitted his face still not changing " I was joking, sorry. We did not get caught by the paparazzi last night, ma chérie. I tool you to the back exit. The press does not know a single thing."
You let out a massive, ragged sigh of relief, collapsing back onto the pillows. "You are an evil, horrible man,"
"I’m not evil, but I did call my manager and my PR team this morning," Vivian continued smoothly, dropping his hands from his chest and leaning his forearms against the mattress, trapping you with his sheer size. "I told them everything."
You instantly peeked through your fingers, your eyes wide with fresh terror. "So…what did tou tell them?!"
"Hmm," Vivian murmured, and straight forwardly said "I told them that I like a girl. I told them that I am going to ask her out, and that absolutely nobody is going to stop me. Not management, not the club,."
"Vivian, are you insane?!" you squeaked, your voice cracking. "You can't just tell people that! I didn’t even say yes nor have we even done anything to be officially together”
" you don’t have to worry" Vivian interrupted flatly, his eyes locking onto yours. He reached out, gently pulling your hands away from your face so you had no choice but to look at him.
"If you want to keep us a secret we can keep it a secret. I do not care about the press. I only care about the fact that I like you. And I respect any decision you will make, if you want to walk out then walk out i just joe you know that I like you and if destiny is true then we will end up going."
He leaned a bit closer, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.
"So," he whispered, a faint, breathless smile touching his lips. "Do not worry. Do you still want to go out?"
“Well…yes..” then He leaned down a bit to your lips but then Suddenly, the heavy silence of the bedroom was violently shattered by the loud, aggressive buzzing of your phone.
You both froze. Vivian reached over to his bedside table and smoothly handed you the device. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the caller ID flashing on the screen.
It was your boss.
Your thumb trembled as you swiped to answer, pressing the phone to your ear. Before you could even mutter a hungover greeting, a sharp, furious voice boomed through the speaker, so loud that even Vivian could hear it.
"Où diable es-tu ?!" your boss exploded, completely skipping any polite pleasantries. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Half of the international office staff didn't show up this morning! Apparently, everyone who went out drinking last night is completely incapacitated!
"Je—je suis vraiment désolé, Monsieur—" you started, your voice cracking trying to mask up your own stress right now.
"Save it!" your boss cut you off, sounding completely at the end of his rope. "Here are your options, this will either be marked as an immediate unpaid leave on your record, or you drag yourself into the office right now and make up for the missing staff. So make a decision now."
While you were desperately trying to process this nightmare, Vivian decided this was the perfect moment to strike. Seeing you completely distracted and vulnerable, he leaned forward, wrapped his long, muscular arms securely around your waist, and buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, clinging to you like a giant koala.
The sudden warmth of his broad chest pressing against your back and his messy hair tickling your skin sent your brain into a total meltdown.
"Uhm... Monsieur..." you stammered into the phone, your voice rising to a breathless squeak as you tried to maintain your composure.
You frantically brought your free hand down, pressing your palms against Vivian’s broad, unyielding shoulders, desperately trying to push his massive frame away from you. You wriggled and squirmed against his grip, but trying to move him was like trying to push your closet. He only tightened his embrace, letting out a soft, amused hum against your neck that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
"I need an answer right now!" your boss snapped through the line, completely oblivious to the fact that you were currently wrestling someone right now
"I... I will come in!" you gasped out, struggling to speak properly as you kept pushing against Vivian’s chest. "I will be there... in thirty minutes, Monsieur! I am so sorry!"
You quickly slammed the end-call button before your boss could hear anything suspicious. The moment the line went dead, you turned your full, glaring attention to the man currently anchoring you to the bed.
Vivian!" you hissed, your voice a frantic, breathless squeak as you slammed your phone face-down onto the mattress. "What are you doing?! Off! Laisse-moi partir !”
You used every ounce of your remaining strength to push against his broad, muscular chest. He finally relented unlocking his arms from your waist and sitting back on his heels.
The sudden lack of his warmth left you shivering, but there was absolutely no time to process the romantic tension. You were officially in emergency mode.
"Es-tu fou ?!" you scolded him, your hands flying up in a wild gesture of pure panic. "That was my boss! My career was hanging by a single thread, and you were clinging to me! I just promised him I would be at the office in thirty minutes!"
Your eyes darted around the massive,bedroom and remembered this wasn’t your home.
"Oh my god, I am not in my apartment," you stammered, your words tripping over each other as you scrambled out of the heavy duvet.
"I don't have my makeup. I don't have my toothbrush. Look at me! I am wearing a wrinkled white lace top and a maxi skirt from last night! This is completely inappropriate for the office!
You stood up from the bed, your knees wobbling slightly from the lingering migraine, but the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you upright. You were completely frantic, spinning in a circle as you searched for any sign of your belongings.
Vivian sat on the edge of the bed, watching your absolute meltdown with a calm, steady gaze. "Chérie, calm down. you cannot go to work like this, you are still vibrating."
"Yes! Yes, I can! I have to!" you stammered defensively, pointing a trembling finger toward the hallway. "I said yes to my boss, and I am going to show up!
Before he could block you again, you bolted. You broke out of the bedroom, your bare feet slapping rapidly against his expensive, polished hardwood floors as you made a literal run for it.
You sprinted down his long, hallway like a track star, desperate to reach the front door, grab your boots, and escape into the streets of Paris before your life could complicate itself any further.
You almost made it. Your hand was practically reaching for the brass handle of his grand front door when a sudden, violent wave of nausea hit you right in the gut.
The world spun on its axis. The adrenaline that had been powering your frantic sprint evaporated in a split second, leaving behind only the cold, hard reality of a hangover.
Why did you have to drink so much…
You froze in the middle of the hallway, your face instantly losing what little color it had left. You looked completely haggard, your shoulders slumping as you clutched your stomach.
"Oh, no," you whimpered, your eyes widening in shee horror. "No, no, no—"
Before you could even scan the corridor for a trash can or locate your knee-high boots, your body betrayed you. You couldn't help it. You were about to puke.
In a flash Vivian was there; didn't even hesitate to pull you before you could make a mess on his pristine, hardwood floors, his large hands gripped your waist and smoothly hoisted you off your feet. Carrying you straight to the restroom.
He dropped to his knees right alongside you, easing you down in front of the porcelain bowl just in time.
Vivian reached out to you , his hand, rubbing slow, soothing circles across your back.
"I've got you," Vivian murmured, his voice dropping its melodic purr and replacing it with an incredibly gentle, steady calmness. "Just let it out, ma chérie. Breathe."
You groaned weakly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you rested your forehead against your arm, feeling utterly defeated, gross, and completely exposed in front of him. You looked absolutely wrecked.
Then the loud, aggressive buzzing of your phone echoed from the hallway, cutting through the quiet hum of the bathroom fan. You slumped against the cold tile floor, feeling utterly hollow and exhausted. Vivian smoothly reached out, retrieved the phone from the corridor, and handed it to you with a quiet, sympathetic look.
You unlocked the screen with a trembling thumb, only to find a paragraph of text from your boss. It was a furious, fast-typed message,
“Votre comportement est absolument inacceptable ! Je ne vais pas vous licencier aujourd’hui car nous manquons cruellement de personnel, mais cela va laisser une très tache noire sur votre dossier. Ne venez plus aujourd'hui. Restez chez vous.”
“Your behavior is absolutely unacceptable! I am not going to fire you today because we are sorely lacking in staff, but this will leave a very black spot on your file. Don't come today. Stay at home.”
He wasn't firing you, but you reputation was completely in tatters. It was a terrible look for your career.
The absolute, crushing weight of the last twelve hours finally broke you—it was just too much.
A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, until you were officially sobbing, covering your face with your hands as your shoulders shook.
"Hey, hey..." Vivian murmured.
Seeing your tears, He shifted closer on the bathroom floor, wrapping his long, muscular arms around you and pulling your weak, trembling body directly against his broad chest.
He didn't care that you looked haggard or that you had just been sick; he just held you securely, while rubbing your back to soothe you.
"Don't cry, ma chérie," Vivian whispered, his voice incredibly soft and warm. "You didn’t get fired and You did not kill anyone."
"My... my career is over," you choked out between miserable, unhinged sobs, your voice muffled against his shirt. "My dossier has a black mark on it. I am a failure."
You sniffled, staring up at him, You're not even my boyfriend," you sniffled, your voice cracking as you tried to pull your hand back from his chest. "I don't... I don't even know you."
The reality of your situation crashed down on you again, fresh tears welling up in your eyes and spilling over your flushed cheeks. Your emotions were completely unregulated, a raw, exhausting mix of a pounding migraine, a volatile stomach, and absolute panic.
"Look at me," you cried, gesturing weakly to your wrinkled clothes, your wild hair, and the bathroom floor. "I am a total mess. My job is going to fail, my record is ruined, and I'm sitting here crying in front of a stranger. I am a complete mess of a person."
"Hey, non, look at me. You are going to be fine," Vivian assured you, his voice dropping into a deep, steady cadence. He reached out to wipe a tear from your cheek, his touch incredibly gentle. "A black mark on a dossier is nothing. I promise you, your life is not over."
"No!" you argued, your voice rising in a desperate, emotional sob. "You don't get to say that! You don't even know me, Vivian! You don't know anything about my life or my job, so just... just stop trying to fix it!"
You covered your face again, sobbing completely unhinged because you felt so incredibly bad about yourself.
Vivian’s expression shifted, Seeing you completely broken down made him feel genuinely bad. He looked at you with a profound, quiet sadness in his eyes, realizing just how deeply the stress and the hangover were crushing you.
Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward and tried to wrap his arms around you for a hug.
Your heart jolted, and you flinched back slightly, a sudden wave of scared, defensive panic making you freeze. You were terrified of the intimacy, terrified of how fast everything was moving, and terrified of losing whatever control you had left.
Vivian froze instantly, keeping his hands hovering a few inches away from your shoulders, giving you space. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with absolute sincerity. "I've got you, ma chérie. Only if you want."
Needing comfort more than anything else in the world right now, you gave in. You leaned forward, burying your face directly back into the safe, warm crook of his neck, and kept crying.
Vivian didn't hesitate. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, locking his strong arms around you and rocking you slowly on the bathroom floor. He let you weep, whispering quiet, soothing words against your ear, completely unbothered by the mess, entirely content just to hold you until the storm in your mind finally passed.
“Bare with me now…!”
You smoothed down the fabric of your black polka-dot maxi skirt, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in your simple black ballet flats.
After the absolute emotional and crash out you had yesterday, you had spent Sunday hiding under your covers, praying that Monday would never come.
But here it was. You had painstakingly pieced yourself back together, choosing a familiar white lace top paired with a cozy black cardigan to look as presentable—and invisible—as possible.
You were standing by the office coffee machine, desperately waiting for the coffee machine to work , when Lucas sauntered up with a giant, knowing grin on his face.
"Well, well, look who survived," Lucas joked, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. "How did that hangover treat you, little mouse? I heard the boss was handing out black marks like candy on Friday morning."
Before you could scramble for an excuse, another coworker popped her head around the corner, holding a stack of papers.
"Oh, leave her alone, Lucas! Honestly, you were so much fun on Thursday night," she complimented, giving you a warm smile. "We were all shouting, but you were the life of the party."
You let out a weak, thoroughly awkward chuckle, "Yeah... haha. Fun times..!"
You took a desperate sip of your coffee, hoping to slip back to your desk unnoticed, when Amélie suddenly stepped into the breakroom.
"So," Amélie purred, leaning against the counter and lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. "Are you going to tell us, or do we have to guess? What exactly is the deal with you and the Vivian Hugo?"
Your brain completely stalled. The coffee in your throat almost went down the wrong pipe.
Vivian?" you squeaked, your voice jumping as you gripped your coffee cup. "Nothing... nothing much."
Amélie just stared at you, an eyebrow raised at your painfully awkward behavior, clearly not buying a single word. “Are you sure?”
"Yes!" you stammered, nodding furiously as you smoothed down your black polka-dot maxi skirt with your free hand. "He was just being a polite person…err—friend!"
Lucas let out a loud snort into his mug. "Right. Because when I think of a friend , I think of the most famous midfielder in Europe hanging out with me and looking smitten."
You shifted uncomfortably in your black ballet flats, wishing your cardigan could swallow you whole.
Amélie crossed her arms, a skeptical smirk playing on her lips. She clearly wasn't buying a single word of your painfully awkward cover story, but before she could press you for the real details, your phone buzzed violently in your cardigan pocket.
You pulled your phone out of your cardigan pocket, your fingers fumbling a bit as you tapped the screen. You saw the name Vivian Hugo lighting up your notification bar.
You unlocked it, your eyes widening as you read the message:
"Ma chérie, our date—do not forget it. I also saw a butterfly this morning. Did you know I adore butterflies?"
"What is that face?" Amélie asked instantly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to peer over your shoulder. "Who is texting you, hmmm?"
Before you could lock your phone or scramble for another excuse, the heavy glass door of the breakroom swung open with a sharp, intimidating click.
The atmosphere in the room froze instantly.
Your boss strode into the breakroom, looking like an absolute thundercloud. His sharp gaze swept over the counter, immediately locking onto the group of you standing idly by the coffee machine.
The collective panic was palpable. Lucas practically swallowed his coffee whole, and Amélie instantly straightened her posture, everyone scattering like a flock of startled birds toward the exits before a single word could even be spoken.
You tried to subtly slip your phone back into your cardigan pocket, but you weren't fast enough.
"You!" your boss snapped, his voice booming as he pointed a sharp finger directly at you, stopping you dead in your tracks "On your phone again? Is this what we are doing today?"
You froze, your shoulders tensing up as you slowly turned around to face him.
"Monsieur, I was just—"
"I do not want to hear it!" he cut you off,. "After the absolute disaster of Friday morning, you arrive today and the first thing you do is stand in the breakroom texting? Your department is already drowning in backlogged work from the weekend!"
"Yes, Monsieur. I am so sorry," you stammered out, your face burning a bright, violent shade of pink as you frantically shoved the phone deep into your pocket.
You didn't dare breathe another word. Clutching your coffee cup, you quickly scurried out of the breakroom, your mind completely racing between the terrifying wrath of your corporate manager and the lingering, melted tone of Vivian’s text message.
You slinked back to your desk, keeping your head low as you slid into your office chair. Your boss was still pacing the floor nearby, keeping a hawk-like eye on the department.
Waiting until his back was completely turned, you carefully slipped your phone out of your cardigan pocket and hid it beneath the edge of your desk, your thumbs flying across the screen in a flurry of pure panic.
"I am at work right now! My boss almost just murdered me because of you! I cannot be texting back. Bye!"
You hit send with a definitive tap, instantly locking the screen and shoving the phone deep into your bag before you could get caught again. You let out a shaky breath, pulled up the backlogged of reports on your monitor, and tried to force your brain to focus on instead of vivian.
Not even two minutes later, your bag gave a single, muted vibration against the floor.
You looked around cautiously. Your boss was currently across the room scolding Lucas about a spreadsheet error, giving you time. You reached down, zipped open your bag, and peeked at the preview on your screen.
"Okay. I am at practice now. Focus on your work, ma chérie."
A small, helpless huff of laughter escaped your lips before you could help it.
You wouldn’t mind him being your boyfriend..really…
You locked the phone for good this time, a tiny smile tucking into the corner of your mouth as you finally buried yourself in your paperwork, the countdown to the first of your three dates officially ticking away in the back of your mind.
Part Two : soon
Written by Jammy. Please do not copy and paste or feed my work into an AI. This was completely written by hand, thank you for stopping by and reading!
a/n: dude i need more dad!au's for bllk characters. ALSO YAY FOR ME FINISHING THE SUMMER HW I ONLY FOUND OUT ABOUT YESTERDAY LMAOAOOAOA
summary: sae itoshi, to most of the world, is the picture of nonchalance, composure, and seriousness. to his daughter, though? not at all. to her, he's her pretty princess.
"no. we had an agreement, and we're not going to break it-"
"but pretty please, dada?" your 4 year old daughter whined, glancing up at sae with those wide, puppy eyes of hers that she'd perfected over the years. and very unforunately for him, sae was a weak man when presented with those eyes.
the sight was honestly hilarious — japan's very own genius midfielder sitting criss crossed on the living room floor, his teal eyes crying out to you for help and his crimson hair done beautifully. 'done' meaning half brushed in some parts, completely messy in other parts, and decorated with as many clips and hair ties as your entire house had to offer.
that was the incredible result of a 4 year old girl, her father, a hairbrush, and a whole hour where she had the freedom to do whatever she wanted to said father's hair. yes, she'd somehow convinced the sae itoshi into an agreement that gave her an hour of "make daddy into a princess" time, with sae gaining... absolutely nothing in exchange.
that was how most deals went in your household. the same man who practically had the jfa at his feet, willing to do anything for him, was making rather one sided deals with a very opinionated little girl and not complaining about it at all.
you watched in amusement as your husband, clearly trying — and failing — to resist his daughter's attempts at emotional manipulation, huffed softly and propped her back onto his lap.
"...fine. but this is the final 10 minutes, okay? final, you got that?"
all the poor man got in response was a series of giggles and gentle tugs on his soft, crimson locks as she attempted to stick yet another bright pink clip onto a bundle of hair.
"look, dada! the clip is pink... and your hair is pink!"
and though he'd never admit it, sae instinctively softened at that, just as he did every time his little girl said or did anything.
"does it look nice?" he asked softly, almost nervously, so unlike the persona he put on for the rest of the world.
"very nice! my daddy's super pretty! just like a princess!"
"really? a princess?" his tips of his ears were as pink as the clips in his hair. and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't the most adorable thing you'd seen.
"mhmm! my pretty princess," your daughter declared before suddenly gasping. "what if i do your m-may.... make..."
"makeup?"
"yes! makeup!" she was practically vibrating with excitement now, still on sae's lap. "can i use mama's makeup on you, dada? pleeeaasse?"
sae glanced at you, eyes desperately begging for you to say no, but this was too much fun.
"of course, sweetheart. you know where the bag is, right?" you confirmed, smiling warmly at both your daughter and husband. "make sure you're careful though, okay? can you promise that?"
and after a series of rapid nods and frantic footsteps towards your bedroom, the 4 year old was back and armed with your makeup pouch.
let's just say that the initial promise of just 10 final minutes was long broken. and that by the time the ball of mischief was tucked in, still smiling to herself as she hugged her little stuffed animal, sae had a full face of makeup he needed to take off.
so right there in your bathroom, holding a bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad, he finally glanced at you, trying oh so hard to look unimpressed, despite the blush — his real one, not just the makeup — giving him away.
"not. a. word," he muttered as you fought the laughs threatening to spill out of your tightly pressed lips.
"but... you're my pretty princess, baby," you cooed, quoting your daughter's exact words.
and the look of complete concern that passed onto his face was comical.
"...tch." was his only response, and honestly, that revealed that he was not, in fact, bothered at all.
So Hugo is like HUGEEE so maybe he might have a size kink that he wasn't aware about until one day it just activated
Oh WE know both that man and you guys have a kink for that shit for sure, you nasty whores >:( (im jk ok pls dont doxx me). Enjoy ♡
18+
The room is dim and quiet, the slow, heavy rhythm of the night matching the languid pace you're trying to keep. But the word "easy" doesn't quite apply right now.
Lying flat on his back, Vivian's long, sprawling frame completely dominates the bed, making him look impossibly large beneath you.
You're shivering, breathless, trying to catch your rhythm as you struggle just to take him all in- his sheer width and depth stretching you out to your absolute limit, making every downward inch a slow, overwhelming torture..
Vivian isn't moving fast either. His eyelids are half-closed, his usual deadpan expression softened by a heavy, hazy fog of pure physical bliss. He's staring up at you with dazed, unbothered curiosity, watching you hesitate, bite your lip, and fight for your breath over him
Lazily, almost absentmindedly, he slides his massive hands up from the mattress to grip your hips-- and stops abruptly.
His fingers span completely around your waist, his lond thumbs and fingers nearly meeting on the opposite side as if you were made of glass.
For a second, Vivian blinks, freezing as his brain processes the visual: his huge, heavy hands completely caging your small frame, framing the exact point where you two are joined.
A strange, sudden jolt of heat flares low in his stomach, making him throb hard and deep inside you.
He hasn't quite put a name to it yet, but the sight of how tiny you look trapped between his palms... of how effortlessly he could snap you in half, yet how completely you are taking him apart... makes his chest heave with a heavy, uncharacteristic gasp
"Hngh.." Vivian lets out a slow, gravelly exhale, his deadpan facade completely cracking into a haze of raw, dazed wonder as his thumbs press in, tracing the span of your waist. "Fucking... hell. Look at your waist in my hands... you're so tiny, sweetheart."
"Mm-mhm..n-no! Youre just huge, vivi." You whined out, struggling to keep riding him with how fucking huge his cock was, stretching your poor pussy so much it felt like you were being split open-
His thumbs pressed deeper into your waist again, this time not just admiring- but reveling in it.
Possessive heat pulsed through his veins as he watched the way your body trembled with each shallow bounce you attempted. You weren't going far, barely lifting off before sinking back down like gravity was too much for such a small thing...
"Shhh...." Vivian murmured in the softest sound anyone had ever heard from him, and then slowly lifted his hips off the bed just an inch-
It wasn't fast or forceful, but it shifted everything inside you dramatically. The angle changed completely... deeper pressure surged where it hadn't been before- a new level of fullness hitting like lightning up your spine- and suddenly you were gasping louder than he had all night.
You whimpered like sweet prey, making him groan himself, like the gentle giant he was...
And then you shifted a bit too, leaning back slightly and your back arching and thighs spreading naturally with the new angle, revealing the obscene way your folds were stretched so taut around his glistening, fat cock...
And then his gaze fell on... God, your tummy...
Your tummy was literally bulging with the imprint of how fuckin massive his cock was-
Vivian's pupils shrank to pinpricks
For the first time in his life, Vivian Hugo was rendered utterly speechless. And all by this: the sight of your stomach visibly distended-- a soft swell right above your navel... as if something enormous were pushing from inside out through sheer size alone.
And that wasn't even the most devastating part
It was how your folds clung to him like they'd been sculpted around his cock specifically: glossy with arousal and stretched impossibly thin over every thick ridge and vein along his shaft- the obscene way you pulsed with each shallow breath you took as if trying to adjust... but failing beautifully at it...
A low groan rumbled up from deep within Vivian's chest, and he couldn't look away anymore.
His hands slid upward instinctively now... one large palm spread flat across your bulging lower belly where proof of him lived under skin.... while his big fingers curled protectively over that tiny rise--
"...Jesus," he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking pathetically
Your thighs shook violently, it was too much- so much-- "Vivi! Please, i c-can't," you begged sweetly, for him, for his help...
Vivian's fingers pressed down just a little harder, not enough to hurt, but enough that the pressure radiated straight through your core, amplifying every nerve ending around him.
And hearing you beg like that... soft, broken whines spilling from those plump lips... it shattered whatever remained of his stoic composure.
He lifted both hands now, one still cradling your trembling stomach while the other slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lip with unexpected tenderness before trailing down along the curve of your jaw...
"Ma petite.." he murmured, "you're taking me so well.. such a good girl for being stretched like this."
A pause. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip once more before continuing in hushed praise...
"Look at you... swollen on my cock... taking all 8 inches without breaking..."
Your thighs trembled harder from the overwhelming rush of being called "good girl" by this towering French giant who could snap bones without trying... yet here he was, cradling your face like something precious
"You're so tight... can feel every flutter inside."
His voice dropped even lower on that last part- a rough whisper that vibrated through his chest-- and as if to prove it, his hips lifted again gently, a slow upward roll of those powerful pelvis muscles driving deeper into you at an angle that made stars burst behind your eyelids, rubbing at your clit perfectly
So of course, naturally, your pussy clenched tighter around him, trapping each vein of his pulsing shaft deeper within your walls, dragging in and out filthily-
He cursed lowly at the way each ridge, each pulsing cord along his underside were being milked by you in a way that made all his sense of logic short-circuit..
With slow but firm intent, Vivian rolled again- not just up and down now- but side to side slightly too, subtle pelvic rotations designed to grind deep inside while rubbing against that swollen bundle of nerves at the top where you were most sensitive..
Then came the clench
Tighter than before- and it pulsed around him in rhythmic waves, wave after wave of contractions squeezing every inch of his cock with intoxicating force.
His jaw clenched hard. His abs tensed under smooth skin. For someone who prided himself on control, or being unshakable... this was dangerously close to pushing him over too-
Still, he kept guiding you through your orgasm... soft bounces even as you trembled above him, gentle lifts and sinks while whispering tenderly
"That's it... let me feel all of it... oui, mon amour.."
And soon, he followed right after you, whimpering through it in such a high contrast to his size that it made his ears tip pink-
And then came the flood...
Thick. Heavy pulses shot deep inside you, not once or twice but wave after wave of it: rich and hot filling every space until your lower belly visibly swelled again from within- the same spot where earlier his cock had bulged outward now rounding softly from how much cum he'd just released..
It really was disgusting by normal standards... too much for one load.. too warm, too sticky, but neither of you cared even slightly because this... This intimacy... This raw act between two people completely consumed by each other felt anything but disgusting.
isagi has spent so much of his life analyzing people that he notices things you don't even realize you're doing. you always hand him the prettier bowl when you're eating ramen together. when you walk on the sidewalk, you unconsciously switch places with him whenever a bike comes speeding by because you want to be closer to the road instead. when he's talking about football, your eyes never wander. you don't check your phone. you don't interrupt. you look at him like he's explaining the stars.
and one day he blurts out, "why do you always look at me like that?"
"like what?"
"like everything i'm saying matters."
"because it does?"
congratulations. you've accidentally turned the world's greatest striker into a microsoft windows error message yayayayayay!!!
he's smiling, but he's also looking away because his ears are bright red. his heart genuinely starts racing because, to him, being understood is infinitely more intimate than being admired.
whenever he gets home after training, you don't greet him with dramatic hugs or kisses. you just look up from whatever you're doing and instinctively scoot over on the couch. that's it. you made room. every. single. time.
eventually, he realizes you never even think about it anymore. your body just automatically saves space for him because somewhere along the line, your brain categorized him as home. he almost cries over six inches of couch cushion.
sometimes, while he's reviewing match footage late at night, you quietly sit beside him with your own hobby. maybe you're reading, drawing, playing a handheld game – anything. you don't ask him to stop working. you don't complain. you just exist beside him.
every so often he'll look over, see your head leaning against his shoulder without you realizing, and completely forget what tactical formation he was studying.
"yoichi?"
"... sorry."
"you okay?"
"i forgot football existed for a second. because… all i saw was you."
itoshi rin
rin isn't used to physical affection initiated without hesitation. so the first time you're walking together and absentmindedly fix his collar before anyone can see it crooked – because it bothered you – he actually stops walking.
"... what are you doing."
"your collar."
"... oh."
"is that okay?"
it’s totally okay to him, but his internal monologue is in complete shambles: she noticed. she touched me. she fixed it. she didn't even make a big deal about it. he spends the next four hours thinking about those three seconds.
whenever he's concentrating, you unconsciously reach over and smooth his hair back out of his face – a tiny little motion so he can see better. it starts becoming muscle memory for both of you. he'll be reading something, pause for half a second because a strand falls into his eyes… and wait. because he knows you'll move it.
when you do, he pretends absolutely nothing happened. inside? fireworks. outside? "thanks." inside? marry me right now.
the thing that absolutely destroys him is when you defend him without making him feel like he's incapable. someone says, "rin's kind of an asshole." before he can even respond–
"he's actually really considerate."
"?"
"he remembered i said i liked this drink three months ago and bought it without asking."
rin stops. you noticed. nobody notices. nobody looks past the sharp edges. but you always do.
and now he has to stare out the window for the next 20 minutes because if he looks at you, he's afraid the expression on his face might give him away.
itoshi sae
sae isn't very verbally affectionate. neither are you. that’s why you’re the perfect match.
the way you love him is by remembering microscopic details. one afternoon you're at a café, and before the waiter even asks, you order for yourself, then look at sae.
"and no fries with his."
sae blinks. "... i wasn't going to say anything."
"i know."
"you remembered."
"you don't like them."
it's such an insignificant thing, but somebody remembered something about him that everyone else forgets. he's cooked.
every time you take pictures together, you never ask him to smile. you know he won't. rather instead, you quietly tell him – "look at me." and you take the photo while he's already looking at you. every picture ends up softer. the only time his expression naturally changes is when he's looking at someone he loves.
when you show him afterward, he’ll say, "oh wow… this one's nice."
"yeah."
"i’m keeping it."
at home, he's secretly changing it to his lock screen three hours later.
after particularly exhausting matches, you never ask him how he played. you ask – "how's your body?"
"’s fine."
"don't lie."
"... my legs hurt."
"i figured." you already have pain patches in your bag.
sae has spent years being valued for what he can produce on the pitch. you ask about him, not his performance. it ruins him every single time.
nagi seishiro
nagi's favorite thing in the entire world becomes when you're doing absolutely nothing together. you're both lying on the bed. you're scrolling on your phone. he's playing a game.
at some point, completely unconsciously, your thigh reaches over until it's touching his. that's all. he glances down. then at you.
"did you mean to do that?"
"huh?" you look down. "oh." you never even noticed. "sorry."
"don't move." now his entire body feels warm. the fact that your body naturally searches for his without permission? he's finished.
every time he falls asleep somewhere ridiculous – couch, airport chair, team bus, hotel lobby – you automatically cover him with your hoodie or coat or jacket if you have one.
one day, he wakes up before you realize he's awake. he watches you gently pull your jacket over him before going back to whatever you were doing.
"... thanks."
"oh, you're awake."
"... do you always do that?"
"yeah?"
"why?"
"because you get cold."
he has never wanted to marry someone more over a sentence that simple.
whenever he gets excited talking about games, you don't pretend to understand. you actually ask questions. like "wait, so that's the final boss?"
"yeah."
"that's sick."
"right?"
now he's talking with his hands, sitting up straighter, rambling for 15 straight minutes. halfway through, he pauses. "sorry."
"for what?"
"i've been talking forever."
"i know."
"you don't mind?"
"i like hearing you happy."
game over. you have defeated nagi seishiro without even picking up the controller.
mikage reo
reo gives people things all the time – gifts, favors, opportunities, expensive dinners, the list goes on. what nobody gives him is the chance to be taken care of first.
one rainy day, before he can even open the umbrella he's carrying, you've already opened yours above both of your heads.
"mine's literally in my hand."
"yeah, but this one's already open."
"you..." he laughs. but for the next 10 minutes he cannot stop smiling because nobody has ever beaten him to taking care of someone else.
you hype him up when nobody's watching. after practice, while he's complaining about a mistake, you gently cut him off. "you know..."
"hm?"
"i think you're cooler than you realize."
"... where did that come from?"
"just thought you should know."
there’s no audience, teammates, cameras, or reason to flatter him. just pure honesty. and that's exactly why it sticks. he remembers that sentence for months, especially during the harder moments.
every once in a while, you reach for his hand first. sometimes you're asking for reassurance. other times, you just wanted to hold it. reo has initiated hand-holding thousands of times. but the first time you absentmindedly intertwine your fingers with his while walking through the city, he completely loses his train of thought mid-sentence.
"reo?"
"... yeah?"
"weren't you saying something?"
"... i was."
"?"
"... i forgot." because all he can think is that you chose him first. he didn’t offer, nor did he ask. loving him has become your first instinct.
for someone who's spent his entire life wondering whether people loved him or simply loved what he could give, that quiet certainty makes him fall for you all over again.
bachira meguru
bachira absolutely lives for physical affection, but the thing that gets him the worst isn't when he clings to you. it's when you start unconsciously copying him.
one afternoon, he's sprawled across the couch, doodling in a notebook while you read beside him. without even realizing it, you lean over until your head is resting against his shoulder. you don't even look up from your book. you just, like, migrate. like your body decided, yeah, this is a comfortable place to be.
bachira stops drawing. "... you're cuddling me."
"am i?"
"yeah."
"... should i–"
“no. don't move."
he sits there grinning so hard his cheeks hurt because the affection wasn't asked for, wasn't planned, wasn't even conscious. your body sought him out before your brain did. the monster is literally kicking his feet.
you never laugh at his weirdness. you laugh with it. he says something completely absurd like, "what if pigeons have secret governments?"
and instead of staring at him like he's insane, you nod seriously. "that explains why they're always in groups."
"RIGHT???"
now the two of you are spending 25 minutes building an elaborate conspiracy theory about pigeons running the economy.
afterward, he just looks at you with stars in his eyes. "you're my favorite person."
"because i support your delusions?"
"because you make them fun."
bachira has spent his life being called strange. you make him feel like strange is simply another word for home.
sometimes he'll wake up before you. he'll find you half-asleep, instinctively reaching around the bed until your hand finds him. the second your fingers brush against his arm, your hand relaxes, like your brain went, found him. okay. continue sleeping.
bachira nearly combusts. he has to physically bite his lip to stop himself from squealing (and waking you up).
shidou ryusei
everyone expects shidou's relationship to be loud, chaotic, explosive. what absolutely destroys him is how unbelievably gentle you are with him. after a rough match, he's bouncing off the walls, adrenaline still pumping. but surprisingly, you don’t tell him to calm down... you simply walk over, cup his face with both hands, and quietly ask, "you done breaking people's ankles today?"
"... yeah."
"good."
“... you gonna kiss me or keep holding my face?"
"i'm checking for bruises."
shidou thinks this feeling is better than scoring the winning goal.
he has spent his entire life being treated like something people had to manage. you're standing here making sure his cheek doesn't hurt. you're one of the only people who can make him genuinely blush. how? complimenting him when he's not doing something cool.
you catch him tying his hair up. "you're pretty."
"what?"
"nothing. that slipped out.."
"HEY!"
"hm?"
"... don't say stuff like that so casually."
"why?"
"because… my heart's doing weird things."
he loves kisses. you know what he loves even more? when you randomly hold the back of his neck. not even romantically. maybe you're guiding him around someone in a crowded hallway or fixing the collar of his shirt or absentmindedly rubbing the nape of his neck while talking. every single time, his brain completely blue-screens.
"you know that's unfair."
"what is?"
"that."
"what is that?"
"... you touching my neck."
"oh?"
"... i forget my own name for a second."
karasu tabito
karasu is sarcastic by nature. he teases everyone, especially you. so the first time you effortlessly beat him at his own game... he's intrigued. he says, "damn, look at ya. finally usin’ that brain."
without looking up from your phone, you answer, "thanks. i learned from watching you struggle."
"... excuse me?"
"you heard me."
his teammates are laughing. you're smiling innocently. and karasu... karasu is trying very hard not to smile like an idiot. that's my person.
you always notice when he's mentally tired before he says anything. he's still talking, joking, and acting like himself. but you quietly slide a drink toward him. "you've been talking for like... three hours."
"... have i?"
"yeah."
"damn."
"rest your voice."
he stares at the bottle for a second. everyone notices when karasu is loud. you notice when he's exhausted.
every once in a while, while he's ranting about literally anything, you'll reach over and absentmindedly play with his fingers. you're still listening and responding. you're just tracing one because your hands wanted something to do. karasu completely loses his train of thought.
"you okay, tabi? you can keep talking."
"... can't."
"why?"
"... yer holdin’ my hand without holdin’ my hand. that's kinda– really dangerous."
kaiser michael
kaiser expects admiration. he's used to people staring, praising, chasing, adoring. what absolutely dismantles him is when you quietly do something thoughtful that nobody else would ever think about.
you've noticed he always finishes the drink closest to room temperature first before touching the cold one. so one afternoon, you casually swap the cups around before handing them to him.
"... how'd you know?"
"you always do it."
"you noticed that?"
"i notice a lot."
for someone who has spent his whole career being looked at... being observed is infinitely more intimate. after all, observation requires attention.
sometimes you'll adjust his collar while talking to him. you don't interrupt yourself or announce it. you simply straighten the fabric because it flipped backwards. "there."
"ah, thanks.” kaiser is internally screaming because your fingers brushed his chest for half a second and you treated it like the most natural thing in the world, like touching him is simply part of your routine. it makes him feel normal and cherished – something he never thought he'd crave.
after interviews, everyone talks about his goals or his aura or his ego. you look at him and ask, "did you eat yet?"
"... no."
"figured.”
"... that's all you're gonna ask?"
"unless you secretly scored six goals instead of two."
"i only scored two."
"cool. now let's get dinner."
he laughs so softly it's almost inaudible.
for an hour, the entire world treated him like michael kaiser. then he came back to you and you treated him like someone worth feeding before celebrating.
ness alexis
ness loves talking. okay wait, correction: ness loves talking to you. because unlike everyone else, you never make him feel annoying. he'll spend 15 straight minutes explaining some ridiculously niche topic. halfway through, he pauses. "am i talking too much?"
"probably. but keep going."
"... really?"
"you're making cute little hand gestures."
"... you noticed my hand gestures?"
you have accidentally rendered alexis ness speechless.
whenever you're walking together, you unconsciously fix tiny things about him – lint on his sleeve, his crooked tie, hair sticking up. you never even mention it. just… boop. fixed. every single time.
eventually, he starts standing still whenever you get close. "nessie baby, what are you doing?"
"... waiting."
"for?"
"... you usually fix something."
"oh." you smooth one stubborn strand of hair back into place. he smiles so brightly you'd think you handed him the moon. he’s just so addicted to your touch.
the thing that absolutely gets him bad is when you brag about him to other people while he's close enough to overhear. someone asks, "is ness always this talkative?"
you grin. "yeah. but i like it."
"really?"
"he gets excited over the smallest things. i think it's adorable."
ness was fully prepared for you to apologize on his behalf. but rather, you defended the very thing he worries makes him "too much." he has to turn away for a second because his eyes suddenly sting. then five minutes later, he's right back beside you, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
"... hey."
"yeah?"
"... can i hold your hand?"
"you were already doing that."
"... oh. haha. good."
chigiri hyoma
chigiri is used to people complimenting him. his speed, his face, his hair – sometimes all three in the same sentence. but the thing that completely catches him off guard is when you're the one who quietly takes care of his hair after practice.
the two of you are sitting in the locker room after everyone else has started leaving, and he's absentmindedly trying to tie his still-damp hair into a ponytail with one hand while looking at his phone.
you sigh. "give me."
"hm?"
"the hair tie.”
"oh." he hands it over without thinking.
you stand behind him, gently combing your fingers through his hair before tying it up properly, smoothing out the little bumps like you've done it a hundred times. "too tight?"
"no."
he catches his reflection in the mirror afterward. his hair is neat and comfortable, exactly how he likes it. "wow. thanks."
"you're welcome."
he doesn't tell you this, but nobody has ever touched his hair so carefully without making it feel like they were admiring it. you handled it like it was simply another part of him. that's infinitely more intimate. he feels like he’s going crazy because of that.
whenever you're shopping together, you'll instinctively reach toward the clothing racks before he does. "this would look good on you."
"you think so?"
"yeah. and this color would make your eyes stand out."
he's trying on sweaters he would've walked right past, scarves he'd never have picked, jackets he didn't know he'd like. he realizes halfway through that you don't dress him because he's pretty. you dress him because you've spent enough time looking at him to know exactly what makes him feel like himself.
the changing room curtain closes. he leans against the wall. she pays way too much attention to me... and he hopes you never stop.
you never rush him after difficult matches. everyone else asks, "are you okay?" you simply hold your hand out. "ready?"
he looks at it. then at you. "... yeah." he takes it, your fingers wrapped around his as you walk beside him in comfortable silence.
he thinks that's probably what healing feels like.
barou shoei
barou would rather pass away than admit he likes being taken care of. so naturally... you don't make a big deal out of doing it. you come over to his apartment. he's cooking. you notice the cabinet above him is open. without interrupting your conversation, you reach up and close it before he inevitably walks into it.
"thanks."
"mhm."
10 minutes later, you wipe a tiny streak of flour off his cheek while continuing your story like nothing happened. "and then she actually said–"
"you just touched my face."
"yeah?"
"... why?"
"because you had flour on it."
"... oh." he's genuinely offended by how quickly his heart folded.
barou pretends he doesn't need reassurance. but after losses... he gets quieter. one night, he's sitting on the balcony staring into the distance. you don't tell him he played well. you don't tell him to cheer up. you simply sit beside him until your shoulders touch. after a while, you quietly say, "i'm still proud of you."
he exhales so slowly you almost miss it. "don't say stuff like that."
"why?"
"... because i'll start believing you."
you smile. "good."
he has to look away because if he doesn't, you'll see exactly how close he is to folding.
the quickest way to make barou malfunction is by trusting him before he even asks. it’s a crowded street. you're distracted. without looking, you reach for his hand. you already know he'll be there. your fingers slip between his naturally.
barou forgets what he was about to say. all his brain can manage is – she reached for me first.
don't expect him to let go for the next hour.
yukimiya kenyu
yukimiya knows people look at him. he's a handsome model that’s used to being perceived. but you? you make him feel seen. one evening, you're helping him pack for an away match. you quietly tuck an extra pair of sunglasses into the side pocket of his bag.
"i already packed one, love."
"i know."
"then…?"
"because last month you couldn't find yours and spent almost half an hour pretending the sun wasn't bothering you."
"... you remembered that?"
"of course i did."
yukimiya just stares at you. he barely remembers saying anything about it. yet you remembered it well.
he'll be talking passionately about fashion or photography, expecting you to politely nod. instead, you go – "wait, show me."
"hm?"
"the picture you're talking about."
"really?"
"yeah. i wanna see what you see."
that sentence alone nearly knocks the wind out of him.
people always admire his perspective. very few people actually want to step inside it. you do.
whenever the sunlight gets too harsh, you'll instinctively move so you're casting a little bit of shade over him. you don't even notice you're doing it. you're just standing slightly in front of him while talking.
"why're you standing there?"
"huh?"
"you're blocking the sun."
"oh. it's getting in your eyes, right?"
his chest aches. you notice before he even says a word.
iglesias bunny
bunny is constantly moving as a member of the new gen 11. there’s always cameras, interviews, training, flights, etc. you're the only person who never makes him feel like he has to perform.
the thing that gets him every single time is when you greet him exactly the same whether he's just won the champions league... or lost in the quarterfinals.
"hi."
"hi."
"i missed you."
"i missed you, too."
no "congratulations!" no "i'm sorry." those can wait. your first instinct is always him. not the footballer. your boyfriend. and every single time, he melts.
bunny loves making you laugh, but what absolutely folds him is when he catches you smiling at him before he notices. he'll be joking around with his teammates across the room. then he glances over. you're already looking, smiling to yourself, like watching him exist makes you happy.
"what is it, cariño?"
"nothing."
"you're smiling."
"am i not allowed to?"
he has to physically look away. if he keeps eye contact any longer, he's going to walk over and kiss you in front of everybody.
one day, he complains that his hands are freezing after training. without thinking, you take one of his hands and tuck it into the pocket of your coat while keeping yours in there, too. "there."
"that's your solution?"
"it's working."
"..."
"are you okay…?"
"don't move."
"why?"
"because i'm imagining doing this when we're 80 and wrinkly.”
hugo vivian
hugo has a naturally intimidating presence. he has broad shoulders and quiet confidence, the kind of guy strangers instinctively move out of the way for. you, however, have absolutely zero fear of invading his personal space.
if there's a loose thread on his sleeve? you're already pulling it off. his tie's crooked? fixed. lint on his coat? gone. all while continuing your conversation as though adjusting a six-foot-something professional footballer is the most normal thing in the world.
"you know..."
"yes?”
"you've never once asked before touching me."
you blink. "i’m sorry. do you want me to?"
“no. please keep doing it." the volume of his voice is like a whisper.
hugo isn't particularly expressive. so you've learned to celebrate the little victories. one tiny smile after training? "there it is."
"what is?"
"your smile."
"... i smiled?"
"for like... half a second."
he is absolutely doomed. you notice everything.
one rainy afternoon in paris, the two of you are sharing an umbrella. a passing car splashes water toward the sidewalk. before hugo can react... you've already stepped in front of him. the water hits your shoes instead.
"hey, why did you do that?"
"instinct?"
"i'm supposed to protect you."
you shrug. "guess we're protecting each other."
he looks at you for a long moment. then quietly carries you on his back for the rest of the walk home because he refuses to let your shoes get soaked any further.
there isn't a single teasing remark or joke. just a grip that's a little tighter than usual because, for perhaps the first time in his life, someone else's first instinct was to shield him, too.
HII ILYSM BRO I LOVE HOW U WRITE THINGS AND HOW AMAZING U ARE UR MY FAV CREATOR, but can I request something?🥹 can u write kaiser jerking off to the reader sleeping or is that too dark for u🥹😭 ANYWAY HAVE AN AMAZING DAY ILYSM
Hi bb, no its not too much haha, in fact, i was genuinely planning on writing exactly about that willingly before even seeing your request. So i combined your request with what I personally had in mind. I hope you dont mind too much :)
18+
The heavy oak door clicks shut behind him, locking out the rest of the world. Michael Kaiser steps into the quiet bedroom, stripping off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. After a day of dominating on the pitch, his sharp blue eyes immediately fixate on the bed- and on you.
You're fast asleep, curled into the soft mattress. The blankets have fallen back, showcasing your ultra-feminine curves- the full swell of your hips, the plush soft sweep of your thighs, and the distinct, proud curve of your growing, pregnant belly...
Kaiser approaches the bed with silent, deliberate steps, towering over you in the dim light. His eyes darken instantly. His whole life is built on absolute control, but nothing fuels his dark, obsessive nature quite like you.
He planed this. He put his baby inside your luscious body for one precise reason... to tether you to him permanently, to break any lingering thought of leaving, and to lock you away in his grand house where no one else can ever look at you.
As his gaze hungrily traces your soft, pregnant silhouette, a sudden, heavy rush of heat hits him. He can't take his eyes off the thick, full line of your hips and the belly holding his child.
The sheer possessiveness of the visual instantly takes hold... within seconds, his trousers strain against a hard, throbbing boner. His blood runs hot, his pulse hammering as he stands there visibly, intensely aroused just by looking at his trapped, gorgeous wife.
A slow, dark smirk tugs at his lips. He unfastens the top button of his pants to accommodate his rigid length, letting out a low, heavy breath..
Kaiser crawls onto the bed, moving over you like a predator claiming his prey. He hovers over your sleeping form, his heavy, rock-hard bulge pressing right against your plush hip through his clothes. He places a large, warm hand firmly over your baby bump, leaning down until his lips brush your ear
"Look at you.. completely mine," he whispers, his voice thick with lust and dark satisfaction. "Growing my baby in that beautiful body.. you're never leaving this house, schatz."
The room is thick with silence, broken only by the soft sound of his breath and the faint rustle of fabric as Kaiser slowly unzips his trousers. The dim light catches the sharp angles of his face- his icy blue eyes fixed on you.
He's fully hard now, thick, heavy, straining against black, calvin klein boxers. With deliberate slowness, he frees himself from their confines
His cock springs out, a broad shaft with prominent veins running along its length, and immediately twitches in arousal at the sight before him...
You, asleep and utterly vulnerable, your swollen belly rising gently with each peaceful inhale, your full lips parted slightly as you dream.
Kaiser exhales sharply through his nose, a quiet groan muffled into discipline. He doesn't want to wake you. Not yet.
Instead... he wraps one large hand around himself firmly at base.
A slow stroke upward follows, the tip glistening already, as he watches every curve of your body rise under thin sheets... hips wide from pregnancy weight gain... breasts heavier than ever... thighs soft where they press together...
All mine.
My wife.
My child.
Mine to touch whenever I please..
The soft, wet sounds of his stroking fill the quiet bedroom- slow at first, then faster, slick with pre-cum and rising heat. Each glide of his hand is deliberate and possessive..
"Mein Gott.. du bist so schön..." he breathes, eyes raking over your sleeping form as his thumb swipes across the swollen head of his cock
"Look at you... fucking perfect." A grunt escapes him- a low "hngh" when pleasure spikes- and another stroke follows, hard and fast--
His hips twitch upward slightly into each movement now.. no patience left for subtlety anymore... not when you're right there under him like this: helplessly beautiful in sleep while carrying his heir inside that round belly...
"So full... so pregnant... all because I put my baby there," he growls quietly between clenched teeth
The slick, rhythmic sounds grow louder- his hand now moving with rough, frantic speed. Pre-cum glistens at the tip of his cock as he nears the edge- muscles taut, jaw clenched tight to keep silent for your sake
But he's close.
So fuckin close--
With a sharp inhale through flared nostrils, Kaiser reaches out, his tattooed fingers hook into the blanket and yank, exposing your bare hips where your nightgown has ridden up during sleep. The soft skin there is flawless and warm from rest
Without hesitation, he drags himself over it, his thick head pressing flat against that sensitive curve before giving a slow grind upward... leaving behind a tiny smear of wetness on your soft flesh
A shudder wracks through him, a full-body tremor, as pleasure coils low in his stomach.
"Ah... Scheiße..." he whispers raggedly, eyes fluttering shut for just half a second as ecstasy builds inside him...
His breathing hitches once... twice...
Then stops entirely- as if holding back his breath
The moment stretches as Kaiser hovers on the very edge of release. His entire body is rigid, coiled so tightly his thighs cramped. The hand working his cock speeds up wildly, slick sounds fucking nasty and relentless in the silent room
Then-
A deep, shuddering groan escapes him as his orgasm rips through without warning, a violent rush of pleasure that crashes over him like a wave.
"F-Fuck...!" he chokes out in between heavy gasps "i can't- , shiiiit, m'cummin'.."
His cum lands thickly, one rope after another splattering across your warm flesh with quiet but heavy pats, glistening under dim light as they cool slightly against you. He grinds slowly through each pulse, milking every last drop onto you while breathing hard through flared nostrils.
His eyes stay locked on where his white cum marks your hip, the sight alone sending another shiver down his spine.
The last few pulses of cum drip out weakly, trailing down his still-throbbing length and the back of his thick knuckles.
Kaiser exhales, long, slow, a deep breath that finally releases the tension coiled in his chest and shoulders.
His eyes drink in what he's done.
Your hip bears several glistening streaks of white- his dirty doing, without consent or protest because you're his, aren't you? So even asleep, your body is canvas for whatever sick fantasy he chooses to indulge.
With deliberate slowness now, due to post-orgasm haze and laziness, he reaches out with two fingers and gently smears some of the cum into your skin... spreading it onto you like he's marking you the way primal animals do.
He slides properly onto his side right behind you, as one strong arm wraps around both your hips and swollen belly protectively... he pulls you gently backward against him.. falls asleep peacefully and satiated now.
