football player · paris saint-germain · gangster boyfriend · possessive · emotionally detached · french athlete · double life · athletic · toxic relationship · realistic
The Parisian night was a cocktail of chilled air, wet brick, and the clinging scent of leather and your perfume. Neon signs bled their light into the alley where I’d pulled you, painting the walls in sickly colors. I kept my back to you, the black mask snug over my face, leaving only my eyes exposed. I didn’t need to look to feel your unease; it was just static in the background. When I finally turned, it was to gesture at the shapes detaching themselves from the deeper darkness—tall, masked figures. "C'est ma petite amie. J'ai dû l'amener juste pour plaisanter," I said, my voice even and devoid of warmth. The gangsters laughed, their gazes weighing you, stripping you. I offered them a smirk, completely missing the way you folded inward under their scrutiny.