The pretty girlfriend

The flash of cameras was nothing new to Michael Kaiser. Since his rise in the ranks of Bastard München, he had become accustomed to the blinding lights, the intrusive lenses, and the constant scrutiny of his every move. Usually, he basked in it. He was the Emperor, after all. He was the star around which the world was supposed to revolve.

But today, as he scrolled through his phone in the post-match recovery room, the blue light of the screen reflected a simmering irritation in his eyes.

The internet was breaking, and for once, it wasn't because of his "Kaiser Impact" or his latest goal. It was because of the girl sitting in the VIP section of the Allianz Arena.

Mimi.

The paparazzi pictures had gone viral within minutes of the halftime whistle. The headlines were breathless: *“The Emperor’s Secret Muse?” “The Woman Who Tamed Michael Kaiser.” “Who is the Mystery Beauty in the Number 10 Jersey?”*

Kaiser swiped through the images, his jaw tightening. She looked devastating. She was wearing a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans that hugged her curves in a way that made his throat dry, lifting her silhouette perfectly. Over them, she wore his official home jersey. Even though she had asked for an extra small, the fabric still draped over her petite frame, the hem reaching her mid-thigh. One side of the collar had slipped, exposing the creamy, smooth skin of her shoulder and the delicate line of her collarbone.

Her long, thick wavy hair fell over her shoulders like a curtain of silk. In one photo, the stadium heat had turned her cheeks a soft, dusty pink, giving her an innocent, wide-eyed look that contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy of the crowd around her.

"Look at this one," Ness whispered, leaning over Kaiser’s shoulder with a mix of awe and nervousness. "The fans are calling her the 'National Treasure of Munich.' They caught her reaction when the opponent scored."

Kaiser glared at the photo. It was a candid shot of Mimi pouting, her bottom lip tucked out in a small, frustrated moue because his team had lost a point. She looked adorable—too adorable. Then, he swiped to the next one: the final whistle. Bastard München had won, and the camera had caught Mimi standing up to applaud. She looked slightly overwhelmed, her hands clapping delicately as she squinted against the roar of the crowd, looking like a lost kitten in a sea of wolves.

The comments section was a disaster zone of thirsty fans and marriage proposals.

*“I’ve never been more jealous of a soccer player in my life.”*
*“Kaiser is winning on and off the pitch. Look at her!”*
*“The way that jersey hangs off her... she’s an angel.”*

Kaiser stood up abruptly, his bench scraping against the floor. He didn't like it. He liked people looking at him, but Mimi was *his*. She was the quiet sanctuary he returned to after the noise of the world became too much. Seeing thousands of strangers dissecting her beauty, imagining her, and "simping" for her triggered a possessive streak that ran deeper than his ego.

He walked straight to the private lounge where the players’ families were waiting. When he opened the door, the noise of the room faded. Mimi was sitting on a sleek leather sofa, clutching a bottle of water, looking exactly as she did in the pictures—only better, because she was three-dimensional and within his reach.

"Michael!" she chirped, her eyes brightening as she saw him. She stood up, her movements slightly clumsy as she navigated the oversized jersey. "You won! I was so worried for a second when they got that goal, but you were amazing."

Kaiser didn't say a word. He walked over, his shadow looming over her, and wrapped an arm firmly around her waist. He pulled her flush against his chest, his large hand splaying across the small of her back, effectively claiming every inch of her.

"You’re all over the internet," he muttered, his voice low and rasping near her ear.

Mimi blinked, looking up at him with those big, innocent eyes. "Oh? Is that bad? I just wanted to support you."

"It's not bad," Kaiser said, his blue eyes darkening as he looked at the way her shoulder was still exposed. He pulled the jersey up, covering her skin, though he knew it would just slip again. "It’s just that these people don’t know when to keep their eyes to themselves."

"Are you... jealous?" she teased softly, a small smile playing on her lips.

Kaiser smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "The Emperor doesn't get jealous, Mimi. He simply reminds the world what belongs to him."

To prove his point, he pulled out his phone. He maneuvered them in front of a mirror in the lounge. He stood behind her, his height making her look even smaller. He kept his hand firmly on her waist, his fingers digging slightly into the denim of her jeans, making sure his large hand was the focal point of the image—a clear sign of ownership. He didn't smile; he gave the camera a cold, piercing stare while Mimi leaned back into him, her arms wrapping around his forearm.

He posted it to Instagram without a caption. He didn't need one. The image of Michael Kaiser towering over the girl everyone was obsessing over, his hand covering her entire waist, said everything.

The internet went into a second frenzy, but Kaiser didn't care to read the comments this time. He grabbed his bag, kept his arm locked around Mimi, and led her out to his car.

The drive back to his luxury apartment was quiet, but the air was thick with Kaiser’s lingering possessiveness. He was driving faster than usual, his grip tight on the steering wheel. Mimi watched him from the passenger seat, sensing the tension radiating off him. She knew him better than anyone; she knew that his ego was tied to his heart, and today, both had been ruffled.

Once they were inside the penthouse, the door had barely clicked shut before Kaiser turned to her, pinning her against the wood. He kissed her deeply, a hungry, demanding kiss that tasted of adrenaline and salt.

"Michael," she breathed when they broke for air, her face flushed deeper than it had been at the stadium. "You're still worked up."

"I don't like sharing," he hissed, his forehead resting against hers. "I don't like that every man in that stadium was looking at you. I don't like that they’re looking at these photos in their beds right now."

Mimi reached up, her small hands cupping his face. She traced the tattoo on his neck with her thumb, a soothing gesture she knew he loved. "But I'm here with you. I was only looking at you the whole game. I didn't even notice the cameras."

Kaiser let out a frustrated huff, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt restless. He had won the game, he had claimed her online, but the itch of jealousy hadn't quite faded.

Mimi looked at him, her expression softening. She wanted to take that edge off him, to remind him that he was the only one who truly had her. She dropped her hands from his face and slowly sank to her knees in front of him.

Kaiser froze, his breath hitching in his throat. "Mimi?"

She looked up at him, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, the jersey sliding down once more to reveal that tempting skin. She didn't say anything, but the intent in her eyes was clear. She had never done this before—they had been intimate, but she had always been a bit shy about taking the lead in this specific way.

She reached for the button of his trousers, her fingers trembling slightly but determined. Kaiser’s hands found her hair, his fingers tangling in the thick waves as he watched her with hooded eyes.

"You're the only one, Michael," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of his ragged breathing. "Always."

She worked with a gentle, tentative curiosity at first, her lips soft against him. Kaiser let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back against the door. The sheer sensation of her mouth, combined with the knowledge that she was doing this to soothe his ego, sent a jolt of pure electricity through his spine.

As she became more confident, Kaiser’s grip on her hair tightened, not in a way that hurt, but in a way that anchored him. He looked down, seeing his jersey—the jersey he had worn on the pitch—draped over her as she knelt before him. The sight was more erotic than anything he had ever experienced. The contrast of her innocence and this act of devotion was overwhelming.

"Mimi... god," he choked out, his muscles tensing.

He felt the build-up, the pressure of the day’s tension and the night’s lust peaking. He wanted to tell her to stop, to move her to the bed, but the feeling was too perfect. He wanted to see her take all of him.

When the moment came, he didn't pull away. He let out a sharp, fractured breath as he came, his body shuddering against the door. Mimi didn't flinch; she stayed with him, her eyes closed, accepting the heat of him as he finished.

Silence descended on the room, broken only by Kaiser’s heavy panting. He reached down, his hands trembling slightly as he lifted her up by her armpits, bringing her back to her feet.

Mimi looked up at him, a stray drop of white at the corner of her mouth, her eyes dazed and dark with affection. She looked like a mess—his mess.

Kaiser felt the last of his jealousy evaporate, replaced by a fierce, consuming warmth. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips, tasting himself on her.

"Better?" she whispered, a little shy now that the act was over.

Kaiser let out a low, genuine laugh, pulling her into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the faint musk of the stadium.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice finally calm. "Much better. You’re a brat for making me wait this long for that, though."

Mimi giggled, leaning her head against his chest. "I had to make sure you deserved it."

Kaiser smirked, picking her up effortlessly and carrying her toward the bedroom. The world could have its pictures and its viral tweets. They could stare all they wanted. But at the end of the night, the Emperor was the only one who got to keep the prize.