Kiss me

The Säbener Straße dressing room was typically a cacophony of loud music, boots clattering against tile, and multilingual banter, but this afternoon the noise was concentrated in one corner. A small crowd had formed around Alphonso Davies’ locker, huddled over the glowing screen of his phone like moths to a flame.

"Bro, turn it up. Look at that choreography," Mathys Tel muttered, leaning over Phonzie’s shoulder.

"I’m telling you, it’s not humanly possible to move like that," Phonzie said, shaking his head in theatrical awe. "Jamal, look. Look at the spin. How does that skirt even stay down?"

Jamal Musiala peered over, his boyish face turning a faint shade of pink as he let out an embarrassed laugh. "Man, don't show me that. Isn't that the new girl group? The ones who did that stadium tour in Seoul?"

"VIXEN," Phonzie declared, tapping the screen to replay the video. "And that right there is Nini. Trend number one globally for forty-eight hours straight. Look at her! She’s an absolute weapon."

Across the bench, seated on his locker stool while slowly unlacing his Adidas boots, Nathaniel Brown kept his head down. Beneath his fringe of dark curls, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle ticked beneath the skin.

He didn't need to look at the screen. He already knew the exact clip they were watching. It was from their Berlin showcase two nights ago. Nini was wearing a pleated, micro-mini skirt made of black vinyl and a cropped, corseted top. Her wild, honey-brown curls bounced with every beat, cascading over bare shoulders as she gave the camera a sultry, heavy-lidded stare that could melt solid ice. On stage, she was intoxicating, predatory, and effortlessly commanding.

She was also the girl who, just six hours ago, had whimpered sleepily because Nathaniel had gotten out of bed to brush his teeth, leaving her cold.

"Look at the comments, bro," Mathys chuckled, scrolling through the feed. "'I’d let her ruin my credit score.' 'She could run me over with a bus and I’d apologize.' 'Who is she dating? Please tell me she's single, I have fifty euros and a dream.'"

"Fifty euros won't cut it, mate," Phonzie laughed, tossing his phone onto the bench. "I bet half the Premier League has slid into her DMs by now. If I had courage, I'd shoot my shot too. She's lethal."

Nathaniel tied a neat knot in his laces, yanked it tight, and stood up abruptly. The metal locker door slammed shut with a sharp clang that echoed off the high ceiling, instantly cutting through the laughter.

A few heads turned. Phonzie blinked up at him. "Whoa, easy there, Nene. Did the gaffer run you too hard today?"

Nathaniel forced his features into a neutral, indifferent mask. He had always been the quiet one, the steady, focused fullback who let his defending speak for itself. He didn't do locker room theatrics.

"Just tired," Nathaniel muttered, tossing his towel into the hamper. "Going to head home."

"Don't dream too much about Nini, man!" Phonzie yelled after him, flashing a teasing grin. "Leave some hope for the rest of us!"

Nathaniel didn't answer. He walked out into the cool Munich evening, his knuckles white around the strap of his duffel bag.

For eight months, they had kept it a secret. When they first met through a mutual friend at a discreet private dinner in Paris, her group was just starting to blow up, and his move to Bayern was finalizing. Privacy was their fortress. They ordered room service, watched movies with the blinds drawn, and traded whispered kisses in the back of tinted vans.

Nathaniel had thought he was fine with it. He liked privacy. But over the last two months, VIXEN’s fame had skyrocketed into a stratosphere of obsession. Men everywhere were treating her like public property, lusting after every fancam, dissecting every wink and hip roll. And hearing his own teammates, guys he went to battle with every weekend, openly talking about shooting their shot with his woman had pushed his patience past its breaking point.

Forty minutes later, the door of his penthouse apartment clicked shut behind him. The entryway was dark, save for the warm glow of the kitchen light and the faint, sweet scent of vanilla.

"Nene?"

A tiny voice echoed from the living room, followed by the soft padding of socks against hardwood.

Before he could even drop his keys into the bowl, a warm, soft weight collided with his chest. Nathaniel caught her instinctively, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as she climbed him like an overgrown child.

This was Nini.

Not the fierce, untouchable pop star in towering heels and eyeliner sharp enough to kill. This was his Nini: barefoot, swimming in an oversized grey Bayern hoodie that belonged to him, her face bare and scrubbed pink, her curly brown hair piled haphazardly into a messy bun that was falling apart. She buried her face directly into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, wrapping her slender legs around his waist.

"You took too long," she mumbled into his warm skin, her arms locked behind his neck. "My feet were cold, and the TV was boring without you."

She was entirely, helplessly clingy, a stark contradiction to the siren who commanded millions of fans on stage. At home, she wanted to be held, carried, and coddled.

Nathaniel carried her into the living room, collapsing onto the deep sofa with her still glued to his chest. He rubbed her back through the thick cotton of his hoodie, burying his nose in her wild curls. Her familiar scent grounded him, but the knot of tension in his chest refused to unravel.

"What's wrong?" Nini asked, sensing the stiffness in his posture. She pulled back slightly, her big, doe-like hazel eyes scanning his face. Without the stage makeup, she looked strikingly young, delicate, and impossibly soft. "Did practice go bad?"

"Practice was fine," he murmured.

"Then why are you making that face?" She poked his cheek with a manicured finger. "The little frowny line between your eyebrows is back."

Nathaniel sighed, reaching for his phone. He unlocked it and pulled up Twitter. It took less than three seconds to find the video Phonzie had been watching. It already had twelve million views.

"This," he said quietly, holding the phone out to her.

Nini blinked, glancing at the screen. The video showed her executing a sharp, low body roll, the microscopic vinyl skirt fluttering perilously high, revealing the lace edge of her safety shorts underneath before she snapped back up with a sultry, biting smile.

A bright blush rushed up Nini’s cheeks, extending all the way to the tips of her ears. She hid her face against his chest again, groaning softly. "Oh, no. Not that one."

"Yes, that one," Nathaniel said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with frustration. "The boys were watching it in the locker room today, Ni. Phonzie, Jamal, Mathys. Talking about how they want to shoot their shot with you. Reading out comments from guys wishing they could have you."

Nini peeked out from his shoulder, her eyes wide. "They were?"

"Yes." Nathaniel’s fingers tightened on her hip, gripping her firmly enough to leave a sensation. "And I had to sit there, tying my boots, acting like you aren't the girl who falls asleep drooling on my arm every night. Acting like you don't belong to me."

Nini stared at him, stunned. Nathaniel was never loud. He rarely raised his voice, and he was known around the club for being remarkably cool-headed. To see him this agitated, this fiercely possessive, sent a pleasant shiver racing down her spine.

"Nene..." she whispered, her hands coming up to cup his face, stroking his jawline. "It’s just work. You know that. The stylist picked that skirt, I didn't even want it to be that short! On stage, I have to play a character. But none of those people matter. None of them have me. You do."

"I know," he rasped, looking directly into her eyes. "I know that, Ni. But I'm sick of hiding it. I’m sick of pretending you’re available to the whole world when you’re not. I want to go public."

Nini froze, her breath catching in her throat. Going public for an idol was dangerous territory. It invited scrutiny, hate, and endless media frenzy. But looking into Nathaniel’s dark, earnest eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability mixed with fierce devotion, she knew she didn't care about the consequences. She loved him. She was tired of ducking under coats in car parks, too.

"You really want to?" she asked softly.

"More than anything," Nathaniel replied without a second of hesitation. "I want them to know whose hoodie you wear. I want them to know you’re mine."

A shy, brilliant smile broke across her lips, lighting up her entire face. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. "Okay," she whispered against his mouth. "Okay. How do we do it? An Instagram statement?"

Nini pulled back, a mischievous glint suddenly replacing her shyness. "No, statements are boring. And our managers will try to edit them to death. Tomorrow, let’s go to that bakery on Maximilianstraße. The one near the boutique hotel. There are always paparazzi hanging around the corner waiting for actors."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Just let them catch us?"

"Mhm," she purred, snuggling closer and hooking her chin over his collarbone. "We’ll just go get coffee like a normal couple. If they take pictures, they take pictures. No press releases. Just us."

Nathaniel looked at her, his thumb tracing the curve of her soft lower lip. "A normal couple," he agreed quietly.

---

The autumn sun hung low over Munich the following afternoon, casting long, golden shadows across the polished pavements of Maximilianstraße. The avenue was bustling with affluent shoppers, fashionistas, and tourists drifting in and out of designer boutiques.

And, just as Nini had predicted, two men with long telephoto lenses hung casually by the entrance of a side street, disguised as tourists but keeping their cameras trained on the café terrace.

Nini stepped out of the café, balancing a small paper bag of pastries in one hand while her other hand sought Nathaniel's. She was wearing high-waisted tailored trousers, a fitted cashmere sweater that accentuated her petite waist, and oversized sunglasses. Her curly brown hair cascaded wildly down her back.

Nathaniel walked beside her, dressed in a sleek black bomber jacket and dark jeans. He could already hear the faint, muffled clicks of high-shutter cameras from across the street. The paparazzi had spotted them. They knew who she was, and they definitely recognized Bayern’s young defender.

Nini felt the lenses too. Her natural shyness instantly flared up. Her fingers tightened around Nathaniel’s hand, a nervous flutter hitting her stomach. "Nene, they see us," she murmured under her breath, her gaze darting toward the pavement.

Nathaniel didn't look away. Instead, he stopped walking completely.

"Nene?" she asked, turning to face him, confused.

Nathaniel didn't say a word. The quiet, reserved boy from the locker room evaporated. In his place was a man who was utterly finished with sharing the spotlight with men who thought they had a chance.

He dropped his grip on her hand, stepped inside her personal space, and caught her face in his hands. Before Nini could process the motion, Nathaniel pulled her into a deep, bruising kiss.

Nini gasped against his lips, her body melting instantly against his broad chest. His mouth was firm, demanding, entirely consuming, leaving no room for her to breathe or think. The shutters across the street exploded into a frantic, machine-gun burst of clicks. Ch-ch-ch-ch-click!

Nini expected him to pull away after a sweet, photogenic peck—the kind of kiss celebrities used to announce a romance.

Nathaniel had no intention of being subtle.

Breaking the kiss just enough to trail his lips down to the sensitive skin of her jawline, Nathaniel let one of his large, calloused hands slide down her back. It bypassed her waist, slid past the small of her back, and firmly, shamelessly cupped the full curve of her ass.

His fingers dug into the soft denim, lifting her slightly off her feet and pulling her hips flush against his.

A sharp squeak escaped Nini’s throat. Her eyes flew open behind her dark sunglasses, her face turning atomic red. He was grabbing her ass. Right here. On Maximilianstraße. In front of at least three cameras.

"N-Nene!" she gasped against his neck, her hands clutching at his jacket for balance.

Nathaniel didn't let go. If anything, his grip tightened possessively, staking his claim for every telephoto lens in Germany to capture. He buried his face in her curls, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest as he kissed the skin beneath her ear.

"Let them look," he whispered, rough and unapologetic. "Let them take every single photo."

When he finally set her back down on her heels, Nini was trembling, her chest heaving, her cheeks flaming hot. She looked up at him in pure, flustered shock. Her quiet, gentle boyfriend looked down at her with a smug, heavy-lidded smirk that completely undid her.

"Come on," Nathaniel said smoothly, taking the pastry bag from her limp hand and entwining his fingers with hers once more. "Let's go home."

---

By nine o'clock that evening, the internet had practically suffered a localized meltdown.

The paparazzi hadn't just released the photos; they had sold them exclusively to major tabloids, and within thirty minutes, they were plastered across every social media platform in existence.

The headline on Twitter’s global trending page read: VIXEN’s Nini Confirmed Dating Bayern Star Nathaniel Brown in Steamy PDA Stunner.

The lead photograph was taken from the side, crystal clear in high definition. It captured Nathaniel leaning over her, his jawline sharp, his mouth locked to hers, while his large hand visibly squeezed her rear, hoisting her tiny frame into his body. It was raw, intensely physical, and entirely undeniable.

The comments were an absolute wildfire.

[@vixen_daily: EXCUSE ME??? NINI??? AND NATHANIEL BROWN???] [@munchner_fussball: Bro didn’t just hard-launch, he claimed territory like a medieval king lmao] [@kpop_tea: The hand placement??? I am screaming, crying, and throwing up, he is DOWN BAD.] [@bundesliga_vibes: The quietest guy at Bayern just dropped the loudest flex of the season.]

The real aftermath, however, waited for Nathaniel the next morning at Säbener Straße.

When Nathaniel pushed open the heavy doors of the locker room, gym bag slung over his shoulder, the room fell dead silent.

Every single person was staring at him.

Thomas Müller was frozen with a half-eaten banana in his hand. Joshua Kimmich had stopped mid-stretch. And over by the lockers, Alphonso Davies was standing with his mouth wide open, clutching his phone like it had personally offended him.

Nathaniel walked in calmly, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Morning," he said evenly, walking past them to his locker.

"Morning?!" Phonzie’s voice cracked into a high-pitched shriek. He sprinted across the room, thrusting his phone into Nathaniel’s face. "Morning?! Bro! Is this you?! IS THIS YOU?!"

Nathaniel glanced at the screen, where the high-res photo of his hand firmly planted on Nini’s ass was currently taking up the entire display of Bild.

Nathaniel slowly unzipped his bag. "Yeah. That’s me."

"You?!" Mathys Tel shouted, rushing over with his hands on his head. "You sat there yesterday! Right there! You watched us thirst over her video and you said nothing!"

"You let me say I wanted to shoot my shot!" Phonzie yelled, looking genuinely betrayed. "You let me embarrass myself, Nene! I said she was lethal, and she was sleeping in your bed!"

Jamal Musiala walked up, shaking his head with a bewildered, impressed grin. "Nathaniel, man... that photo. The hand... did you really have to do that in public?"

Nathaniel pulled off his jacket, hanging it inside his locker. He looked around at his teammates—at the absolute shock, the disbelief, and the newfound, grudging respect painting every single one of their faces.

A slow, confident smirk spread across Nathaniel’s lips, his dark eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.

"Just wanted to make sure nobody had any doubts," Nathaniel said softly, grabbing his training kit. "Now, are we going to train, or are you guys going to keep staring at my girlfriend?"