Cayd_Vault.

I read, I yap, I reblog... I change layouts every other month- why not just pass my page? You're better off, no?

[caydenezzz]

Why are you even here?

Sigh, for whatever reason you have decided to go into my page and past my post or reblog I highly suggest you backtrack now as i reblog and write the most stupid, spontaneus, uncategorized, and unfathomable stuff that may cause you to look down on me which, though i don't really care as much, I also want minors to stay safe from these things(though we all know you guys don't listen to these, am I right?) Well whatever, just remember this shouldn't affect what you see of me or how you treat me nor will I be responsible for your exposure to such okay? I don't post for fun, I do for convenience bc reblogging is better than saving each post individually and i'd rather rant and write my work or frustrations here than deal with the opinions of a person I'd tell them to. My post tag for anything that isn't a reblog is #caydcrap okay? Get it right. Minors be careful or dni, but only bc these kinda things aren't your usual flavor of "18+ content" Go find other more mild content in this topic if you're so curious okay? Call me Cayd >< (Comments for Random info)

[caydenezzz]

HELLO PEOPLE

IM BACK DOES ANYONE HERE CARE? IM STARTING YUME ART OF SAE AND CAYDEN UHHH YEAH I HOPE IM WELCOME

Of moots or smth idk if art moots exist here on tumblr? If yes then Yk hmu😀 uhhhhh uh uh uh uh uh /sharing yume, Arigatoooooo

[ilonanan]

itoshi sae — jus' like that

warnings: nsfw (smut), unprotected sex (p in v), power dynamics (mdom), light degradation/praise, impact play, overstimulation, dacryphilia, creampie, condescending sae, established/implied relationship, lowkey js downright filthy, kinda ooc sae? idk he's just very talkative n mean

"keep those fuckin' legs up," sae pants, hips already halting as he waits for you to follow. "don't even think about wrapping them around me."

you whine in response to his words, legs tired and spent from the energy you put into keeping them up. you wish desperately to just wrap your legs around his waist, to dig your heels in his back so he'd just go deeper. he refuses to even put his whole length in, hellbent on making you beg for his full attention. the last inch or so of his cock hasn't disappeared in the grip of your pussy this entire time—you're sure you can take it. his cock has stretched you out enough and you're so wet that you can't even think.

"sae, please! need it... wan' feel you—" you hiccup as you plea the man whose just rolling his hips into you instead of giving you what you want.

"no. you heard what i said. legs up, baby." he signals you by tapping you on the bottom of your thigh, just in case his poor baby can't even process a verbal command. "or does my cock feel too good that my girl can't even listen?"

he talks to you so mean. he's barely even insulting you, but his words make you feel foolish—if the feeling of his cock bullying your walls isn't enough. but you're not entirely gone. you use a tiny sliver of your remaining strength to pull your legs up, hands used to lock the fold your knees over your chest. the new position draws out a loud moan from your lips, and you're suddenly grateful for sae being so mean—he was right. with your legs lifted fully, he's so deep inside of you.

"that's a good girl, yeah?" sae groans as he feels your walls adjust to the change in position, suddenly it feels tighter, but god—can he now reach that spot that makes you stupid. in a swift thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, tip barely prodding at your cervix. but that's not where he's aiming—he's aiming higher, that spongy-spot of flesh inside of you that translates pleasure directly to your clit. "this," sae delivers a harsh thrust to that spot, "where you want me, baby girl?"

that has you moaning like a bitch in heat, and sae laughs. it's rare, but it's not out of niceties. it's condescending on purpose, "yeah, sweetheart? this the spot that gets you all dumb f'me?"

sae doesn't relent with his thrusts—they're brutal in force and unchanging in pace. he pounds his hips into you in slow, impactful intervals, designed to make you really feel it. his voice comes out in low tones, only rising in pitch when he speaks to you with patronizing tone. it only makes you wetter—and sae knows. he knows how deathly of a voice he possesses, and he uses it to only further enhance your pleasure. he knows you're getting off this—the way his cock disappears into your cunt, the way he belittles you, the way you just fucking take it.

"aren't you just a good li'l girl, baby?" sae draws out the baby, an emphasis made to be impudent. you wish desperately to touch him, pull him in for a hug, feel his body weight on yours—anything. but he doesn't let you. your wrists are bound by his hand, restraining them above your head.

that doesn't stop your desire however, and you attempt to fight your way out of his grip. "uh, uh, uh, sweetheart. no touching," thrust, "remember?"

sae pulls out immediately, and you cry at the loss of his cock inside of you. but his free hand is already wounded back—you know what's coming.

"count f'me, dirty girl," is all that sae murmurs to you before slapping right at your clit. the impact leaves you with a squeal out of your mouth, tears beginning to form at the sensitivity of it all. you almost forget what you're supposed to do until sae repeats himself, voice enough to send your brain into fight or flight, or better yet—freeze. "i said," slap, "count."

"two!" you cry out in response.

"good girl, baby," his tone is suspiciously sweet, "look at what i make of a dirty fuckin' slut." slap.

he lines his dick at your entrance again, tip pushing past your soaked folds and inside of you. but his hand remains at your clit, only now his thumb is the one making contact—not his palm. "you cum when i tell you to. good girls can do that for me, right?"

you don't respond, you're too weak to. your legs are on the edge of giving out, and your voice is raw. all you can really feel is the dulled feeling of sae's cock dragging in and out of your walls and his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit. it's too much.

"wanna cum—! please—oh fuck—" you cry, and sae only increases the speed on your clit. "wait! slow down, baby! ah—cumming!"

sae clicks his tongue, "fuck did i tell you?" but he doesn't stop. his cock buries into you over and over again, bullying that one spot inside of you that makes your brain mushy. his thumb is still on your clit, providing you a stimulus that may as well break your mind. your walls flutter around his cock as you cum, squeezing and tightening up. it feels so damn good that sae almost considers letting you off the hook for disobedience. "holy fuck, baby—jus' like that."

you limp as you reach your climax, but it doesn't long for you to start squirming after you realize sae is still going. the overstimulation has you wailing pathetically as tears stream down your cheeks. you beg and plea for him to stop and give you a break, but he's already decided. he warned you that he was going to tell you to cum. now, you're gonna take it as sae chases his high—until he stuffs you full of his cum.

"i asked if good girls can cum when i say, and you didn't even bother." sae grabs your chin, and he relishes in the way your tears stain his fingers in salt. "'m gonna cum soon anyway. a disobedient girl can take that, yeah?" you want to shake your head no in response, but sae's grip on your chin prevents you from doing so. it's firm and meant to keep you in place. but he knows—you know that you don't want him to stop. it feels so fucking good for you, who are you to tell him to stop?

and it isn't long until sae fulfills that promise. his hips stutter into an erratic rhythm, stuffing his cock into your cunt to the brim. his hold on your wrists tighten and he shifts his weight onto that one hand. you're still squealing and moaning all pretty f'him. "cumming, sweetheart—take it." sae cums with a low moan into your ears, spilling into your insides in ropes. if you weren't wet before, you certainly are now. and it's all because of him.

he gives the both of you to catch your breaths, panting into each other's direction. slowly, he pulls his softening cock out of your pussy and you whine. you take a moment to close your eyes with a slight tilt of your head backwards, hopefully to gain at least a little bit of thought. but as you do, you feel a hand brush at your face and how it pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear. in turn, you open your eyes to sae admiring you. he's not smiling—but his irises hold a tinge of care that he doesn't need a mouth to express.

"you okay?" he asks softly, almost a complete 180 of how mean he was earlier. it's so endearing.

"mhm," you reply, and sae drops his body on top of yours, letting go of your wrists. you take the opportunity to trail your fingers through his hair, playing with the strands as a smile forms on your face.

a/n: i only discovered today how much condescending talk gets me wet... anyway.. enjoy ig...

[ilonanan]

dry humping doesn’t stay dry if you do it right

warnings: nsfw, dry humping (not for long), humiliation, impact play

“fuuuuckkk, baby,” you hear him rasp from beneath you. “look at ya, you’re doing so well.”

you whine in response, hips bumping against his quicker and harder. each roll of your hips increase in pressure, desperately chasing that friction against your clit. it’s so frustratingly good—but your pussy is aching for skin to skin.

he looks at you with dazed eyes, blown out and fixated on the pleasure and the sight of purely you. his boxers have already shown to darken in the past few minutes, and your panties are quick to follow. every bump of his clothed erection against your aching clit has you pressing down firmer against his crotch. your hands have purchase on his biceps, squeezing the muscles as you beg for more.

“need more—ah—!” you cry as the man beneath you grabs onto your hips, firmly rolling you down in a controlled and precise way to have you drunk. “need it—you—in me!”

“nah, gotta make you cum like this first,” he drawls out crudely, raising one of his hands towards your face. “you haven’t even asked me what i want, dollface. you’ve just been using me.”

yeah, right.

the reddening skin of your hips and your ass from earlier says otherwise. he’s so mean, controlling the way you rub up on him then blaming you—it’s not your fault it feels so damn good. his hand that reached up is now on your chin, caged between his thumb and index finger. it’s to make you look at him—really—but your eyes don’t follow. instead they’re rolled back, off and away to focus on the intoxicating pleasure of his cock twitching against your heat.

“tch, you’re pathetic,” he spits at you. he releases your chin and winds his hand back for a few seconds before landing a slap against your cheek. it’s not gentle—it’s crude and humiliating—but you moan at the impact anyway. he forces you to look at him again, and this time your eyes are trained on his. he stares at you with such venom, like he’s ready to break you apart if need be. “you fuckin’ look at me when i talk to you. got that?”

you mumble out a slurred “yes” before he slaps you again. “couldn’t hear you, pretty. say it again.”

“yessssss—!”

your panties are completely drenched with arousal, and it’s shared as it soaks through his boxers as well. arousal thins out the fabric, and you can feel his cock moving against your clit. you’re dizzy—your eyes are trained on him but you don’t actually see him. all your focus pours into the speed of your hips, bouncing yourself on his lap like there’s no tomorrow.

you can feel it coming—you’re almost past your breaking point. and the way he groans and moans beneath you, his back arching against the pillows and the bed, make it clear that he’s close too. “that’s right, my dirty girl. chase—hah—chase that fuckin’ high of y—yours..”

“w–wanna cum t–together!” your lips find his in a sloppy kiss. your tongue doesn’t hesitate to push back the barrier of his lips, and he allows you to. it’s so dirty, saliva dripping down each other’s chins as your bodies entangle into one another. you’re so tired—but luckily his hands are there to help and guide you.

as soon as he feels your hips falter, stuttering as you reach your high, he takes the reigns. he’s moving you up and down against his cock at a faster rate than before, and overstimulation breaks in for you. he lets out a guttural groan into your mouth as he feels his cock twitch once—twice—and now he’s cumming into his boxers.

the fabric doesn’t do much to absorb it—between your clothed heats—lies a slimey, translucent stream of white connecting both of you.

your body collapses into his, and he catches you with arms wrapped around your waist. you two lie there for a few moments before you can feel his hand slapping gently at your butt, gesturing for you to get up. and you do, raising your hips and one leg off over him.

you think you two are done—until he halts you from lying down. you shoot him a confused, dizzy look, and then you feel his fingers slipping past the waistband of your panties to tug them off.

“thought ya said you wanted me in you, doll?”

a/n: i didn’t know who to write for here’s ur favs x you!!

[bbunsflix]

sae itoshi has a bunny girl who's now in heat ♡

tags: SMUT . minors DNI . fem reader . reader is a demihuman . needy reader . rough fucking . multiple orgams

aria's comments: look at me being responsible and not disappearing for 6 days as usual🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. im horny and this is really short okay bye enjoy. NOT PROOFREAD!!!!

the apartment you and sae shared reeked of your pheromones—thick, sweet and desperate.

your bunny ears kept twitching uncontrollably, the fluffy tail thrashing against the ruined sheets as another brutal wave of heat ripped through your body. you were a mess, humping sae's thigh like a pathetic little thing while tears stained your flushed cheeks.

"sae...please...I can't take it anymore," you sobbed, grinding harder, leaving a wet trail on his skin. "hurts so bad...I need you to fuck me—"

sae grinned, he grabbed your sensitive ears suddenly, pinching the bases hard. the jolt of pleasure and pain shot straight to your core and made you cry out sharply.

"needy little bunny," he whispered, his voice filled with lust. "look at you, dripping everywhere, ears twitching like a whore in heat. pathetic."

you whimpered as he yanked your ears again, forcing your head back. fresh tears spilled down your face. the sensation was overwhelming—your ears were so sensitive that every tug made your pussy clench hard and he knew that.

sae finally pushed you off, pushing you into your back and shoved his cock inside you in one smooth thrust. thankfully, he slid in pretty quickly as you were completely soaked with slick.

your back arched, a broken cry tearing from you as your cunt spasmed around him, your first orgasm crashing into you the second he bottomed out.

sae groaned as your thighs shook, your cunt gushing slick around his cock as he began fucking you through it. he grabbed your hip with one hand, the other trialing up to your bunny ears to hold onto it. the sudden stimulation made you whine. a moan slipping from you as hot white pleasure filled you.

"fuck—you're so tight,"

sae leaned down, his lips finding the tip of your ear before gently biting down on it. a gasp tore from your throat, eyes rolling back as you clenched around him. tears pouring down your face freely.

"ah—sae wait too much!"

you whimpered, your body seizing up again, your cunt clamping down on him rhythmically as you moaned his name continuously.

sae smirked, both hands finding your hips as he began drilling his thick cock into you—over ajd over again. "love it when you're this desperate."

"nghsae!"

your second orgasm hit harder than before. you screamed, your tail wiggling wildly as pleasure tore through you.

your stomach fluttered as you squirted around his cock, soaking the sheets. he kept fucking you through it, dragging it out until you were twitching and sobbing uncontrollably.

only then did he suddenly flip you onto all fours, yanking you forward to slam back in. in this position he was even deeper, his mushroom tip hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"is that all bunny" he questioned, his voice dripping with mockery. his hand came down, slapping your ass harshly. "c'mon, you can give more cant you? needy little slut."

"fuck fuck..sae please—"

you cried, sae pushed your head into the pillow, forcing your moans and whimpers to muffle as he fucks you. your cunt clenching around him as if trying to milk him.

his hips stuttered in you at the feeling, a grunt escaping him. "good girl..keep clenching like that."

he praises, grinding against your sensitive walls. "poor little thing aren't you? you're in for a long night."

bbunsflix © est. 2026 :: do not copy to ai or steal

[bbunsflix]

sae itoshi has a bunny girl who's now in heat ♡

tags: SMUT . minors DNI . fem reader . reader is a demihuman . needy reader . rough fucking . multiple orgams

aria's comments: look at me being responsible and not disappearing for 6 days as usual🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. im horny and this is really short okay bye enjoy. NOT PROOFREAD!!!!

the apartment you and sae shared reeked of your pheromones—thick, sweet and desperate.

your bunny ears kept twitching uncontrollably, the fluffy tail thrashing against the ruined sheets as another brutal wave of heat ripped through your body. you were a mess, humping sae's thigh like a pathetic little thing while tears stained your flushed cheeks.

"sae...please...I can't take it anymore," you sobbed, grinding harder, leaving a wet trail on his skin. "hurts so bad...I need you to fuck me—"

sae grinned, he grabbed your sensitive ears suddenly, pinching the bases hard. the jolt of pleasure and pain shot straight to your core and made you cry out sharply.

"needy little bunny," he whispered, his voice filled with lust. "look at you, dripping everywhere, ears twitching like a whore in heat. pathetic."

you whimpered as he yanked your ears again, forcing your head back. fresh tears spilled down your face. the sensation was overwhelming—your ears were so sensitive that every tug made your pussy clench hard and he knew that.

sae finally pushed you off, pushing you into your back and shoved his cock inside you in one smooth thrust. thankfully, he slid in pretty quickly as you were completely soaked with slick.

your back arched, a broken cry tearing from you as your cunt spasmed around him, your first orgasm crashing into you the second he bottomed out.

sae groaned as your thighs shook, your cunt gushing slick around his cock as he began fucking you through it. he grabbed your hip with one hand, the other trialing up to your bunny ears to hold onto it. the sudden stimulation made you whine. a moan slipping from you as hot white pleasure filled you.

"fuck—you're so tight,"

sae leaned down, his lips finding the tip of your ear before gently biting down on it. a gasp tore from your throat, eyes rolling back as you clenched around him. tears pouring down your face freely.

"ah—sae wait too much!"

you whimpered, your body seizing up again, your cunt clamping down on him rhythmically as you moaned his name continuously.

sae smirked, both hands finding your hips as he began drilling his thick cock into you—over ajd over again. "love it when you're this desperate."

"nghsae!"

your second orgasm hit harder than before. you screamed, your tail wiggling wildly as pleasure tore through you.

your stomach fluttered as you squirted around his cock, soaking the sheets. he kept fucking you through it, dragging it out until you were twitching and sobbing uncontrollably.

only then did he suddenly flip you onto all fours, yanking you forward to slam back in. in this position he was even deeper, his mushroom tip hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"is that all bunny" he questioned, his voice dripping with mockery. his hand came down, slapping your ass harshly. "c'mon, you can give more cant you? needy little slut."

"fuck fuck..sae please—"

you cried, sae pushed your head into the pillow, forcing your moans and whimpers to muffle as he fucks you. your cunt clenching around him as if trying to milk him.

his hips stuttered in you at the feeling, a grunt escaping him. "good girl..keep clenching like that."

he praises, grinding against your sensitive walls. "poor little thing aren't you? you're in for a long night."

bbunsflix © est. 2026 :: do not copy to ai or steal

[cryopie]

soft drunk sae apologizing to you

more ooc sae / wc: 811

Being in a distance relationship is one of the most exhausting things ever

It turns every missed call into a heavy silence and every delayed reply into a reason to be annoyed

The two of you had been fighting for weeks, until the last argument that spiraled into something ugly and unbearable, leaving you both with sharp, stinging words that lingered even after the screen went black

It had been a few weeks since you last spoke. Even when his name lit up your screen two days ago, you just turned your phone down on the nightstand, staring at the ceiling, unable to stomach another fight

You were too tired to keep trying

It was past midnight and all you wanted was to sleep

As your eyes finally began to give in, a violent thudding shook your front door

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the sound echoing in the hollow silence of your apartment

It wasn’t a polite knock of a neighbor, it was a heavy, persistent and entirely too aggressive for this hour

Adrenaline spiked and your first instinct was to grab the nearest weapon you could find, a plastic kitchen broom you found in the hallway

You hovered by the door, your knuckles white as you gripped the handle

Even though you were scared to death, you had to face whatever nightmare was on the other side

“Who’s there?” you shouted, your voice trembling as you gripped the handle tighter “I’m calling the police!”

A beat of silence followed, then a raspy, slurred familiar voice drifted through the door

“Knock knock”

You blinked, the tension in your arms leaving slowly as it had arrived “Sae, is that you?”

“Knock knock” he repeated, ignoring your question with a stubborn, drunken persistence

“Sae? You’re supposed to be in Spain. Are you ..are you drunk?"

“You’re supposed to say who’s there” he slurred, his voice heavy with annoyance

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning your forehead against the door “..Who’s there?”

“Your boyfriend” you could practically hear his drunken, lopsided smile through the door “Now let me in”

You threw the lock and swung the door open but the words you’d prepared died in your throat

He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, looking like a disaster

His bangs were falling straight over his eyes which were bloodshot from a mixture of exhaustion and what looked like suspiciously unshed tears, smelling strongly of expensive alcohol

He stumbled inward, nearly colliding with your shoulder as you caught him, his presence overwhelming the space

“You idiot” you whispered, your heart aching “Why are you even here?"

Sae didn’t answer, he just looked at you, his gaze falling over each of your features, memorizing your face

He wandered towards the sofa, pulling you with him as he collapsed onto the cushions

He didn’t let go of your hand, his glossy eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch

“Why didn’t you answer me?” he murmured, the silence stretching between you

“I’m sorry” he paused, his expression crumbling “The fight.. it was .. I don’t know. I hated not hearing from you. Don’t do that again”

Your heart ached at the words “I’m sorry too” you murmured, reaching to brush his bangs from his eyes ”I shouldn’t have ignored you, I was hurt..but I missed you"

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes “Just stay” he whispered, his voice rough “The world’s already exhausting, I don’t need us making it worse”

He looked at you as if you were the only solid thing in his life, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip

''Can I..” he hesitated, a ghost of his usual arrogance flickering for a second before being swallowed by longing ”May I kiss you? Please“

You just nodded and before you could even respond he dropped to his knees on the rug. His hands sliding to your waist to anchor himself to you, pressing his face into your chest for a brief second, clearly revealed that you hadn’t turned him away

Then he looked up again, his expression softening into something devastatingly sincere

He leaned forward, capturing your lips with a desperation that tasted like apology and need for all the time spent apart. It was deep, lingering and unhurried

He finally pulled away, his forehead pressed into yours, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, afraid you might disappear

“I’m done with the distance” he whispered, his lips trailing towards your jaw

You were done too, unable to stay away from him any longer. You were happy he felt the same

He wasn’t the type to be soft always but he was certainly the type to fly across an ocean just to prove he was still yours

thank you for reading˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

cute divider from @/cursed-carmine

[cryopie]

soft drunk sae apologizing to you

more ooc sae / wc: 811

Being in a distance relationship is one of the most exhausting things ever

It turns every missed call into a heavy silence and every delayed reply into a reason to be annoyed

The two of you had been fighting for weeks, until the last argument that spiraled into something ugly and unbearable, leaving you both with sharp, stinging words that lingered even after the screen went black

It had been a few weeks since you last spoke. Even when his name lit up your screen two days ago, you just turned your phone down on the nightstand, staring at the ceiling, unable to stomach another fight

You were too tired to keep trying

It was past midnight and all you wanted was to sleep

As your eyes finally began to give in, a violent thudding shook your front door

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the sound echoing in the hollow silence of your apartment

It wasn’t a polite knock of a neighbor, it was a heavy, persistent and entirely too aggressive for this hour

Adrenaline spiked and your first instinct was to grab the nearest weapon you could find, a plastic kitchen broom you found in the hallway

You hovered by the door, your knuckles white as you gripped the handle

Even though you were scared to death, you had to face whatever nightmare was on the other side

“Who’s there?” you shouted, your voice trembling as you gripped the handle tighter “I’m calling the police!”

A beat of silence followed, then a raspy, slurred familiar voice drifted through the door

“Knock knock”

You blinked, the tension in your arms leaving slowly as it had arrived “Sae, is that you?”

“Knock knock” he repeated, ignoring your question with a stubborn, drunken persistence

“Sae? You’re supposed to be in Spain. Are you ..are you drunk?"

“You’re supposed to say who’s there” he slurred, his voice heavy with annoyance

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning your forehead against the door “..Who’s there?”

“Your boyfriend” you could practically hear his drunken, lopsided smile through the door “Now let me in”

You threw the lock and swung the door open but the words you’d prepared died in your throat

He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, looking like a disaster

His bangs were falling straight over his eyes which were bloodshot from a mixture of exhaustion and what looked like suspiciously unshed tears, smelling strongly of expensive alcohol

He stumbled inward, nearly colliding with your shoulder as you caught him, his presence overwhelming the space

“You idiot” you whispered, your heart aching “Why are you even here?"

Sae didn’t answer, he just looked at you, his gaze falling over each of your features, memorizing your face

He wandered towards the sofa, pulling you with him as he collapsed onto the cushions

He didn’t let go of your hand, his glossy eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch

“Why didn’t you answer me?” he murmured, the silence stretching between you

“I’m sorry” he paused, his expression crumbling “The fight.. it was .. I don’t know. I hated not hearing from you. Don’t do that again”

Your heart ached at the words “I’m sorry too” you murmured, reaching to brush his bangs from his eyes ”I shouldn’t have ignored you, I was hurt..but I missed you"

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes “Just stay” he whispered, his voice rough “The world’s already exhausting, I don’t need us making it worse”

He looked at you as if you were the only solid thing in his life, his thumb reaching out to trace your lower lip

''Can I..” he hesitated, a ghost of his usual arrogance flickering for a second before being swallowed by longing ”May I kiss you? Please“

You just nodded and before you could even respond he dropped to his knees on the rug. His hands sliding to your waist to anchor himself to you, pressing his face into your chest for a brief second, clearly revealed that you hadn’t turned him away

Then he looked up again, his expression softening into something devastatingly sincere

He leaned forward, capturing your lips with a desperation that tasted like apology and need for all the time spent apart. It was deep, lingering and unhurried

He finally pulled away, his forehead pressed into yours, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, afraid you might disappear

“I’m done with the distance” he whispered, his lips trailing towards your jaw

You were done too, unable to stay away from him any longer. You were happy he felt the same

He wasn’t the type to be soft always but he was certainly the type to fly across an ocean just to prove he was still yours

thank you for reading˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

cute divider from @/cursed-carmine

[kxsagi]

“𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭”

a/n: listened to “pretty boy” by the nbhd while writing this and i was all in my feels UGHHHHHHHHHSBDJSF

also hot take, but “the beach - demo” by the nbhd is better than their original like idk how to explain it… 

synopsis: their love letters to you. double post bc i wanna spoil my readers extra!! 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis, yukimiya kenyu, barou shoei, chigiri hyoma, iglesias bunny, hugo vivian

isagi yoichi

isagi's love letters are never intentionally long. he just keeps remembering more things he wants to thank you for, more memories he forgot to include, more little observations that suddenly feel too important to leave out, so what was supposed to be a single page inevitably becomes three, complete with arrows squeezed into the margins that read "wait, one more thing" because his heart simply refuses to end the conversation. 

his handwriting is okay, like tidy and careful, though the lines become smaller toward the bottom of each page because he'd rather shrink his writing than admit he needs another sheet of paper. every letter is written with the same black gel pen, folded neatly, and hidden somewhere you'll stumble upon naturally – inside the novel you're reading, tucked into your work bag, or slipped beneath your pillow before an away match. 

there are no elaborate doodles besides the occasional tiny soccer ball or absentminded stars and hearts he draws whenever he gets embarrassed by what he's writing. 

every letter ends with the exact date and time because he likes the idea that years later you'll know the precise moment he loved you enough to sit down and write. 

my favorite part of every day isn't training anymore. i didn't realize that until someone asked me what i was looking forward to tomorrow. i almost said "practice" lol. 

but instead, i thought about coming home. i thought about you opening the front door before i even reached for the handle because somehow you always know it's me. i thought about the way you ask if i've eaten before you ask if i won. i thought about your laugh from the kitchen before i even take my shoes off. 

and i realized... somewhere along the way, home stopped being a place. it became a person. 

there are days when i score and the stadium is louder than anything i've ever heard. but the first thing i want after every goal is still you. the first face i look for isn't on the field. it's yours. 

if i ever become someone people remember... i hope they know it only happened because someone loved me quietly and gently enough to make me believe i could. 

i love you. thank you for waiting for me. thank you for coming home with me. thank you for becoming my favorite tomorrow. 

itoshi rin

rin's letters are painfully short because he erases every sentence that feels unnecessary until only the truth remains. no crossed-out words, no decorations, no fluff – only dark green fountain pen on thick cream paper folded into perfect thirds. 

he never hands them to you himself. you'll simply find one resting on your desk, tucked beneath your phone, or waiting on your nightstand after he's already left the room. 

the only thing that gives him away before you even unfold it is the impossibly precise fold and your name written in immaculate handwriting. 

people think i don't notice much. they're wrong. 

i notice when you pretend you're not tired. i notice when you smile differently because it's real. i notice that you always reach for my hand without looking. you've done it so many times that you already know where i'll be. 

i wonder if that's what trust feels like. like when we're apart, i keep reaching anyway. it's embarrassing. i've never told anyone that before. 

i don't pray. i don't make wishes. i don't even believe life gives people what they deserve. but every morning i wake up beside you, it feels like someone made a mistake in my favor. 

if there is another lifetime, find me again. i don't want to learn how to live without you twice. 

itoshi sae

sae writes on expensive cream stationery with this deep teal ink that matches the pools of his irises. his handwriting belongs in a museum – clean, graceful, so impossibly composed. 

no doodles. no unnecessary embellishments. the only indulgence is a small pink-red wax seal pressed onto the envelope because he likes beautiful things, and like so, you have become one of them. 

he never gives the letter to you directly. instead, it waits in your hotel room after one of his matches, tucked beneath your pillow or inside the book you packed for the flight. 

his letters don't feel like confessions. they feel like pieces of himself he'd never let anyone else hold. 

i've stood in cities people spend their entire lives dreaming about. i've watched the sun rise in places so beautiful they don't seem real. i've collected passport stamps. trophies. hotel keys. boarding passes. the list goes on. 

and yet… none of them have stayed with me the way one ordinary afternoon on the sofa with you has. 

isn't that strange? the world keeps offering me extraordinary things. but the memory i return to most is your head on my shoulder while neither of us said anything. 

you changed my definition of enough. i used to think fulfillment was something you earned. now i know sometimes it merely sits beside you, steals your blanket, and falls asleep halfway through a movie. 

if i lose everything one day… i don't think i'll be afraid. i already know what i'd spend the rest of my life trying to find again. 

you. 

nagi seishiro

nagi complains the entire time he's writing because his hand hurts after half a page, yet somehow, he always ends up filling both sides anyway. his handwriting is messy, slanted, abbreviated, and occasionally unreadable, with random doodles of sleepy cats, game controllers, clouds, and tiny versions of the two of you scattered between paragraphs. 

he writes with whatever blue pen happens to be closest and probably steals the paper from reo because buying stationery sounds like too much work. 

you'll find the letter somewhere ridiculous – inside your pocket, tucked into the snack cupboard, or hidden inside the game case you were about to use. 

it reads exactly like talking to him: sleepy, funny, scattered... until one sentence quietly breaks your heart. 

i thought love would've been louder tbh. cuz everyone talks abt fireworks + music + all that dramatic stuff. mine was quieter tho. 

it sounded like ur keys unlocking the front door. it sounded like u asking if i wanted dinner. it sounded like u telling me to move over bc i was taking up the whole couch. 

i don't think u noticed… but i started making room before u even asked. i don't really make room for people. u js... became part of where i wanted to be. 

yk i've won games, slept for 16 hours, finally beaten levels i've been stuck on 4ever. but none of that feels as good as hearing u laugh from another room and realizing ur here. 

if home is supposed to be a place u don't wanna leave… i think mine learned how to smile. it looks a lot like u :x 

mikage reo

reo treats every love letter as though it's a gift you'll treasure forever. lavender stationery edged in gold, matching envelopes sealed with dark wax bearing his initials, deep violet ink, pressed flowers tucked inside, and the faintest trace of his cologne on the paper because he secretly hopes years from now you'll unfold the letter and remember exactly what it felt like to hug him. 

he leaves them where you'll discover them first thing in the morning – on your breakfast tray, beside your coffee, resting against your pillow before he leaves for an away match. 

every letter starts polished and composed before slowly becoming more vulnerable than he ever intended. 

i've been given almost everything i've ever asked for. that's the funny thing. people assume that means i never learned how to want. then i met you. now i want ridiculous things. 

i want ordinary thursdays (where we be chuds in the house all day). 

i want grocery shopping with you arguing over which cereal to buy (because one is always healthier than the other, but doesn’t taste as good). 

i want to hear you complain that i'm humming too loudly while i cook (i sing good, okay?). 

i want wrinkles beside your eyes because i've spent decades making you laugh (dw i’ll buy whatever expensive eye cream you want). 

i want our grandchildren to roll their eyes when i tell them, for the hundredth time, about how beautiful you looked the day i realized i loved you (they’ll be sooo sick of me). 

i used to dream about becoming someone unforgettable. now my greatest dream is much smaller. 

i hope that when you're 80… and someone asks you if you lived a happy life… your first thought is still us. 

if that's selfish… i'll spend the rest of my life being selfish. after all, there has never been a future i want more than the one where i grow old enough to forget everything... except the sound of you saying my name. 

bachira meguru

bachira cannot commit to one ink color to save his life. the first paragraph is orange, the next is green, then purple, then back to yellow because "it felt happier." every margin is covered in doodles – little bees, flowers, smiling clouds, soccer balls with tiny faces, and cartoon versions of the two of you holding hands. 

the envelope has stickers on it before you've even opened it. sometimes there's a smiley face beside your name. sometimes he draws a tiny bee wearing a crown because he thought it looked cute. 

he hides his letters like little treasures – inside your lunchbox, tucked into your shoe, folded into your sketchbook, or slipped into your jacket pocket before you leave. he wants you to discover them when you least expect it. 

they always begin lightheartedly before quietly unraveling into something that makes your chest ache. 

today, i saw a butterfly with one wing that was a little smaller than the other. it still flew. it just looked different doing it. 

i think people are like that, too. everyone thinks love is supposed to fix the broken parts. you never tried to fix mine. you kissed them. you laughed with them. you made space for them. i didn't know someone could look at every strange little piece of me and decide they wanted all of it. 

do you know what my favorite sound is? it's not the crowd after i score. it's not the ball hitting the net. it's you laughing so hard you accidentally lean into me. i wish i could keep that sound in my pocket. then i'd never have to worry about lonely days. 

if there's another universe somewhere… i hope i still find you. even if you're a stranger. no, scratch that, ESPECIALLY if you’re a stranger. i think i'd recognize your smile before i remembered my own name. 

shidou ryusei

the envelope is bright red. or neon pink. or electric orange. there's absolutely nothing subtle about it. you know it's from him before you've even picked it up. he’s the only one that would pick colors so loud. 

his handwriting is all over the place – big, bold, messy, with words underlined 3 times because apparently every sentence is the most important sentence he's ever written lmao. 

there are stars, lightning bolts, badly drawn hearts, and random doodles squeezed between paragraphs because sitting still long enough to write a letter is already asking a lot of him. 

he shoves it into your hands with a grin, immediately tells you not to read it in front of him, then spends the next 10 minutes hovering behind you because he's dying to know your reaction. 

you're gonna laugh at me for writing this. don't. i already know it's embarrassing. 

but what i wanna say is: i've broken bones before. i've split my lip open. i've walked off the field covered in blood. none of that scared me as much as realizing one day… you could leave. 

i think that's when i knew. because all of a sudden, every goodbye felt too long. every hug ended too soon. every time you smiled at someone else, my heart got all stupid and weird. 

i hate that you can do that to me. i hate that i love it, too. 

basically, if the whole world disappeared tomorrow… i wouldn't be thinking about football. i'd be looking for your hand. 

because i've learned something: everything feels alive when you're looking at me. everything else just feels loud. 

karasu tabito

he’s all matte black stationery with silver gel ink because he thinks it looks cooler than regular paper, and annoyingly... he's right. 

his handwriting is clean, slightly slanted, confident. he rarely crosses anything out because he knows what he wants to say before the pen touches the page. 

there are no hearts or flowers, but tiny crows somehow end up doodled in the corners every single time. he claims he doesn't notice he's doing it. 

he slips his letters into your notebook, your tote bag, or under your windshield wiper before driving away. he'd rather let the letter speak than stand there awkwardly while you read it. 

don't start smilin’ just because i wrote ya a letter. actually… never mind. smile. i like when ya do that. 

ya know what's funny? i've spent most of my life thinkin’ love had to be excitin’, loud, and complicated. then ya showed up and somehow made silence feel interestin’. 

i've never been good at sitting still. except beside ya. with ya… i've watched rain hit windows for hours. i've finished cold cups of coffee because i forgot to drink them while listenin’ to ya talk. i've missed green lights because i was lookin’ at ya instead (terrible, i know). 

ya slowed me down. and still… i've never felt more alive. 

if anyone ever asks me what peace looks like… i'm probably just gonna show them a picture of ya <3 

kaiser michael

kaiser adores using heavy cream paper with a navy border, folded with impossible precision and sealed with dark blue wax pressed into the shape of a rose. one dried blue rose petal always slips out when you unfold the letter. 

he writes in elegant cursive with a fountain pen in deep navy ink. not a single correction. if he made a mistake, he rewrote the entire page. he’s a perfectionist like that. 

the paper smells faintly of his cologne because he kept it in the drawer beside his watches for days before deciding it was worthy to meet you. 

he never hands it to you. you'll find it tucked inside the novel you were reading, waiting in your hotel room after one of his matches, or hidden in your coat pocket before winter. 

before you… i measured my life by applause. how loud. how long. how many people stood when i entered a room or a field. it turns out applause echoes. it fills the room. then it leaves. 

you didn't. you stayed after the lights were gone. after the interviews and all the goals that no longer mattered. you loved the version of me that nobody clapped for. the tired one. the frightened one. the little boy who spent years believing affection was something people earned through perfection. 

you looked at every flaw i tried to bury beneath trophies… and loved me there. 

if i spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you… i still don't think i'll succeed. but i hope you'll let me keep trying. 

because every beautiful thing i've ever touched has eventually slipped through my fingers. i don't know what i'd become if you did, too. 

ness alexis

ness’s love letter signatures include magenta stationery with silver stars pressed into the border, tied shut with a pale ribbon because folding it plainly somehow feels too ordinary for something meant for you. 

beautiful looping handwriting that almost looks printed, every sentence perfectly spaced, every letter written slowly as though he's afraid rushing would somehow make the words less sincere. 

tiny sparkles, stars, moons, flowers, and little constellations fill the empty spaces around the page. 

he leaves the letter beneath your pillow before leaving for training or tucked inside your favorite novel because he's far too nervous to watch you read it. 

sometimes i wonder if people know they've changed someone's life while they're doing it. i don't think you knew. you smiled at me the same way you smiled at everyone else. you asked if i was alright like it was the most ordinary question in the world. it became the question that saved me. 

i've spent so much of my life trying to become someone worth choosing. someone useful, impressive, impossible to leave behind. then you loved me on days when i had nothing to offer except my company. 

do you know what that does to a person? it teaches them that maybe they were lovable before they started performing. 

i still have days where i wake up afraid you'll realize you've made a mistake. then you reach for my hand before you're fully awake… and every fear goes quiet. 

if one day i forget every match i've ever played… every trophy… every city… every face… i hope my heart remembers yours. i think it learned your name long before i ever wrote it down. 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya's letters are written on soft ivory paper with the faintest embossed border, always in dark brown fountain pen because he thinks black feels too harsh for something as gentle as love. his handwriting is elegant and fashion-magazine perfect, every line evenly spaced as if he spent hours making sure the page looked as beautiful as the words. 

tucked inside the envelope is almost always something tiny – a pressed flower from a walk you took together, a movie ticket he secretly kept, or a polaroid where you're laughing so hard your face is blurry. he treasures ordinary moments more than grand gestures. 

he leaves his letters somewhere they'll find you during a quiet moment – inside your journal, beneath your pillow before an away match, or folded into the sweater he knows you'll steal from him. 

there's always one sentence written smaller than the rest near the bottom, something he almost didn't have the courage to admit. 

people always tell me to keep looking ahead. keep chasing the next goal. the next dream. the next version of myself. i've spent so much of my life afraid that if i stopped moving, i'd lose everything. 

then i met you. and for the first time... i wanted to slow down. 

i wanted mornings that didn't belong to anyone except us. i wanted rainy afternoons where we forgot to check the time. i wanted to memorize the freckles on your body instead of another stadium. 

i've seen sunsets from airplanes, city lights from hotel balconies, fireworks after championships. they were beautiful. but beauty has never looked back at me. beauty has never laughed because i accidentally burned breakfast. beauty has never reached across the bed in its sleep just to make sure i was still there. you have. 

people ask me what i see when i picture the future. i never tell them the truth. it isn't another trophy. it isn't another headline. it's the light spilling through our bedroom curtains while you complain that i woke up too early again. it's growing old enough that the lines on your face become familiar to my fingertips. 

if i lose my sight one day… i don't think the world will become dark. i've spent so long learning the shape of your hands. i could find my way back to you with my eyes closed. 

barou shoei

barou refuses to buy "cute stationery." it's thick black paper with crisp white lettering because it's practical, clean, and gets the job done. his handwriting is sharp, blocky, and ridiculously neat, almost intimidating until you remember whose hands wrote every word. 

there are no decorations. no hearts. no perfume. no ribbons. 

the only thing that makes it unmistakably his is the envelope sealed with a small gold sticker because he doesn't trust the flap to stay shut. 

he'll never hand it to you directly. instead, you'll find it perfectly centered on the kitchen counter after he's already left for training, right beside the breakfast he made. 

every letter begins stiffly... and then somewhere along the way, the king forgets he's supposed to be guarding his heart. 

i've never understood people who say love changes you. it doesn't. it reveals you. 

before i met you, i thought strength meant never depending on anyone. never waiting, never needing, like a true king. 

then you started leaving your mug beside mine in the sink. your shoes by the front door. your shampoo in the shower. your laugh in every room of the house. 

and one day, the realization finally hit me. none of those things annoyed me. i started expecting them. looking for them. missing them. 

i've built my entire life on discipline. everything has a place. everything has a routine. you ruined all of it. 

now dinner feels wrong if you're working late. the bed feels too big when you're away. i catch myself cooking enough for two even when you're not home. that's your fault. 

don't apologize for it though. keep ruining my routines. keep leaving hair ties on the bathroom counter. keep stealing my clothes. keep reaching for my hand before we cross the street. 

i've conquered a lot of things. you're the only thing i've ever happily surrendered to. 

if being your home is considered weakness, then i'll spend the rest of my life refusing to become strong again. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri loves to use pale pink stationery with cream envelopes, written in wine-red ink that somehow matches the color of his hair. his handwriting is delicate, flowing, and impossibly graceful, every letter curved so beautifully it almost looks painted instead of written. 

he presses tiny dried cherry blossom petals into the envelope during spring, and in winter, he'll tuck in a ribbon from a gift you once gave him because he's sentimental in ways very few people get to see. 

you'll usually find his letters tucked inside your skincare bag before a trip or resting against the mirror where you'll see them while getting ready in the morning. 

they read like quiet conversations whispered long after midnight. 

there was a time when i thought my life had already become smaller than i wanted it to be. every dream felt fragile. every step felt borrowed. i remember wondering if i'd spend the rest of my life mourning the version of myself i almost became. 

then you smiled at me. that was the day my future stopped feeling frightening. 

isn't that strange? you never promised to fix anything. you never asked me to become someone else. you simply loved the person standing in front of you. the one who was still afraid and healing. 

you made patience feel beautiful. you taught me that slowing down doesn't mean you've stopped living. 

sometimes… i watch you brushing your hair in the morning. or reading beside me while rain taps against the window. and i have to remind myself not to cry. happiness used to feel temporary. now it looks so ordinary. 

it stays in the warmth your side of the bed keeps after you've gotten up. it waits for me in the mug you've already filled because you knew i'd forget. it lives in all the ordinary moments that would've slipped past the version of me who only knew how to keep running away. 

i think that's why i love watching you when you don't know i'm looking. you're never doing anything extraordinary. you're just existing. 

so i hope that years from now, when my hair is even longer, our faces are softer, and the house is filled with little reminders that we've lived a life together... i'll still catch myself looking at you the same way, like i can't quite believe i was lucky enough to find someone who made staying still feel like the greatest adventure i'd ever have. 

iglesias bunny

bunny's letters are effortlessly pretty without trying too hard – soft cream stationery edged with muted gold, written in dark red ink because black "feels too corporate." his handwriting is smooth and stylish, the kind that somehow reflects his confidence, though every now and then one word slants awkwardly where he paused to think too long. 

he always tucks a pressed flower, a concert wristband, or a tiny candid photo inside because he likes the idea of every letter becoming a little time capsule. 

he doesn't hide them. instead, he'll casually leave one inside the tote bag he knows you're taking that day, pretending it wasn't completely intentional. 

his trademark is that he always signs the envelope with a tiny bunny silhouette instead of his name. 

i think people assume loving someone like me must be exciting. that it must be glamorous filled with flights, cameras, late nights, beautiful cities. they're only half right though. the exciting part has never been any of that. 

it's hearing your sleepy voice answer the phone after i've landed. it's watching you steal fries off my plate after insisting you weren't hungry. it's feeling your foot brush against mine beneath the blankets while you're already asleep. those are the moments i replay. not the headlines or the applause. 

i've met people who knew my face before they knew my name. people who thought they loved me without ever speaking to me. then you came along and loved me so quietly that sometimes i forget i was ever lonely. 

you've never asked me to perform for you. you've never needed me to be impressive. you just wanted me. i don't think i'll ever fully understand how lucky that makes me. 

if the whole world stopped recognizing me tomorrow… i'd still know exactly who i am. why? every time you look at me… i feel seen in a way fame could never teach. 

hugo vivian

hugo's stationery is understated, but expensive – thick cream paper with burgundy edging, written in deep charcoal ink. his handwriting is clean and confident, though a little more relaxed than you'd expect, with the occasional ink smudge where he rested his hand for too long while thinking. 

every envelope is tied shut with dark red ribbon instead of sealed because he likes old-fashioned romance more than he'll ever admit. 

he leaves his letters somewhere deeply personal – tucked inside the book on your bedside table, slipped into your suitcase before an away trip, or beneath your pillow before leaving for training. 

every single one ends with his initial instead of his full name because somehow that feels more intimate. 

before you… i thought love was measured by grand gestures. movies always show us the expensive dinners. the vacations. the surprises people post online so strangers can admire them. 

then you thanked me for making your coffee exactly the way you liked it. 

boop. 

just like that, my whole understanding of love changed. 

you smiled because i remembered which side of the bed you preferred. you laughed when i tucked your freezing feet against my legs during a movie. 

ding. 

another moment i accidentally locked away forever. 

i've started collecting those little sounds in my head. the click of the front door when you come home. the shuffle shuffle of your slippers across the floor. the tiny hum you make while you're deciding what snack you want. the soft "hm?" when i say your name and you're distracted. they're my favorite sounds. 

people ask me what success feels like. i don't think i'd describe it with trophies anymore. success is hearing your keys in the door going jingle jingle and catching myself smiling before i even realize i'm doing it. success is your toothbrush next to mine. success is you stealing a bite off my plate and pretending you asked first. 

chomp. 

liar. i let you get away with it every time. 

some nights, you're already asleep before i am. i'll look over, brush your hair away from your face and think… "wow." 

out of the billions of people who exist in this enormous world… i somehow get to love you. 

… ba-dump. 

ah, there it goes again. my heart still hasn't learned how to act normal around you. 

— h. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: pls don’t come for me, i was heavily in my feels and had to stand up from my chair a few times myself (it was this spotify playlist, your honor) 

[duckyriccy]

sae luvs being a tease content | nsfw, afab!reader, bf!sae, sae a whore wow

aw, are you mad at sae again? giving him the silent treatment because he made another mean quip at you?

well now he’s walking around the kitchen with no shirt on. his sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing the mind-numbing v-line that always drove you crazy.

he knew what he was doing. you sat on a stool at the kitchen island, your eyes tracking his movement as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

his slender soft eyes met yours. “what’s wrong? i thought looking at me made you sick to your stomach?”

his hair was perfectly soft. he didn’t have his bangs hairsprayed back. just maroon tufts perfectly tousled with. gosh, and his eyes were boring into you — his pupils were slim and wholly on you.

he knew what he was fucking doing.

“it does,” you respond, looking back down at your phone.

but from your periphery, you can see as he — blatantly and obviously — begun adjusting his dick in his sweats. his hand palmed himself completely as he grabbed his fabric-covered cock briefly.

fuck.

“right,” he hummed, his eyes already off you as he began padding out the kitchen with his bottle of water.

fuck. his back. the contouring of his muscles that scandalously cascaded along his skin. like every dip and curve and line of him was designed to get your mind buzzing. if only you could swallow your pride and jump on him right here right now. your thighs trembled as you felt your cunt slightly start pulsing.

what a fucking tease.

— ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

[wavelengths-mind]

────𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣?

╰┈➤ you get dared to seduce one of the new gen 11. only problem? they actually fall for it, in their own way.

⁺⋆.˚𐙚 starring characters: itoshi sae, vivian hugo, bunny iglesias, michael kaiser, don lorenzo

୨ৎcw: nsfw, fem reader, unprotected sex, oral receiving f, public sex, multiple orgasms, degradation, fingering, overstimulation, car sex, mirror sex

a/n: guys...don't get mad...but i literally did everyone except loki. i just couldn’t get inspired to write him for this prompt. and teddy cause idk shit about him

"you really don't know what you're doing, do you?"

his words weren’t spoken with anger. if anything, they were spoken with amusement, which, somehow, made it worse. 

itoshi sae is an individual who looks exactly how everyone expected him to: detached and completely uninterested in the chaos around him. which is precisely why the dare had been made to you. 

in the outset of the night, it played out normally, like any late night party would—one that sae grudgingly got dragged to; a night where everyone could finally relax after months of pressure, overbearing expectations, and impossible standards. the room was filled with laughter, expensive drinks, and anything deemed distracting enough. 

a friend of yours laughed and claimed that there was no way in hell anyone could actually get a reaction out of him. not the fans, not the reporters, not his brother, and certainly not you. 

the challenge should’ve been harmless, a joke, but it didn’t seem like that when you took confident steps across the room. a little too much confidence and a little too much curiosity. 

you approached him knowing exactly what everyone else expected: that he would ignore you. that he would glance over, realize what was happening, and dismiss it without a second thought. 

except he didn’t…and sae noticed everything: the hesitation hidden beneath your feigned confidence. the way you were trying to act like this was effortless. the fact that you were pretending not to be intimidated by standing in front of someone everyone else treated as untouchable. 

and when you started flirting, he didn’t shut it down. he looked at you instead, really looked. not with the bored indifference everyone else was used to, but with a slow, assessing kind of attention that made it obvious he was listening to every word, catching every deliberate smile, every carefully chosen compliment, every attempt to make him react.

his gaze lingered just long enough to make it blatantly clear he was aware of exactly what you were doing.

itoshi sae was interested—not anything else. sae never tried once to brush you off, in fact, he reciprocated your advances, looking at you while he was silently imagining what your face would look like if he fucked that confidence right out of you.

so when he reached in his pocket to fish out his keys, eyes tracking you lower and lower, only then did he put an end to your words. 

“come on. you got what you wanted.” 

oh, he wasn’t even able to drive anywhere. he had you sitting nice and pretty in the passenger seat, reclined all the way back as he pounded his dick into your pussy, legs pinned near his ears. 

it was like he was punishing you, giving you a live demonstration of be careful what you wish for. sae was mean, insisting that you keep your eyes on him and him only, desperate to see that confidence get brutally wiped from your face as he fucked you, tears streaming down your cheeks from how unyielding his thrusts were, eager to make you cum and cum again until he knew you had learned your lesson. 

"you wanted my attention, didn't you?" "you started this, you don't get to look away from me" "had enough, hm?"

"you're adorable when you think you're in control"

amusement. unbridled amusement at that. the kind that made it obvious michael kaiser had already figured out your ploy and planned to use it against you. 

the party was exactly the kind of place he belonged. a room full of people celebrating victory, endless compliments, and endless attention; and at the center of it was kaiser. 

he possessed the kind of presence that made people notice him before they even realized they were staring. the confidence, the charm, the effortless arrogance of someone who had spent the time of his career trying to bury the old parts of him—the worthless parts of him. 

he was quite reputable: a genius striker, the star player, everything that put him in an amorous light. 

it all starts with a teasing comment, that there was no way anyone could actually get under his skin (except for isagi). no way anyone could make him lose his composure, not when he was so used to people falling over themselves trying to impress him. 

so naturally, the dare was made. and naturally, you accepted. a little fun way to prove that even someone like michael kaiser was still just a person. so when you approached him, you assumed he’d throw you a smug remark and perhaps a dismissive laugh, and maybe a little teasing before he moved on. but kaiser didn’t ignore you like you thought he would. 

you carried yourself like you weren’t intimidated. you weren’t trying to worship him, or exaggeratedly impress him, you were…challenging him, to put it simply. 

and that was interesting, because kaiser loved attention. but attention was easy when it came to him, everyone gave him that. what was rare was someone willing to stand there and act like they had the advantage. 

at first, he played along with a knowing smile, a glance paired with a careful reaction to keep you guessing. kaiser ultimately found himself paying attention for a reason he didn’t expect: you were entertaining—no—more than that. interesting. so much so it irritated him. he needed to see himself shut you up, to show you who you were truly messing with. 

because he didn’t liked to be challenged. 

“you talk too much. you’ve had your fun. it’s my turn now.” 

the imposing walls of the bathroom did little to completely cut out your moans of pleasure, but you know what did? kaiser’s twin fingers pushed right in between your flushed lips. he didn’t want you saying a single word as he took you from behind. 

your hands grip the dip in the counter leading into the sink bowl. kaiser fucked you in front of a wide mirror, wanting you to see how much control he had over you, how he effortlessly dominated you. you were too far gone, his dick pulsing and swollen inside you, going deeper and deeper with each thrust as gravity allowed.

he smiled at you villainously through the mirror, watching you coat his fingers in saliva, your mind seemingly incoherent as you were completely fucked out; letting him bully your pussy all because you wanted to test your luck over a silly dare.

"what happened? you had so much to say before" "you spent all night trying to get a reaction out of me. was this what you wanted?" "now your pussy is going to speak for you"

"careful. you're starting to make me believe you"

these particular words were delivered with a smile, but not a mocking one, and especially not the kind of arrogance you’d expect from someone at his level, and that was what made it dangerous. 

the party was supposed to be a celebration of victory. a night where everyone could finally step away from the pressure of competition and enjoy the result of months sacrifice. the room was filled with music, conversation, and the kind of excitement that followed people who had made themselves impossible to ignore. 

and among all of them was vivian hugo. 

hugo was someone who didn’t demand excessive amounts of attention, he didn’t want it. he was calm and somehow approachable. which made him harder to read…because everyone knew the reputation of the new gen 11, they were extraordinary; players who had reached a level most people could only dream of. 

but hugo had something different. something that made people lower their guard without realizing it. which was why the dare started, that if anyone could get a reaction out of him, it would be impressive. because hugo is always composed. 

so naturally, the challenge became yours. a little confidence, a little flirting, a funny story to tell afterward. 

you approach him expecting him to disregard you and keep his eyes pointed directly in his book (a book with no fucking words), but when the first couple of words came out of your mouth, his eyes snapped to yours immediately, and he began to notice your failure of concealing the little hesitation you did have beneath that confidence. 

hugo let you continue; he humored you because he wasn’t unaware; he was quite observant. he knew when people were performing and unfortunately, he knew that you were. the more you tried to charm him, the more curious he became. 

not because he believed the act, because he wanted to know if he could break you. his attention had fully narrowed down to you now, priorities aligned. hugo stood abruptly, finally deciding he was done with the crowd, startling you. 

he simply offered you a glance, a quiet invitation. “keep looking at me like you’re waiting to see if i’ll fall for it. i’m curious to see if you will.” 

so you follow him into a covert part of the establishment, a patio, of all things. honestly? it didn’t matter, not when he had you in his lap, legs spread around his thick thighs with him three fingers deep inside your pussy. he was so fucking large it made no sense. your back pressed up against his chest, fingers squeezing the cushions below you as he showed you no mercy. 

you’ve come at least three times from nothing but his hands. hugo took great pleasure in seeing you writhe in his lap, body protesting against his assault. his fingers plunging in and out of you, his other hand simultaneously rubbing circles against your clit, rolling it in between his fingers, feeling you gush around him. 

"seems like i was the one caught after all" "give me one more, surely you can, hm?" "are you ready to take me now?"

"you're making it really hard to pretend i'm not interested"

bunny iglesias laughed—not at you, though, but at his poor resolve, because bunny wasn’t used to people approaching him like that. 

the party was still in full swing. music filled the room, teammates and guests crowded around, celebrating victory, replaying moments from the match, anything celebratory. 

bunny, a new gen 11, someone who had earned the kind of attention that followed him everywhere, despite his attempts at going incognito. but unlike some of the others, bunny didn’t carry himself like he expected the room to revolve around him. 

he laughed easily, he talked with people, he actually seemed like he was having fun—despite his facade, and because of that, your friend joked that if anyone could get a reaction out of him, it would certainly be impressive. because bunny was approachable, what reaction is there to get?

so the challenge becomes simple: get him interested, make him fall for it. 

at first, bunny thought it was entertaining. the way you walked up with more confidence than you probably felt, the way you acted like you weren’t aware of exactly who you were approaching, the way you tried so hard to make it seem effortless. 

he was able to discern that something was different. unlike the others, bunny didn’t immediately turn it into a competition. he didn’t try to outplay you; he just found himself enjoying the conversation. the teasing. the little moments where your confidence slipped and came back twice as strong, the fact that you weren’t treating him like some unreachable superstar, and that, somehow, was what made the dare work. 

and if you were so willing to throw yourself at him, why not accept what he was given? he’s surely not the one to waste away an opportunity. 

a small smile crossed his face as he finally gave in. “take a walk with me.” 

the noise behind you fades with every step, and now you’ve got your back pressed up against the chilling brick of an alleyway wall, right outside the venue. bunny’s got his hands gripping your ass, bouncing you on his dick like it was something so easy. his broad chest kept you trapped between him and the wall, fucking you against it. 

and whenver you’d become too loud? his hand would come up to your lips, cooing in your ear about “being caught”, just for him to fuck you harder, baiting you into rebelling against his wish so that everyone nearby could hear just how good he was making you feel. 

"shh...you're going to get us caught" "you looked much more confident in your head, didn't you?" "i almost feel bad"

"i like this. keep going"

the grin on don lorenzo’s face should’ve been a warning. because it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. 

the party was exactly what everyone expected from a celebration involving the new gen 11. loud music, endless conversations, people trying to get closer to players they had only ever watched from a distance. 

don lorenzo collected attention like it was a hobby. he laughed too loudly and moved too freely. to put it simply, he acted like the entire room was a playground built specifically for him. which is why nobody believed the dare would work. 

anyone who can get a reaction like that out of him should get an award.

an award that would rightfully be yours. 

but lorenzo was unpredictable; nobody knew what he would do, nobody knew what he was thinking. so when you accepted the challenge, everyone expected calamity. they expected him to laugh, for him to realize what was happening and turn it into another joke. 

what they didn’t expect—and so did you—was for him to actually be interested. at first, lorenzo treated it like entertainment. the confidence, the teasing, the obvious effort to make him react. he noticed it all, of course he did. 

lorenzo noticed your smile, and that in itself brought him down a notch. but he was already cataloging the way you kept pretending this was only a game, or the fact that your false bravery was merely the only thing keeping you going. 

he was starting to like you. so instead of ruining the act, he played along, because he thought it was fun. somewhere between the challenge, something changed. it stopped being about whether you could get his attention because you already had it. 

lorenzo looked around briefly before walking towards you, placing a hand over the small of your back, guiding you away to an empty room.

“too many people here. i want to hear you better, ok?” 

now, the way he was in between your legs made it difficult for you to regret ever approaching him in the first place. he was eating the fuck out of your pussy, like he was starved and you were the only thing needed to satiate him. his tongue works all the right places, swirling against your clit, laping up against your slit—it was perfect. 

lorenzo strongly encouraged that you be vocal; he wouldn’t continue unless you did otherwise, because all that confidence you spewed at him—he wanted to hear it in another form, and show you that that little stunt you pulled? wasn't going to fly.

"i liked that confidence. bring it back" "don't get quiet on me now..." "you don't want me to stop, do you?"

[minnieninnie]

​✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄Itoshi sae's dating headcanons⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

● When he is away in Spain, he will randomly text you high resolution photos of his morning espresso with zero context just to show he misses you.

●He will literally snatch low quality coffee or food out of your hand, replace it with a premium alternative and mutter that you have terrible taste.

●​If you fall asleep on the couch, he will silently carry you to bed and carefully tuck you in so you don't wake up with a stiff neck.

●Sae will quietly hold your hand under the table where nobody else can see, giving it a gentle squeeze when you least expect it.

●Sae loves trailing his fingers along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh under the dinner table just to tease you, looking completely unbothered while you try to keep a straight face.

●If you tease him he will literally lock your wrists above your head with one hand, completely taking away your control until you beg him to touch you.

●He will deliberately make you sit on his lap during a movie or a flight, his hands resting heavily on your bare skin to remind you exactly who you belong to.

●​If you try to make him jealous, he won't make a scene in public he will just drag you home by your wrist and spend the entire night reminding you who actually commands your body.

Hey this is my first post kindly lemme know if u like it 💙

[hcshirofumi]

do you ever wish you were good at football?

ragebaiting your bluelock!bf ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, kunigami rensuke, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, barou shoei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, otoya eita, hiori yo, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness, bunny iglesias, vivian hugo, julien loki

this is my first time posting on tumblr guys kinda nervous

[kxsagi]

“𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞”

a/n: i love when they’re, like, messy. like i just wanna see a boy beg on the pavement. 

title is inspired by the song be like a woman by chris rainbow! i recommend listening to it while reading for the atmosphere 😚 

synopsis: how they try to make it up to you to get a second chance. 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

isagi doesn't believe in grand romantic gestures at first because he genuinely thinks, "if i just explain myself properly, she'll understand." emphasis on at first, because after getting hit with your fourth consecutive "i'm not interested, yoichi," he realizes this is no longer a tactical discussion – this is a relegation battle. 

so now he's outside your apartment at 10 in the evening holding convenience store snacks you used to split after dates, looking like a man who's aged 15 years, saying, "i know these aren't flowers. i panicked in the checkout line." 

the man studies your breakup the way he studies match footage. he has NOTES. actual notes because he’s insane. he knows exactly where he failed, when he stopped communicating enough, the moments you felt neglected because football swallowed his entire schedule. he's not trying to defend himself anymore. every apology starts with, "you were right." 

"i thought providing for our future meant sacrificing the present." he laughs bitterly. "turns out... i sacrificed us." 

he'll wait for hours if he has to. doesn't matter if it's raining or if your neighbors are peeking through their curtains like they're watching a live drama. he promised he'd wait until you were ready to hear him out, so he's waiting. 

one day, you step outside and immediately sigh. "you're still here?" 

"yeah." 

"how long?" 

"since lunch." 

"... it's 8." 

"... yeah." 

"did you eat?" 

"i had a vending machine corn soup." 

"yoichi." 

"it was actually pretty good." 

he smiles so pathetically that you physically have to look away because WHY IS HE MAKING THAT FACE 💔

eventually comes the infamous pavement incident. 

"get up." 

"not until you hear me out." 

"yoichi, people are looking." 

"good." 

"good?” 

"they'll keep me accountable." 

"this isn’t a public apology tour.” 

"it can be." 

"GET UP." 

he absolutely gets dirt on his knees and doesn't even notice because he's too busy saying, "i don't need you to forgive me today. or tomorrow. just... let me become someone you'd want to love again." 

and that line ruins your entire week. 

itoshi rin

rin spends months convincing himself that what he's feeling is simply regret, that eventually it'll disappear if he trains hard enough, scores enough goals, and throws himself into football like he's always done, but the worst part is realizing that every victory feels strangely empty because you're no longer the first person he wants to tell, and suddenly even winning doesn't scratch the itch the way hearing you laugh used to. 

it takes him far longer than he'd ever admit to accept that he doesn't just miss having a girlfriend – he misses you, specifically, and those are two very different things. 

unlike isagi, rin isn't the type to make a public spectacle of himself because the mere thought of strangers watching him be vulnerable makes his skin crawl, so instead he becomes frustratingly, relentlessly present in your life without ever crossing the boundaries you've set. 

if your car won't start, somehow he's already called roadside assistance before you can. if your apartment building loses power during a storm, he's the first person knocking with flashlights, extra batteries, and enough convenience store food to survive an apocalypse. 

every time you sigh and ask, "how did you even know?" he just shrugs and mutters, "i asked your sibling," or "your friend told me," like gathering intel on your well-being has quietly become his newest full-time position. 

when you finally snap and ask him, "are you seriously going to keep doing nice things for me until i feel guilty enough to take you back?" he looks genuinely offended that you'd think guilt had anything to do with it. "no." 

"then why?" 

"because even if you never come back to me..." he hesitates, looking anywhere but your face. "... i still want your life to be easier." 

that answer is infinitely worse for your heart than if he'd tried to sweet-talk you. 

his biggest hurdle isn't proving he still loves you – it's proving he's actually changed. rin knows better than anyone that saying "i'm different now" is meaningless unless the person you're apologizing to gets to experience that difference themselves, so every conversation becomes a test he willingly puts himself through. 

he lets you interrupt him. he listens instead of assuming. when he's frustrated, he tells you he's frustrated instead of disappearing for 3 days and pretending nothing happened. every tiny habit he used to brush off as "that's just how i am" gets replaced with deliberate effort, and he never once asks you to praise him for it. 

eventually, after months of this awkward dance, the two of you get caught in an unexpected downpour while arguing outside your apartment. you're both soaked, hair plastered to your faces, and you're trying very hard to unlock your front door while refusing to look at him because if you make eye contact, you know he's going to say something that'll ruin your emotional stability. 

"you should go home." 

"not until we're done talking." 

"we ARE done talking." 

"i'm not." 

you groan so loudly that your neighbor peeks through the blinds. "rin." 

"i know." 

"you're being stubborn." 

"... i learned from you." 

"don't blame me for this." 

then instead of grabbing your wrist or trying to stop you physically, rin quietly pulls something from his jacket pocket – your old apartment key. the one you'd given him years ago. he'd carried it every single day since the breakup. 

he places it in your palm. "i kept this because... i couldn't let go." he curls your fingers around it himself. "but if i'm asking for another chance… then i have to earn another key." 

you stare down at the little piece of metal. then back at him. "you carried this around for almost a year?" 

"... yeah." 

"you're actually insane. you could’ve come into my place whenever you wanted to." 

"i definitely thought about it." 

your neighbor quietly closes the blinds because this has become far too intimate to keep watching. 

itoshi sae

sae doesn't believe love should ever have to beg for attention, which is exactly why it terrifies him when he realizes that losing you wasn't some unavoidable tragedy – it was the direct result of believing you'd always be there no matter how emotionally unavailable he'd become. 

once that truth settles in, it follows him everywhere, creeping into every hotel room after away matches, every flight home, every silent dinner where the chair across from him remains painfully empty because the person who used to fill that silence with effortless conversation finally got tired of waiting for him. 

he never overwhelms you with constant texts or surprise visits because he knows that would only be serving himself instead of respecting you, but whenever he promises something, he treats it with the same seriousness he treats football. 

if he says he'll call at 7, your phone rings at exactly 7. if he tells you he'll show up to support your art exhibit, concert, graduation, or family gathering, he's already sitting in the audience before you even arrive. there are no excuses anymore. no last-minute cancellations. no "something came up." if he's asking for another chance, he refuses to make you question whether you're his priority ever again. 

one evening, after the two of you accidentally end up talking for nearly 4 hours over coffee, you catch yourself laughing at one of his dry remarks before quickly remembering you're supposed to be emotionally unavailable. 

you roll your eyes. "don't smile." 

"too late." 

"i wasn't smiling." 

"you were." 

"prove it." 

"i wish i could." 

"why?" 

"because i'd frame it." 

you actually choke on your drink. "that was so cheesy." 

"i know." 

"did someone replace you?" 

"i'm beginning to think this heartbreak causes brain damage." 

despite all the progress, there comes a night where you quietly tell him, "i still don't know if i can trust that this version of you will stay." 

and for the first time in a very long time… sae has absolutely no clever response. he simply nods. "that's fair." 

then he reaches into his wallet and slides something across the café table. every boarding pass. every train ticket. every receipt from every trip he'd made just to spend a few hours with you after the breakup before quietly going back home the same night because you weren't ready to let him stay. dozens of them. neatly folded. carefully kept. 

"what's this?" 

"proof." 

"proof of what?" 

"that i stopped expecting love to fit around my schedule." 

your fingers slowly flip through months and months of little paper memories. 

"every time i said i was busy..." he smiles faintly. "i realized i actually wasn't." 

you look up. “you kept all of these?" 

"i wanted something that reminded me effort leaves evidence." 

"... you're making this incredibly difficult." 

"i was hoping." 

from the booth behind you, someone whispers much louder than intended: "girl, if you don't take that man back, i might." 

sae pinches the bridge of his nose. "tokyo has terrible audience etiquette." 

nagi seishiro

nagi spends an embarrassingly long time assuming that because the breakup happened peacefully, maybe the relationship could simply... restart peacefully too, like logging back into a game after maintenance. it isn't until reo bluntly tells him, "you know relationships don't have a continue button, right?" that the reality finally hits him like a freight train, and suddenly he's experiencing the horrifying realization that if he wants you back, he has to actively pursue something for the first time in his life that isn't football or a limited-edition game release. 

the effort he puts in is almost comically obvious because absolutely everyone who knows nagi can tell he's operating at 150% capacity. this is the same man who used to order food because cooking felt like too much work, and now he's somehow watching cooking tutorials at 2 in the morning because you once admitted you missed the breakfasts you'd make together. the pancakes come out looking like abstract art. the eggs are... chopped. but every week he quietly gets a little better. 

one morning he shows up holding a lunchbox. 

"uh, what's this?" 

"your lunch." 

"you made this?" 

"mostly." 

"mostly?" 

"youtube helped." 

you cautiously open it. somehow every strawberry has been cut into little hearts. 

"you can cut fruit into hearts, but you still burned the rice?" 

"... i prioritized." 

"clearly." 

he scratches the back of his neck. "the hearts were harder." 

eventually, after months of trying to prove that effort isn't something he only gives when life is convenient, you tell him the truth: "i'm scared things will go back to the way they were." 

nagi nods. "me, too." 

"what?" 

"i'm scared i'll hurt you again because i didn't know how lazy i was." 

"you know that's a crazy sentence, right?" 

"yeah." 

"who even says, 'i accidentally neglected the love of my life because i wanted to finish a raid?'" 

nagi quietly raises his hand. "... fair." 

then comes the day you decide to walk away from another conversation because your emotions are becoming too much. you make it halfway down the sidewalk before hearing footsteps. then another. then another. you turn around. nagi is following you. not saying anything, only matching your pace. 

"why are you walking behind me?" 

"because if i walk beside you, you'll tell me to leave." 

"probably." 

"if i walk in front, you'll turn around." 

"... also true." 

"so this seemed logically safest." 

you keep walking. he keeps walking. one block. two blocks. three. finally you stop. 

"how long were you planning on doing this?" 

"until you got home safely." 

"and then?" 

"walk home." 

"that's like 30 minutes." 

"i know." 

"you're unbelievable." 

"hopefully memorable." 

an elderly man walking his dog passes the two of you before looking between you with complete understanding. "ah. he messed up?" 

you nod. 

the old man sighs. "good." 

nagi blinks. "good?" 

"builds character." 

"this is the worst day of my life." 

mikage reo

after the breakup, reo's first instinct is to fix everything the way he's fixed every other problem in his life (with resources, planning, and solutions), but it only takes one painfully honest conversation for you to tell him, "i never wanted expensive dates, reo. i wanted you to stop trying to solve my feelings like they were business problems." 

that sentence changes him more than he'd ever admit. 

from then on, every grand gesture disappears completely. no luxury vacations. no designer jewelry. no extravagant surprises. instead, he starts becoming someone dependable in the quietest ways imaginable. 

if your parents need help moving furniture, he's there in old sweatpants before sunrise. if your little cousin needs someone to coach her youth football team because the volunteer canceled, reo somehow rearranges his entire week. if your best friend jokingly says, "if you're serious about getting her back, come help us paint this apartment," he shows up 15 minutes later wearing clothes he clearly doesn't mind ruining. 

"... reo." 

"yeah?" 

"that's a ￥500,000 hoodie." 

he glances down. "... was." 

"you're getting paint on it." 

"i noticed." 

“you're not freaking out?" 

"i've ruined more expensive things." he looks at you. “losing you was definitely the costliest." 

your friend immediately walks into another room. "i'm giving y'all privacy because WHAT WAS THAT." 

one afternoon, while helping assemble furniture for a charity event, you accidentally catch him struggling with an instruction manual that's approximately 3 pages long. 

"you've built billion-dollar companies in simulations." 

"... yes." 

"and this bookshelf is winning?" 

"this bookshelf has no respect for me." 

"you put the shelf in backwards." 

"i chose not to notice." 

"... reo." 

"... please help." 

the two of you end up laughing harder than either of you have in months. he doesn't even realize he's smiling until he catches you smiling, too. 

later that evening, while cleaning paint off his hands together outside the community center, he grows quiet. 

"can i ask you something?" 

"depends." 

"if i never got another chance..." 

your heart immediately sinks. 

"would you still believe that i loved you?" 

you don't answer right away. because the answer has never been no. 

"... yes." 

he lets out the smallest breath. "then at least i did one thing right." 

you stare at him. "that's it?" 

"what?" 

"you're not going to ask me to come back?" 

he smiles, softer than you've seen in a long time. "i want to." 

"then why won't you?" 

"because i already spent too much of our relationship asking for what i wanted and not what you wanted." 

he gently folds the paint rag in his hands. 

"if we ever become us again..." his eyes meet yours. "i want it to be because you chose me." 

your friend opens the door, looks between the two of you, and closes it again. 

from inside the building you hear: "NOBODY GO OUT THERE." 

"WHY?" 

"YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE NEVER SINGLE." 

bachira meguru

bachira doesn't realize how much of his joy was intertwined with you until one day he catches himself turning around after scoring a ridiculous goal because his first instinct is still to look for your reaction in the stands, only to find an empty seat where you used to be, and the smile on his face drops so quickly that even his teammates notice something's wrong. that's when it finally clicks that he wasn't just in love with you – you had quietly become his favorite part of every good thing that happened to him. 

unlike everyone expecting him to mope around dramatically, bachira somehow becomes even brighter, but it's the kind of brightness that only exists because he's trying desperately not to let himself fall apart. he starts sending you photos of weird-shaped clouds, ducks wearing tiny raincoats, dogs that look like rin(?), and every bakery window displaying pastries you'd immediately point at, always ending each message with something painfully simple. 

"this reminded me of you." never… "please come back." 

he wants you to smile before he asks you to forgive him. 

months later, you bump into him at a local festival completely by accident. he freezes. you freeze. then he grins so hard it almost hurts to look at. 

"... hi." 

"... hi." 

"you still hate candied apples?" 

"still think they're a scam." 

"they're literally just apples coated in hardened sugar syrup." 

"exactly." 

"you haven't changed." 

"i've changed plenty." 

the conversation ends up lasting nearly 3 hours. by the time the fireworks begin, neither of you has noticed you've wandered halfway across the festival together. 

before you leave, bachira reaches into the claw machine bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a tiny bee plush. 

"you still have that?" 

"i've actually won..." he counts on his fingers. "... 23." 

"23?" 

"none of them looked enough like you." 

"... megs." 

"this one finally smiled." 

you have to physically turn away because your eyes are suddenly suspiciously warm. 

"don't cry." 

"’m not." 

"you're making the same face you make before you cry." 

"shut up." 

he laughs softly. "i missed hearing that." 

shidou ryusei

everyone assumes shidou's method of getting you back is going to be loud, chaotic, and illegal. but well… it's only slightly chaotic. because somewhere beneath all that reckless confidence is a man who genuinely understands that if he broke your heart, then making you laugh isn't enough anymore – he has to become someone you can actually trust. 

BUT, shidou has absolutely no clue how to behave like a normal person. 

his first attempt at a heartfelt apology somehow includes scaling the fence outside your apartment complex because the front gate was locked. 

"RYUSEI???" 

"HI, BABY–" 

"DON'T 'BABY' ME???” 

"RIGHT… EX-BABY?" 

"GET DOWN.” 

"I'M TRYING." 

"OH MY GOSH, YOU'RE STUCK.” 

"... A LITTLE." 

your landlord walks outside and stares. "... is that your boyfriend?" 

"... former boyfriend." 

"CAN YOU HELP ME?" 

after the world's most humiliating rescue operation, shidou sits beside you on the curb rubbing the back of his neck. "that wasn't how i pictured this going." 

"really?" 

"i pictured way less fencing." 

eventually his joking fades. 

"... i hurt you." 

"... yeah." 

"i hated seeing you cry." 

"... then why did you keep doing the things that made me cry?" that question hits him harder than any defender ever has. 

he doesn't answer right away. there isn't a good answer. 

"... because i thought you'd always forgive me." he laughs bitterly at himself. "turns out i didn't deserve that." 

after that day, he never asks for another chance outright. instead, he lets his actions slowly speak louder than his mouth ever has, which is honestly the biggest miracle of all. 

karasu tabito

karasu spends the first few months pretending the breakup was the logical conclusion, acting like everything's perfectly fine while his friends watch him become increasingly unbearable to be around because every conversation somehow circles back to you. he starts sentences with, "well, she used to..." so often that otoya finally throws a pillow at his face. 

"either text her or shut up, man." 

"... mind yer business." 

"YOUR BUSINESS IS MY BUSINESS NOW." 

karasu eventually realizes that every sarcastic remark, every clever excuse, every smooth line he's rehearsed falls apart the second he's standing in front of you because you're the one person who's always seen right through him. 

"you practiced this speech." 

"maybe." 

"how many times?" 

"... none." 

"tabito." 

"... 20." 

"20?" 

"okay... 22." he exhales. "yer worth embarrassin’ myself over." 

rather than trying to impress you, karasu starts showing up in the places that actually mattered during your relationship. he doesn’t want to pressure you, but he realizes he'd stopped sharing life with you and had started expecting you to fit around his. 

your favorite bookstore. the tiny café where you'd study together. the elderly couple's restaurant where you celebrated anniversaries. 

one day, you catch him helping the owners stack chairs after closing. 

“you work here now?" 

"nah." 

"then why are you cleaning?" 

"they asked." 

"and you said yes?" 

"thought it'd be good for my ego." 

"is it working?" 

"nope." he smiles. "but i'm learnin’." 

kaiser michael

kaiser begins the entire operation convinced that winning you back will be easy because, statistically speaking, nobody has ever told michael kaiser "no" more than once. 

you make it 7 months. by month 3, he's annoyed. by month 5, he's concerned. by month 7, he's experiencing what ness later describes as "character development." 

"this is suffering." 

ness looks up from his coffee. "this is accountability." 

"i preferred suffering." 

the worst part for kaiser is discovering that none of the things he's always relied on actually work anymore. the charm doesn't work. the flirting doesn't work. the expensive dinners don't work. every smug smile gets met with the same unimpressed expression you've perfected over the months. 

"finished?" 

"... i had another line." 

"delete it." 

eventually, he does something that shocks literally everyone who knows him – he starts asking questions. and then… he actually listens to the answers. 

you tell him what hurt. he doesn't interrupt. you tell him why you left. he doesn't defend himself. you tell him he made you feel like loving him was a competition you'd never win. his face falls. 

“... i didn't know." 

“that's exactly the problem." 

weeks later, he quietly invites you to one of his matches. no VIP package or cameras. only a single ticket. 

after the match, instead of celebrating with reporters, sponsors, and teammates, he walks straight into the empty stadium tunnel where you waited. 

"you came." 

"i said i would." 

"... thank you." 

you blink. "you've never thanked me for coming before." 

"i know." 

"why now?" 

he smiles, but it's smaller than usual. “i spent too much time assuming you'd always be there." 

he gently places his captain's armband into your hands. "keep it." 

"what?" 

"i've spent years chasing trophies." his voice softens. "i'd rather spend the next few chasing your trust." 

from somewhere down the hallway– "KAISER!" 

he doesn't even turn around. "they can wait." 

ness alexis

ness fully falls apart after the breakup in the most alexis ness way imaginable. while everyone else expects him to bounce back eventually, he somehow becomes even more hopelessly devoted than he was when the two of you were together, except now all of that affection has nowhere to go. 

he catches himself instinctively buying your favorite snacks at the grocery store before remembering you don't come over anymore, saves memes to send you only to delete the message before pressing send, and still reaches for his phone after every match because for years you were the first person he wanted to hear say, "you did amazing." the silence afterward is almost unbearable. 

for a long time, he convinces himself that the kindest thing he can do is stay away because he believes he forfeited the privilege of being part of your life the moment he hurt you, but every single week he finds another quiet way to support you without expecting anything in return. 

if your friend launches a small business, he's somehow the first customer through the door. if your younger sibling has a school performance, he quietly sits in the back row with flowers, congratulates them afterward, then leaves before you even notice he was there. if you casually mention online that your local animal shelter needs donations, they mysteriously receive exactly what they asked for the very next morning. every gesture is intentionally anonymous because this isn't about earning points, it's about becoming someone who gives without expecting love in exchange. 

eventually, months later, you finally catch him. "alexis." 

he freezes so hard you'd think someone pressed pause on his entire body. "... hi." 

"were you seriously trying to leave before i saw you?" 

"... yes." 

"why?"  

he rubs the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eyes. "... i wasn't doing those things so you'd forgive me." 

"then why?" 

"... because loving you didn't stop just because dating you did… i still wanted good things to happen to you." 

that answer sits between the two of you for what feels like forever. 

from then on, he never begs for another chance outright because he's terrified that asking too soon would only put pressure on you, so instead he lets consistency speak for him. every promise gets kept. every text gets answered. every conversation you've been avoiding for months is met with patience instead of defensiveness, and whenever he catches himself slipping back into old habits, he's the first one to apologize before you even have to point it out. 

one rainy evening, the two of you end up sharing the same bus stop after an unexpected storm rolls in, and because neither of you brought an umbrella, you're stuck together listening to the rain hammer against the pavement while awkward silence stretches between you. 

"... this is weird." 

"... a little." 

"i had an entire speech planned." 

"really?" 

"it was... very heartfelt." 

"where'd it go?" 

"the second you looked at me, my brain filed for bankruptcy." 

despite yourself, you laugh. 

he blinks. "you laughed." 

"don't get excited." 

"i'm trying not to." 

"you're smiling." 

"i’ve been surviving on emotional breadcrumbs for months." 

you roll your eyes hard. "i can’t with you." 

"i also..." he hesitates. "... wrote you an apology." 

"one apology?" 

"um… technically..." 

"alexis." 

"there were... several drafts." 

"how many?" 

"... 12." 

"12?!” 

"the first 4 sounded too dramatic." 

"alexis." 

"the next 3 were too formal." 

"alexis." 

"then i accidentally started citing relationship psychology articles." 

"YOU ADDED SOURCES?" 

he quietly nods. "... in APA format." 

you stare at him for a full 5 seconds before doubling over laughing so hard you're forced to grab the bus stop bench for support. 

ness immediately panics. "wait– is this a good laugh?" 

"i can't believe..." you wipe tears from your eyes. "you made a bibliography for apologizing to me." 

he hides his face behind both hands. "i wanted it to be academically sincere." 

the bus pulls up. neither of you gets on. because for the first time in months, the conversation doesn't feel heavy anymore. 

and as the bus drives away without you, ness quietly smiles to himself. "missing that one was worth it." 

iglesias bunny

bunny has spent his entire career being confident enough to walk into any stadium in the world believing he can outplay whoever's standing in front of him, but absolutely none of that confidence survives the moment he realizes you've actually moved on with your life without him. 

all of a sudden, the man who thrives under pressure is getting nervous over something as simple as typing "hey," deleting it, retyping it, deleting it again, and asking his teammates whether using two exclamation marks sounds desperate. they unanimously tell him yes. he sends one anyway. 

after enough failed attempts at trying to impress you, bunny finally accepts a painful truth: you don't need to be dazzled anymore – you need to feel safe. from that point onward, every effort he makes becomes intentionally small, thoughtful, and consistent instead of flashy. 

he remembers appointments you'd mentioned weeks ago and checks in afterward. if you're stressed, he doesn't immediately try to fix everything; he simply asks, "do you want advice, or do you just want me to listen?" and then (miraculously) he actually listens. 

one afternoon, the two of you accidentally get paired together during a charity football clinic for kids, and watching bunny interact with children is deeply unfair because every tiny player immediately latches onto him like he's their favorite older brother. 

"coach bunny!" 

"yeah?" 

"can she be on our team?" the little boy points directly at you. 

bunny glances over. "only if she promises not to steal the ball from me." 

"i absolutely will." 

"see?" he sighs. "this is why we broke up." 

"we broke up for a few reasons. one of them being that you forgot our anniversary." 

"details,” he huffs. 

"those are VERY important details." 

by the end of the event, the kids have somehow decided the two of you are married. 

one little girl tugs on bunny's sleeve. "is she your wife?" 

bunny doesn't even hesitate. "you know, i'm trying really hard." 

"excuse me?" 

"what? honesty builds character." 

after everyone leaves, he grows quieter. "i know i can't ask you to trust me just because i miss you." he absentmindedly spins a football beneath his foot. "so i'll just keep showing you i'm worth trusting until you decide whether i'm worth loving again." 

you’re’ speechless. "... that's the first smart thing you've said all day." 

"i've been saving it." 

hugo vivian

hugo refuses to let pride be the reason he loses you twice. the first breakup already taught him exactly how expensive ego can be, and unlike before, he isn't interested in proving that he was right – he's interested in proving that he's capable of becoming better. 

every apology is specific. every conversation is uncomfortable. every difficult topic that his younger self would've avoided gets addressed head-on because he knows healing isn't built on pretty speeches, it's built on honesty that actually changes something. 

he doesn't flood your phone with messages or show up unannounced because he respects your boundaries too much for that now, but whenever your paths naturally cross, there's a gentleness to him that wasn't there before. 

he asks how you've been and genuinely waits for the answer. when you mention something exciting happening in your career, he celebrates you instead of steering the conversation back toward himself. little by little, he begins showing you a version of himself that isn't trying to impress you anymore. 

one evening, after months of careful distance, the two of you end up stuck waiting for the last train home after yours gets delayed. 

"... well." 

"... well." 

"... this is awkward." 

"mmm. very." 

"... did you eat?” 

"that's your opener?" 

"uh, i panicked." 

"i can tell." 

he laughs quietly before reaching into his bag. “i bought two sandwiches earlier." 

"you always carry extra food?" 

"not usually." 

"then why today?" 

he scratches his cheek. "i guess part of me hoped i'd run into you." 

“oh. oh wow.” 

"... i'm trying to look emotionally mature." 

"you're offering me a convenience store egg sandwich." 

"it's a really good egg sandwich." 

hours later, after the station finally begins emptying out, he looks at you with a small, tired smile. "i don't expect you to forgive me." 

"... i know." 

"i don't expect another chance." 

"i know." 

"i just hope that when you think about me someday..." he exhales slowly. "you'll think about the man i became instead of the one who let you go." 

before you can answer, the train finally arrives. the doors slide open. neither of you moves. 

the conductor leans out the window. "are you two getting on or resolving your problems?" 

hugo clears his throat. "give us..." he glances at you. "30 seconds?" 

the conductor sighs so dramatically you almost start laughing. "kids." 

"we're adults. sir." 

"emotionally? that remains to be seen." 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ilonanan]

hiorin week special : hiorin x reader poly relationship

requested by many

sypnosis: random crack/freaky imessage conversations between you (fem reader) and hiorin poly relationship!

a/n: js put me in the cuck chair already bro

[yayamrata]

a pr team's worst nightmare

pairing: itoshi sae x fem journalist reader. ft. bunny iglesias

synopsis: an interview with bunny iglesias leads to you being shipped with him. and sae, consumed with envy, is no longer able to hold himself back. going as far as emailing you and demanding to be a guest on your dating show in hopes to assert his dominance.

contents and warnings: use of y/n, jealous sae, insecure sae, slightly suggestive, sae is a nonchalant flirt, sexual innuendos, a little bit of angst, bunny is the master of rage baiting, bunny is an indirect wingman, sae and bunny are both responsible for the greying of their manager's hair, platonic bunny x reader if you squint, i love bunny sm he's so cute, the dating show is inspired by chicken shop date

notes: grrr was struggling with how to start this off icl, rlly didnt enjoy writing the first scene for some reason even tho i love bunny, writers block hit so hard, also going to start working on part 2 for the bunny fic. also not proof read so sorry about, i also got tired at the end. enjoy!

word count: 6k

main! masterlist

bllk! masterlist

"Mr Iglesias!"

Instinctively, the man subject to your sudden call turned to face you. Seeing as how he stopped in his tracks when his bored gaze landed on you, whether from simple curiosity or innate reflex, something akin to relief flooded you. The rare kind of patience he showed you, the kind that wasn't present amongst the era of egotistic players urged you to speed over to him.

"Do you have a moment you can kindly spare for us?" You managed to get out despite your shortness of breath, a hopeful lilt adorning your voice as you met his stare head on.

Bunny barely blinked at your sanguinity. It wasn't his first time in a situation like this. In all his years of living and playing the sport, he'd met many like you, all starry-eyed with that sickeningly bright outlook on life. The kind that really bothered him. People like you itched him with the sort of annoyance no mosquito bite ever could. He mimicked your polite smile, albeit poorly, with a tighter version of his, and his eyes, dull in their brilliance, narrowed down at your unrelenting ones.

He's heard about you from Lavinho.

An up and coming journalist that seemed to have captured the hearts of the forthcoming generation with pioneering charisma, directly quoted from the man of charisma himself. And for the longest time, Bunny had the impression you were some kind of ignorantly buoyant fool that lived life through rose-tinted glasses. But… His gaze dropped back to your camera crew that stood a fair distance away — most likely under your instruction, before they fell back on your awaiting self.

The sun's persistent glare enhanced the lustre in your eyes, and whilst he craved nothing more than to watch it crumble under his cruel refusal, the athlete was left feeling a little unsure. Somehow, you seemed prepared for rejection, and now, turning you down didn't seem like it would crush your dreams.

Well, if pissing you off was out of the option, there was always someone else that could be the victim of his insensitive mind games instead.

"Hmm?" Bunny turned to face the man beside him with that scheming glint in his eyes. The man — his manager, didn't grace him with a verbal response and instead fixed him with a pointed glare. One that spoke louder than any word ever could. A silent warning. Don't give into the journalist's request. As good as this opportunity may be, you've got a flight to catch this evening and any impromptu plans will result in delays and complications.

Fortunately for you and unfortunately for his greying manager, threats didn't work on Bunny.

"I can kindly spare you a moment of my time." With the most sincerest smile he's worn the whole of today, one that only appeared when he was the cause of someone else's misfortune, Bunny gave into your spontaneous request and watched from his peripheral as his manager silently blew a fuse.

You bit back a cheer at your success and excitedly turned to face your camera crew that anxiously waited for your response. Throwing them a thumbs up to beckon them over, your face twitched with mild offence when they merely blinked owlishly in response. Did they really doubt you that much? Lips pursing with annoyance and brows furrowing briefly, it was the foresight of your cranky attitude that snapped them out of their befuddlement.

Honestly speaking, even you were stunned he agreed to your abrupt request. It's not that you were particularly doubtful of your capabilities — quite the opposite actually, it's just that… Bunny was known to have quite the provoking personality. Call it a prankster mindset or whatever, but the guy seemed to find twisted enjoyment in other's misfortune, so you for sure thought he'd reject you!

Gaze falling back on the player and his manager, you observed awkwardly as the former received what you could only assume was the umpteenth scolding of the day. Despite being rebuked, the hallow simper he usually wore never left his face and his gaze remained unfocused, clearly disengaged in the one-sided conversation. Picking up on the visible signs of his dissociation, guilt quickly consumed you for your indirect responsibility. Ah, I need to—

"Here." A team member — one of the more experienced workers in your crew, noticed your internal panic and approached you with celerity. Her initiative a catalyst that urged the others to follow suit with their equipment.

Expressing your gratitude with an appreciative nod, you determinedly glanced back at the unsolicited scene. Tapping the mic she handed you with practised ease, the noise alerted the cameras to ready themselves. Your following words recited with quaint confidence commanded attention, putting an end to the ungainly lecture. "Mr Iglesias, shall we begin?"

Bunny finally awoke out of his haze, his eyes briefly widening at your discreet intervention before they imperceptibly curved into crescent moons seeing your curious stare on him. "…Please take the lead, Miss Journalist."

"Thank you!"

Fumbling with the notes of questions you always carried in the case of an unforeseen interview much like this one, the words you neatly wrote down left your mouth in flustered stammers. With the way the sunlight decided to blind you now of all times, your eyes scrunched instinctively, the letters becoming a jumbled mess across the wrinkled paper. Dammit, you inwardly cursed your lack of preparation that was now biting you in the rear. It's not like you could switch your position now, not when the cameras were already set to frame and rolling.

And whether Bunny noticed your frenzied state or not, he decided to grant you his mercy with that kind of rare patience again. He watched you quietly as you floundered to collect yourself, your hands unsurely juggling the microphone and your notes whilst they simultaneously tried to shield your dazzled eyes. From pity or something else entirely, he was impulsed to take action.

Heart lurching when he broke eye contact to fiddle with his hair, you questioned the conversation skills you so carefully curated over the years. Was he really that bored? Your internal turmoil coming to an immediate pause when feeling something softly placed atop your head. You blinked once, twice— the sun's glare no longer rendering you sightless with the protruding brim of what you now processed was a cap. Bunny Iglesias's cap! The very same cap with his trademark bunny icon! Oh my God!

With raised brows and widened eyes, you openly gaped at his pity. He tilted his head encouragingly, meeting your awed gaze head on with a confused one of his own — maybe… maybe it wasn't pity but simply a natural instinct that came over him? He's surprisingly endearing when he isn't pissing people off…

Resuming your queries, your interview went much smoother than expected with Bunny's considerate intervention. Conversation flowed effortlessly between the two of you, Bunny nodding along to whatever you had to say and responding adequately to your engaging questions. The occasionally dry jokes he threw in between your exchanges derived laughter from you and your crew, even the originally opposed manager seemed to soften a smidgen, but what really sealed this interview to be the most successful one of all had to be his final farewell.

Just as you reached to return his beloved cap before he could leave, Bunny waved you off with a small smile and instead told you to keep it. You tried to argue out of sheer politeness, but inwardly, you were buzzing with thrill at the sudden turn of events. This was probably worth a fortune! Retiring early didn't seem like an impossible dream anymore!!

"Thank you again, Mr Iglesias!" Your gratitude expressed this time for the prized treasure he decided to bless you with.

"My pleasure." He replied facing the camera with that unsettling grin of his, as if taunting someone he knew would most definitely be watching.

"My pleasure."

'My pleasure' my fucking ass.

The average onlooker may conclude Bunny's words weren't anything out of ordinary, but to the discerning eye, there was meaning hidden behind them.

Displeasure grew on Sae's apathetic face, threading between his furrowed brows and clenched jaw, a stark contrast to his usual nonchalance. Seeing the mischief that adorned the bastard's expression as he stared off into the camera ticked him off, and hearing the jeer that wove itself in Bunny's tone as he discreetly addressed someone in the audience may have been the final straw for Sae. It was glaringly obvious what the guy was trying to do. He's mocking me.

Knuckles turning white, his fists tightened in on themselves above his knees. The towel he'd been using to dry his washed hair long forgotten as he replayed your interview. Droplets of water trickled down the ends of his damp locks, falling and travelling down the expanse of his bare chest — the drool-worthy sight enough to make even a straight man double take.

Resting his chin on his intertwined fingers, elbows digging in his thighs, a thoughtful expression overcame him as his narrowed gaze switched from Bunny's mocking grin to his phone that lay beside him. An edit of your interaction made from a fan with too much time on their hands played on repeat.

It really didn't help that your viewers were shipping you with him either.

Tutting under his breath to expel the irritation that clawed at his throat, he stretched his tense neck side to side, the movement releasing a soft pop that momentarily relieved him. It wasn't just one edit, there were multiple and the comments under them were no better, either squealing over the new and unexpected development or arguing over a damn ship name. Even dudebros who had nothing but horrible power-scaling takes to their name weren't against letting the boat set sail, that was the kind of influence you had on the media.

Witty, self-assured, compassionate, and engaging. The up and coming journalist that seemed to have captured the hearts of the forthcoming generation with pioneering charisma. The rising enigma, Y/n L/n. Your achievements had your rival companies praising your efforts in their headlines! Even Chris Prince, the guy who lived in his (justified) arrogance acknowledged your feats! You were this, and you were all that. But… that was— that was just bullshit!

If you truly were what they described you to be, then what excuse did you have for your avoidance? You've never once approached him, and sure, Sae could give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps you never got the opportunity to interview him by chance like you did with Bunny, but then how come you've never once reached out to him on social media? Wasn't that your whole damn career?

Dammit. It's not fair..!

Sae wasn't as composed as people made him out to be. The years of longing and exclusion as you conversed with everyone else but him eventually took its toll, rendering him unable to withstand the envious urge and the overwhelming desperation that gnawed at him.

You've spoken to Kaiser, Lorenzo, all sorts of players and now Bunny, but you couldn't even make time for him? What kind of journalist were you?

Sae may not have realised it yet, but he was unfortunately falling for Bunny's bait.

Overrun with impulse, his hands moved to reach his phone before his thoughts could finish. Tapping on your name that was already in his search history, he momentarily hesitated, thumb hovering above your profile unsurely. The course of his next actions would be rash, so much so that his manager may drop dead with stress once he was notified of them. Well, when put like that, maybe he shouldn't…

Absentmindedly clenching his phone, he flinched when your enthusiastic voice echoed from his device. Panic tugged at his limbs as his frenzied gaze fell on the screen. What the hell. Much to his relief and mild annoyance, it was only a clip of your earlier interview that played from your story. Must've pressed on it by accident… With a huff, he tapped on the screen repeatedly to avoid seeing and hearing Bunny and his jarring response. The jumpscare that followed next had Sae instinctively throw his phone across the room and reel back with horror.

An abhorrent image— a selfie of you and Bunny doing his trademark hand-sign. His grimy arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you closer to fit in the frame and surely infecting you with his repulsiveness. Sae could tell from the slimy grin on Bunny's face and you- you were grinning, with that stupidly flashy grin of yours, none the wiser to that fool's scheming intentions. Dammit!

He ungainly stood up and stiffly massaged the muscle in his neck he carelessly pulled just earlier. The walk of shame to retrieve his phone that landed- or well was thrown across the room was deafeningly loud. Muscles straining, he crouched down below to the unrecognisable mess that was his device and pursed his lips in rumination.

Well, that's certainly out of use… Humming to himself in ponder, his eyes brightened when his gaze landed on the relic that was hidden in the back of the shelf just in front of him. There, was his old laptop that he could use to notify Girolan of his little situation, and if he was lucky, maybe he could reach out to you through that as well? Yes. It was a genius idea if he said so himself!

You were absolutely shitting yourself.

One moment you were peacefully enjoying your warm shower after the successful interview with Bunny Iglesias. The next? You were cut short from your nightly routines, interrupted by the disturbance of notifications that flooded your phone. Most of them from fans interacting on your recent post with edits, tweets and comments about your new development with Bunny, and some from rival news outlets praising you for another accomplishment.

They weren't anything shocking. Being a journalist that interacted with prominent figures came with these sort of things. You dismissed them as you usually did. Matching someone's energy in hopes to have a fulfilling conversation and acquire information was just part of your job, how others reacted to that was completely out of your control. People may very well interpret your playful persona as romantic chemistry or budding romance, but in the end, you knew best what it truly was.

And you could give a damn about those avaricious companies that reluctantly used your name to make profits. Retelling your conversations to rack in viewers was a bad habit they had, though you payed their behaviour no mind. Whilst they may gain financially from using your name, it was in fact your name that was receiving the limelight. An exchange that weighed heavier on your side. Money they earned in turn for free marketing.

Ignoring those messages was an easy feat for you, but there was one thing you simply couldn't brush past. Something that caught your elusive attention. An email in your inbox that stood out amongst the rest of them. A short, concise, poorly curated email with the absolute shittiest format and no punctuation whatsoever.

A dudebro? You thought at first seeing the extremely childish name of the user.

[email protected]

Seriously?

Cringing at the name with a slight scoff, you debated opening the suspicious email with the subject labelled 'interview open now'. You were aware of the rivalry Itoshi Sae shared with Bunny Iglesias, so perhaps it was one of those power-scaling, Sae glazing dudebros that was throwing a fit at the attention the nemesis was receiving instead?

Eventually though, your curiosity got the better of you. Clicking open the email, you blankly read the contents.

why interview that bastard

interview me instead

email [email protected]

Your finger hovered over the delete button, what kind of bullfuckery was this? But your fingers hesitated when another notification, an email, sounded from your device. This time, however, a professionally formatted email from Girolan Dabadie kindly asking you to invite Itoshi Sae to be a guest on your interview show… Wait a damn minute… THE GIROLAN DABADIE THAT IS SAE'S MANAGER?! So that poorly written email wasn't a nobody... BUT ITOSHI SAE HIMSELF???!

You couldn't refuse something as direct as this… And unable to say no, you were here now, in the finishing process of getting dolled up for your interview.

Heart haywire and mind sleep-deprived, you blankly gaped in the mirror that reflected your concealed gaunt self. The stylists in charge of your appearance had their hands full with work, going as far as chastising you for your lack of sleep that was responsible for your slightly sunken eyes. How the hell were you supposed to get sleep the prior nights when you were scheduled so abruptly to film the next episode of your dating show? YOUR DAMN INTERVIEW-DISGUISED-DATING SHOW WITH ITOSHI SAE OF ALL PEOPLE?

"Y/n, Mr Itoshi has been mic'd up and is waiting for your arrival." You assistant curtly notified you with a small nod, snapping you out of your internal turmoil.

"Right, I'll be out soon." You replied quietly as you gave your appearance a once over.

Clad in high fashion, the fitted suit stuck to your figure like second skin, adorning you with an air of elegance unattainable otherwise. Swallowing down any hesitance that clung to you, you strode out of the dressing room with the kind of confidence that demanded attention.

The echo of your unpractical heels and the clinking of your dainty jewellery alerted the occupants of the room of your presence. Ignoring the awed stare of onlookers, your gaze instead landed on the man you've been having repeated nightmares about.

In all his glory, Itoshi Sae, quite tension in tailored perfection sat in silence, eyes lowered but never truly looking away. Accoutred in haute couture much like yourself, he lifted his head to acknowledge your arrival, the sudden movement tussling the wisps of his short, auburn hair. Posture straightening instinctively, his garment clung to his sculpted form, taught around his broad— dare you say, tense shoulders as his searing gaze intensely raked over your figure.

"Mr Itoshi." You called out clearly, watching as his stare abruptly shot up to meet yours.

"Y/n." He acknowledged, his fiddling coming to an end.

A stoic response much like himself, you thought. It was why you gave up on interviewing him entirely, avoiding him seemed like it'd do you better much better than even trying to converse with him. What the hell were you supposed to make of his one word answers? Sure, you were proficient in communication, you took pride in your skills. But this, this was just another degree of difficulty. Or so you thought. The man's strange email had you thinking otherwise, and now, his next words had not just you, but the whole crew gaping with befuddlement.

"You kept me waiting. I thought I was about to be stood up by my first date."

Oh. Well shit.

"What's.. poppin'?" You drawled out with an awkward grin, nervously glancing at the man that sat casually before you.

Sae hummed, lips pursuing and eyes narrowing down at you before he sarcastically commented. "Great start."

"As if you're any better, Mr Itoshi." You were quick to clap back at him, mildly offended at his audacity. He really had no right to speak on your social skills. Just look at him, face turned to the side as he petulantly sulked and ignored you. "Mr Itoshi?"

"Sae. Itoshi's too confusing." He corrected you coolly as he indirectly referenced his younger brother. "Plus..."

"Yes?" You encouraged, hanging on to whatever he had to say. It really wasn't often that you could hear anything from the athlete that guarded himself with an armour made of apathy. If it meant you had to spur him on like a child, then so be it.

"We're not strangers." Seeing the confused expression you sported, he clarified with quiet confidence. "Since you're my date."

"Oh." You owlishly blinked at his words, stunned with his impudence. "S'that so?"

"Yep." He muttered, gaze not leaving your perplexed expression. "So get to know me, cariño."

"Right..." You mumbled under your breath, taken aback with the sudden term of endearment. Itoshi Sae truly was taking this interview-disguised-date seriously, wasn't he? Well, if he was cooperating, then you should take advantage of this situation, no? Your thoughts fell back to his email address, number one striker. The curiosity that overwhelmed you when you read it had still yet to be sated… but bringing up his email in front of everyone present here wouldn't do his public image any good. Not that it was anything great to begin with, nonetheless, the scandal would ultimately effect your image too. "If you could play any other position besides midfield, what would you be?"

"Your boyfriend." He admitted straightforwardly, chin resting on his palm as he jadedly watched you.

"W-What?" Gobsmacked, your voice stammered uncharacteristically hearing his blunt response.

"Not satisfied?" Sae asked rhetorically, misreading your flustered response for dissatisfaction, the thought eliciting him to straighten his relaxed posture. The hand that was holding his head upright silently beckoned yours over. And you, not wanting to leave him hanging and embarrass him, placed yours atop his much larger and warmer ones. "I can be your husband if you crave bigger commitment."

And if his comment wasn't bad enough, he just had to place a soft, lingering peck over your knuckles. A squeal got caught in your throat as they briefly twitched in his hold, urging him to gently brush his trembling thumb over your burning knuckles. "…Your hands are shaking, Sae." You whispered with unusual timidness.

"Are they?" Sandwiching your hand with his other one, your lashes fluttered with disbelief when he smoothly slipped on a poorly made paper band over your empty ring finger. He was fiddling with something earlier, was it this the whole time? "Well, what kind of husband doesn't get nervous when he weds his wife?"

"Oh my God." Your ears heated up as his words echoed in your head, rendering you at a loss for words. First date? Yeah, he was lying straight to your face. Collecting yourself proved to be a harder task than you initially thought, especially when he wasn't letting go of your hand. "Erm, you're still holding my hand..."

Sae's gaze fell to your hand that was carefully held in his before they shifted back to your shrinking countenance, the sight amusing him thoroughly. "Is there a problem with a husband holding his wife's hand?"

"There is a problem." You grumbled with a frown, unaware of the unpleasant pang that crawled up his spine. Seeing his brow shoot up in question at your response prompted you to expand further. "Because you're not eating."

He blinked at your endearing response, not expecting your reasoning to come from a place of concern. The initial irritation that plagued him vanished so pathetically quick at your clarification. "No, there's no problem. I don't eat french fries so I'll carry on holding my wife's hand."

"What?" You whined, taking offence when he refused to eat the fries you payed for out of your own pocket. How ungrateful! Biting your bottom lip with frustration, you pondered over a way to get him to eat the soggy fries. Right, if he was so insistent on acting like a married couple, then he must know the rule that was an absolute must for a happy marriage. "Even though your wife so kindly payed for it?"

Silence greeted you, and unable to handle the suspense that stretched in the deafening noise, you furtively peeked to see his reaction. Eyes blown wide, he gawked at you like a gaping fish. And before you could cheer at your success, his following words nearly made you bang your head on the table. "You payed for it?"

"That's what I said I did." Your lips stretched into a tight line, tired from dealing with his doubtful nature.

"Are you broke?"

"…."

Groaning at his candid remark, you tried not to let his frankness effect you despite its difficulty. Perhaps you had to abandon monetary approach and instead convince him from a sentimental point of view? Batting your lashes obnoxiously in hopes to coax him with your pathetic attempt at puppy eyes, your voice lilted with faux hopefulness. "My husband, would you not cheat on your diet for your wife?"

"Nope, that would cost me my whole soccer career." And then I wouldn't be able to spoil you. He refused you again, finding cruel amusement in your pout.

"Football." You corrected despite being wrapped up in displeasure.

"..Soccer."

"It's football, Sae." You spat with irritation, surprisingly persistent despite your disappointment.

Flinching when your voice cracked with fury, he tried to remain headstrong, but hearing the sweetness of your tone vanish and be replaced with unpleasant harshness disturbed him. "Football." Sae yielded pathetically under the pressure of being called by his given name instead of your endearment. And then seeing the sour look on your face remain, he was quick to come up with a compromise. "But… I suppose I wouldn't be able to refuse my wife if she were to feed me with her hand."

Was this guy being seriously serious right now? Brows raising at his shamelessness, you openly gaped seeing his unshaken expression. Clearly, he didn't find anything wrong with his words, then again, this was a dating show… and he was in fact doing a better job at this than you were. Biting back any words of complaint that clawed at your throat to avoid embarrassing him, you sighed in defeat when his grip didn't budge from your hand. Averting your gaze from him, you held out a fry in his general direction with your unoccupied hand, visibly abashed with the turn of events. Dammit, he's so unfair—

"You're avoiding me again, Y/n." Squeezing your hand unintentionally, the cold feeling of his bracelets snapped you out of your fluster.

A chill crawled up your sign hearing his voice lower in octaves as he called you by your given name. No longer that stupid role he assigned to you without your permission. Head whipping to face him, you flinched under the pressure of his downcast scrutiny. The sight of his frustrated scowl along with the visible vulnerability in his expressive eyes rendered you speechless. An uncomfortable sensation curled in your stomach as his displeased words hung heavily in the tense air, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Ah— All those times you avoided him, after every match he played in and on the media. All those times you spent dodging his lingering stare as you laughed and conversed with Luna, slipping past his ghost-like nature with the meticulous caution of spy. You didn't even consider him an afterthought, did you? All because you feared being the subject of his bluntness. All because you feared failing to crack the hard walls that were his protection against the world's cruelty.

And Sae, an outsider to a foreign country whose language he lacked fluency in, whose whole existence was a burden to the nation he resided in, Sae, an alien who doesn't quite have a place to call home yet— was it really surprising when he misinterpreted your aversion for discrimination? Rotting in his solitude, his only comfort against your agonising silence was his interlocked wristbands. One black, one white— the symbol of anti-racism loosely wrapped itself around his wrist.

Heart stuttering with all-consuming shame, your hand in his hold quivered with guilt. Unconsciously squeezing his hand in silent remorse, you stammered. "I.. I didn't mean it like that, Sae…"

"I know." Licking his drying lips, he responded to your quiet apology by tenderly caressing your shaking hand. Eyes soft, he reassured you in the way he knew best. "I know, so don't hide from me, yeah?"

"Promise." You vowed with reverence, maintaining eye contact despite the heat that burnt your neck, "Your eyes are just so pretty... I get nervous, y'know?"

"You think my eyes are pretty?" The corners of his lips twitched against his will, not quite a smile, no, but it was definitely something.

"The prettiest." Bewitched by the brilliance of his eyes that reflected the ocean's beauty, you whispered with marvel, mindlessly dipping a fry in the pool of sauce on your plate.

"Hm." He hummed deeply, quite pleased with your revered response that urged him to continue. "They're a dominant gene in my bloodline, so my kids will probably have them."

"Oh?" Brows shooting up briefly at his unrelated comment, you mentally chided yourself for drawing conclusions early. One word answers, you thought. And yet, here Sae was, sat in front of you in his supposed stoicism and apparently comfortable enough to talk to you about his fucking ancestry of all things. Yeah, one word answers my fucking ass. Leaning forward to lessen the distance between you, you held out a fry for him to eat. "Ah, now that I think about it, I did hear from Luna that you want eleven kids, is that right?"

"Sure, I'm quite fond of them." Shrugging carelessly, he preened under your attentive care and immediately sat up to eat the fry you so kindly offered him.

"You didn't want to check with me first?" Biting your wobbling lips to hold back the grin that threatened to surface, you let out an amused exhale seeing his eyes widen, your efforts unfortunately in vain for the smirk slipped out anyway.

"Ahe-!" A choked noise sounded from him.

The abrupt cough froze you with momentary fear. You snapped out of it when his grip on your hand tightened with desperation. Ah-! With celerity, your unoccupied hand flew to the bottled water that was just within arms reach. Uncapping it with your teeth, you carefully bought it over to his mouth, prompting him to take a sip of the water.

"Fuck, that was dry." He cursed, brows pinched as he processed his near death experience. If it weren't for your quick thinking he might've just met his pitiful demise, but then again, it was your comment that stunned him to begin with. Sae nudged at the napkins on the tables, hoping you'd dab at the water that dribbled down his chin, but when you remained still, he finally looked to see your semi-guilty expression. "Wife?"

"Sorry, I accidentally gave you my bottle…" You subconsciously avoided his gaze again, and this time it only pissed him off.

"Are you seriously repulsed with a husband exchanging saliva with his wife?" He sneered, brows furrowed so impossibly close together you thought they may fuse. Seeing you ardently shake your head in disagreement to his question quelled his anger. He pointed to the napkin with his chin and continued your previous conversation. "You don't want your own football team?"

You grabbed the tissue with your free hand and dabbed away at the wetness, heat pooling in your stomach when his hot breath marred your skin with goosebumps. "I don't want eleven kids."

Pleased with your ministrations, he hummed in content before shaking his head at your disproval. "You'll change your mind in the heat of the moment."

"The heat of the moment?" You asked with a raised brow, confused to where this was supposed to go.

"The heat of the moment during night activities. Y'know, when a man and woman are overrun with desire and make impulsive decisions?" He explained, talking you through it with an amused glint in his eyes. "Want a demonstration?"

"No thanks." You quickly shut him down, was there anything else that needed to be said to understand what he was trying to imply? Instead, you changed the subject with another trivial question, or so you thought. "Anyways, cold showers or hot showers?"

"Cold showers." Replying bluntly, he didn't take any offence to your harsh refusal.

"What?" Face scrunching up with judgment, you tried to explain the wrongness of his answer with exaggerated hand gestures. "But cold showers are like—"

"Cold?" He finished for you when you struggled to formulate the correct word. "No issues, my wife will warm me up just fine."

"Ugh." Groaning at his smoothness, you fed him another fry heavily quenched with condiments as you tried to come up with a question that would prompt a normal response out of him. "What do you do for luck before a game?"

"Think about stuff, like what I want to eat if I win and just get football out of my mind for a bit."

"Am I one of those thoughts, husband?" Wiggling your brows teasingly, you obnoxiously puckered up your lips.

"Indeed you are, wife." He nodded with closed eyes, thoroughly entertained with your ridiculous antics.

"What's your favourite side dish?" You asked curiously as you watched him eat another fry off your hand with that strange cheerfulness. He seemed so adamant on not eating them at first, but here he was, thoroughly enjoying them like they were some kind of Michelin delicacy.

"Salted seaweed." He replied without any kind of double meaning. Eyes curving in mischief, Sae waited for you to fall for the bait he casually set up.

Wait.. this was a perfect opportunity to win one over him! "Not me?" Pointing at yourself with your thumb, you jutted out your bottom lip and pouted with faux sadness.

Sae chewed on his twitching lip, you were so damn easy to flirt with. "You are the main dish, my wife."

"Okay!" You cheered sarcastically, bringing your free hand to cover the big grin on your face. Throughout your interaction, his hand still had yet to leave yours, the thought of that alone burned your cheeks hot with fever.

"What else you got for me, my wife?" It was so hard to hold back a grin when his words clearly had a big effect on you. Tilting his head to the side with disguised mockery, Sae observed you, completely and utterly endeared with you.

"Hmm, Shidou once told me that you have a certain hidden talent." After some contemplation, the conversation you shared with the eccentric player popped up in your head. He never outright told you what the secret was, and to this very day, the curiosity ate at your sanity.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly, building up anticipation with a bated pause. The action urging you lean closer with expectancy to hear what he had to say. "I can tell how athletic someone is by looking at their butt."

"S'that so?" Drawling out with a feigned thoughtful expression, you deadpanned at his top-secret-ability. Seriously? You already knew the level of your athleticism, but it wouldn't hurt to test the accuracy of his talent, right? "Am I athletic?"

"Get up." Eyes darkened with primal desire, the imperative left him before he could control himself.

"Huh—" Your confusion was cut short when you felt him tug at your hand. "Wait, what?"

"I said ge—" He tried to repeat only to be interrupted by your frantic self.

"No, I heard." Your hand clenched tight around his, hoping the action would quell his urgency. You tried to object to his request, but the gesture betrayed you. "But I don't stand up on this show!"

Tutting under his breath, he turned to face the cameras that were the primary cause of your refusal. "…So you would stand up if there’s no show?"

"That’s not what I meant!"

taglist: @hanabiszk @realrintaro @luvmaples @heejakeswifeyyy @kimiiyoru @vaelils @andysdrafts @mayurin17 @dontlickmyfeetplz @magicness @vampy11x @akatuenk @littoji

[aur0raaaa]

Eye contact - Sae Itoshi

Synopsis. Besides your ass, Sae Itoshi has an obsession with eye contact. Fem reader. P in v. Ruined orgasm. Overstim. Edging. Praise. Dirty talk.

18+

“You look so pretty. Look at me.” Sae says, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It was a stark contrast to the way his cock was roughly slamming into you. You were sinking further and further into subspace at his praise, lost in your own little world of pleasure. He was so thick and the stretch was so good you couldn’t think of anything but the feeling of him stuffing you full with every thrust. Your eyes were glossed over, your unfocused vision blurry. But Sae grabbed your chin, lightly guiding you to meet his gaze.

“Baby, I said look at me.” He murmured, his face slightly flushed from how pussy drunk he was getting. Though he was very good at keeping his composure. You let out a little whine at his relentless thrusts, now combined with his unblinking gaze boring into you, you were going to come any minute.

“See? There you go. Fuck, I love watching you fall apart like this.” He said, cerulean eyes hungry and intense. It was short lived though, as soon as his thumb landed on your clit your back arched as you looked away, moaning loudly. “Sae! It’s too mmh much!” God he was crazy. Your whole body was on fire with blinding pleasure, how were you supposed to focus on keeping eye contact?

“If you look away I’ll stop.” Sae said, bringing his free hand to your chin. Your legs were starting to shake, you were ridiculously close to coming. You groaned, part in frustration part because you just felt so good, and closed your eyes. He halted his movements immediately.

Your whine sounded awfully desperate. “Cmon Sae please! I was so close. Please let me come.” Your pussy was clenching around his thick length, feigning for friction again. Sae gave you a mean smile.

“Well then don’t close your eyes next time.” He said, slamming into you now that your eyes were on his again. You let out a high pitched moan, hands clawing the sheets hard, it took everything in you to not look away. Although the eye contact was just turning you on even more. His eyes were boring straight into yours, his pupils blown wide, as they sucked up every reaction your body made. It was impossible. You wanted to squirm, to unfocus your eyes, to furrow your brows and focus on how good it felt to be this full of him. Instead, you were just taking it and staring right at him. You didn’t get the relief of shifting your eyes around or leveraging the pleasure by throwing your head back, you had to control yourself.

His eyes narrowed as the corner of his lip tipped up. “Yeah, you’re doing so good. Almost there. I know you can do it baby.” He didn’t blink. It almost felt like your souls were intertwining. Your brain was beginning to go fuzzy. The knot in your stomach was seconds from unraveling.

“Sae, god, I’m so close. I’m gonna come, please—

He smirked, angled his hips up, and hit that spot inside you he knew made you a mess.

Your eyes rolled back automatically, body melting into the mattress. But right as you tipped over the edge, he stopped.

An underwhelming sensation washed over you. You came, but you didn’t. Your pussy was spasming as if you had an orgasm, your body becoming hyper sensitive, but you didn’t get the euphoric relief at all. Your eyes began watering as you looked up at Sae confused and deeply frustrated.

He merely looked down at you, amused. “It’s called a ruined orgasm.”

You whined. Despite your body being thoroughly spent, you didn’t get a lick of pleasure. Your mind was completely unsatisfied, as horny as you were 20 seconds ago. “I actually hate you.”

He cocked his head. “Careful what you say to me, sweetheart. Maybe if you’re a good girl and follow instructions, I’ll give you a real one this time.”

You didn’t register the ‘this time’ until he was slipping back inside your overly sensitive hole.

“That’s if you don’t look away, though.” He smirked.