✩ a/n — mind you, the only canon thing in this is his type 😭
✩ word count — 500
✩ content — enjin x fem! reader, curvy! reader (not explicit but yeah), unforgiving! reader, enjin is whipped, slightly suggestive? (like one small part) , not proofread, probably ooc
✩ synopsis — You were Enjin's type to almost a tee—hot as hell, sharp as a blade, curves that made his brain short-circuit, and just naughty enough to make him dream about you nightly—but forgiving? You were not.
── .✦ make you want all of her love
Enjin knew he had a type.
Hot. Smarter than him. Nice curves. A little naughty. Very forgiving.
Really, the forgiving part was the biggest thing for a man like him.
“I’ve got a huge thing for women who let me get away with being me.”
And that?
That’s where you broke the mold.
Because you were all the rest of it—hot as hell, sharp as a blade, curves that made his brain short-circuit, and just naughty enough to make him dream about you nightly—but forgiving?
You were not.
You didn’t let things slide. You didn’t accept half-baked apologies or lazy excuses. Enjin messes up? He hears about it. He pulls some reckless stunt and gets himself injured without telling you?
You go radio silent. Walk out of the room when he enters. Let him spiral.
You were not what he said he wanted.
And yet—he wanted you more than he’d wanted anyone in his damn life.
The first time you made him beg, it rewired something in his brain.
He’d messed up. Bad. Took a job without backup, got hurt, didn’t call. Chaos that isn’t expected from someone like him.
But when he limped in the next morning, grinning like a proud idiot?
You didn’t scold. You didn’t scream. You walked away.
And kept doing it. For days.
Enjin tried everything.
Cracked jokes.
Sat next to you.
Offered to carry your stuff.
Showed up in your space like a stray mutt, full of desperation and charm.
Nothing worked.
Until finally, he showed up to your door.
No flowers. No snacks.
Just him—shirtless, sweaty, stupidly beautiful—and genuinely scared.
“…You hate me?” he asked.
You didn’t even glance up from your seat. “No.”
He brightened. “Okay, cool, so you don’t—”
“I’m just deeply unimpressed.”
Deadpan. Cold. Brutal.
He nearly whimpered. “Okay. Damn. Look—what do I have to do?”
You closed your book slowly and looked him over. That stupid blue hair, those wild eyes, that body you hated loving.
“Nothing,” you said. “I don’t forgive just because someone begs.”
He blinked. “But I’m begging.”
You tilted your head. “Try harder.”
After that, it became a dance.
He’d do something reckless. Say something outrageous. You’d glare, roll your eyes, ignore him for hours.
And he’d fall deeper every time.
Because you weren’t the kind of woman who coddled.
You didn’t smooth his rough edges.
You made him sharpen up.
You made him work.
And when you did forgive him—when you finally gave in, pulled him down by the collar and kissed him breathless?
It felt like winning the lottery.
“Y’know,” he muttered one night, face buried in your chest, “you’re totally not my type.”
You hummed. “Then leave.”
He clung to you tighter. “Shut up. You ruined every girl after. I like my women hot and forgiving—and you’re just hot.”
You grinned. “Poor baby.”
He looked up at you, love-drunk and smug. “Still. I’d rather beg you for the rest of my life than be loved easy by anyone else.”
♡ a/n — i just love the tiktok trend so :) ( was going to attach a link to a tiktok showing what i was talking abt but it wouldn't work. just look up sniper sniper sniper wifey wifey marines and you'll see what i meant :) )
♡ content — all characters are 18+ !!, mentions of tiktok & instagram, slight cursing, tbh bad writing, nicknames like 'love' , 'wifey' , and 'my girl' used, probably ooc characters
♡ synopsis — blue lock boys showing off their girlfriend :)
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' oh that's your wifey ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...tiktok maker
if there was anyone you would really and truly call chronically online, it would be him. every day he'd come to you with some new word he learned from tiktok, or a meme that would plague your house for weeks until it went away.
so when he pulled out his phone to show you a video, you weren't expecting it to be a couples trend.
" please, please, pleaseee, love? you'd look so cute in my arms like that ! " and he had just won a big game...how could you say no to him?
so here you were, being carried like a bride in your lovely boyfriend's arms. if it were anyone else, you'd be too worried about how long they could hold you, but since it was him you didn't worry.
it took a few tries, each of you messing up a part at least once and you accidentally dropping the phone a few times, but after you figured it out, the video was practically perfect.
they posted it to their public tiktok account with the caption
' not my wifey yet, but soon ;) '
and to say all the notifications were making his phone glitch would be an understatement.
wrong of him to want to post these pictures the two of you had taken on your date to the aquarium?
if he were any other, normal, person this wouldn't have seemed like a big deal, but since he had at least a million followers and some were a bit more obsessed than others, it was.
you'd told him multiple times that you were okay with him posting you, really if he was happy, you were happy. maybe it was the egoist in him, but he wanted to keep you to himself.
fuck it.
if you wanted to be posted, he was going to post you. who cared what anyone else thought? their opinions didn't mean anything to him.
he selected a few of the pictures the two of you had taken at the aquarium, sneaking one of a lipstick stain on his neck in the middle of the slides.
if he was going to announce his relationship to the public, why not let the world know how utterly whipped he was for you?
the ever illusive pro soccer player. that's what every press agency called your boyfriend.
his ability to somehow dodge any paparazzi and answer very short questions during press conferences made every view into his personal life shine like gold.
based on an instagram story ( that was taken down in less than 10 minutes ) where a picture of him with his arms around a woman in a bathroom mirror, the media could assume he was in a relationship. in that photo, however, the woman's face was not visible, so the questioned still remained...
what woman could capture this mans heart?
he hadn't cared, not really. a photo was nothing to him, but you were everything. he tried really hard to keep your identity private, he didn't want you to be absorbed into a world of cameras always in your face.
but after he made the game winning goal of a very important game...all he wanted to do was see you.
maybe it was the way he could see you in the section you'd always sat, or maybe it was his ego wanting to tell everyone "yeah i'm the best soccer player, and yeah i have the best girl, what about it?"
as all of the adoring fans rushed the field, including you, he just wanted to see you. he knew, realistically, he should just go back to the locker room and come meet you afterwards like he usually did, but not today.
he shrugged off ever reporter and fan that wanted to talk to him, which was nothing new, but instead of leaving to the locker room, they watched as he walked over to you
he knew all eyes were on him, the world still watching...but he couldn't find it in himself to care. he wrapped his arms around your waist
" made that goal for you, ya know? "
you were a little surprised at his appearance, but if he didn't care neither than you.
♡ a/n — been MIA for so long i wanted to write something small ans cute :)
♡ word count — 1k
♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x gn! reader, sae itoshi x gn! reader, alexis ness x gn! reader, rin itoshi x gn! reader, all characters are 18+, just cutieness , engagement (yukimiya), childhood lovers (sae), nickname 'love' used (ness),
♡ synopsis — some bllk boys (yukimiya, sae, ness, rin) and what their phone lock screen is :)
⊹｡° yukimiya kenyu
out of all the boys, yukimiya kenyu is the one most likely to have the cutest picture of the two of you as his background.
everyone gets sick of him bragging about your relationship, just how perfect you are, how sickly sweet you are to him.
yukimiya changes his lock screen every week, and of course he has to show them off to his team.
most of the time, it's a picture of you two holding hands- or you two in matching outfits that yuki had chosen himself.
everyone on his team had gotten tired of him showing off his perfect life and amazing relationship.
while, if you held down long enough, yukimiya's options for a lock screen weren't limited.
one was of you sitting across from him at dinner- a win glass in front of you as you gave him a smile. 'because you look like a dream in this' he'd told you when you asked why that one was his new lock screen of the week.
another of you asleep on his shoulder, a clear patch of drool showing in the picture. 'i wanna wake up to this every morning' he'd justified.
and this weeks lock screen, hm? well, it's his personal favorite.
a photo of you jumping on yukimiya while the two of you are dressed in another set of matching outfits. to anyone else, this may just look like his average screen saver.
but to him, and anyone who looks hard enough, the shiny new ring on your left hand ring finger is a clear sign; yukimiya finally asked you to marry him.
this one wouldn't be changed for a while.
not until he saw you in your wedding outfit.
⊹｡° sae itoshi
everyone of his nosey fans always wonders...what is sae itoshi's lock screen? flashes of it had been shown at press interviews, but no one could figure out what it was.
for a week on social media, fangirls (and guys) were stopping interviews for the tiniest glimpse at his phone. eventually, after coming to the assumption that he was a bland man who simply left it on the default lock screen, the internet calmed down.
and was sae a calm man who usually didn't change things that were fine as is? yes.
but what no one knew, what no one would ever find out, is that sae itoshi had a secret life- one secret from the press and internet- only for him to have and hold.
you.
you had been his girlfriend since he was 14, yet he refused to let the world and its nosiness ruin a perfect thing.
he was careless during the singular press interview, his phone in view- he was just lucky that the quality wasn't the best because then everyone in the world would know; sae itoshi was utterly whipped.
his lock screen, you ask? it's the only one he has set- and he'll never change it.
it's a simple picture of you on the balcony of your shared home, the sunset illuminating you perfectly as you looked over your shoulder at him with the most stunning smile on your face.
sae itoshi wouldn't let the world ruin that smile.
ever.
⊹｡° alexis ness
for the first year you were dating ness, his lock screen was a picture of him and kaiser in their uniforms- their last names stretched across their backs.
was this insane to you? yes. but you knew how much kaiser had changed ness' passion and love for soccer, and that's all you could be grateful for.
so when you grabbed ness' phone one morning to change the playlist while the two of you made breakfast and saw that he changed the background? you almost cried.
was it silly to be so emotional over? sure. but you knew how much kaiser meant to ness- he possibly loved him more than you (joking) (no i'm not)
the picture was so cute and innocent- the lock screen now a picture of you in a magicians get-up with cards in your hand.
you'd done it for ness' birthday, for his love of magic- you'd learned to do a few card tricks and he laughed at you as you tried ( and failed ) to shuffle- the cards flying everywhere.
when he realized the music hadn't changed , ness looked back at you - his pink apron wrapped around him, "everything okay, love?"
yeah.
everything was perfect.
⊹｡° rin itoshi
refused to change his lock screen when you started dating.
he was perfectly fine with the default one, why should be have to change his phone set-up just to prove his love?
in his mind, that was silly.
he loved you more than (almost) anything, except soccer.
let's be serious soccer was a very close second when it came to you, but rin would never admit that- his dream of becoming the best striker and his ego too high to say that.
he didn't understand why people needed their significant other on their lock screen. they'd see them everyday, was one picture really that important?
he thought that until he walked into your shared bedroom one day after a long day and a hard fought win against Manshine City.
all he wanted to do was take a shower, eat dinner, and lay down with you.
then he saw you, curled up on the bed wearing his jersey.
he told you not to wait up for him. you couldn't attend the game in person due to work, but he didn't mind. you were with him always.
but seeing you, fast asleep with his last name on your back- he finally understood.
he could look at this scene for hours.
he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and quickly snapped a picture before he slipped into bed next to you.
he suddenly didn't need a shower and he wasn't hungry.
he just wanted to be near you.
when you woke up the next morning while rin was on his morning run, you grabbed his phone to check the time
your sleeping face met your gaze, and a smile that probably looked so goofy spread across your face.
rin had never seen the point of changing his lock screen
until he saw you with his name on your figure.
suddenly he wanted to give you that last name for the two of you to share.
✩ a/n — is this ooc? idk (im on like chapter 34 pls don't beat me) anyway! made him a silly goober
✩ word count — 1.5k
✩ content — zanka nijiku (is it nijiku or nijik? i've seen both and im going crazy) x reader , could be gn! but just to be safe i said fem!, fluff, one argument, zanka being so overprotective, he knows every little part of you, not proofread, and again- i'm not caught up with the manga so i'm sorry if anything seems off!
✩ synopsis — You know that even in the dark, Zanka’s already seen you coming. And it makes you unbelievably happy.
── .✦ exit light. enter night.
There’s a rhythm to how Zanka moves—quick, sharp, reactive.
You’ve watched him with Lovely Assistaff enough to know that it’s more than just a weapon to him. It’s an extension of his body, an instinct, something so close to him he doesn’t have to think twice before acting.
And somewhere along the line… you became that, too.
It’s not something either of you talked about.
It’s not like he sat you down and said, “Hey, I’m going to memorize everything about you now.” No—he just did.
The same way he taught his body to respond to every microshift in Assistaff’s weight, he tuned himself to you—your steps, your sounds, your moods. It’s just Zanka being Zanka.
You didn’t even realize how far it went until the third time he caught you before you even started falling.
You’d only been walking beside him on a quiet street, chatting about the new recruits when the heel of your boot snagged on a crack in the sidewalk. You didn’t even have time to gasp before his arm was around your waist, hand catching your other arm in the exact place where the bruise from last week hadn’t faded yet.
“Careful,” he muttered, almost like a scold—but his touch was gentle, thumb rubbing small circles into your waist like it was second nature.
You blinked up at him. “Wait— did you know I was about to trip?”
Zanka looked at you, confused. “You always do that thing with your left foot first.”
“What thing?”
“You roll your ankle a bit when you're tired…Your balance is off.”
You stared at him. “…You memorized the way I fall?”
He gave you a one-shoulder shrug and looked away, pretending to fiddle with the strap of his weapon. “S’nothing special. Just paying attention.”
You grinned. “That’s so cute.”
Zanka made a face like you’d slapped him with a compliment. “I’m not cute.”
“You are, though. You’re so strong and observant and–”
“Stop,” he groaned, ears already turning pink. He dropped his head forward, hair falling to hide his face. “You always do this.”
“Do what?” you asked, barely suppressing your giggle. “Tell you the truth?”
“You say stuff like that and it…messes with my brain,” he muttered, half-hiding behind you now.
You leaned back into him, smug. “Aww. But it’s true. You’re amazing, Zanka.”
He made a noise that was half-choke, half-groan.
It only got worse when you got sick.
You didn’t even know you were sick, not really. Your throat felt a little dry, sure. You were maybe a little lightheaded. But that could’ve been anything, right?
Zanka didn’t say a word at first. He just watched you.
You’d been in the kitchen, trying to pour yourself a glass of water, when he appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowed.
“You’ve got a fever,” he said.
You looked up from the glass. “What?”
“Your body’s dragging. Your steps are off.”
“…Zanka. I literally just walked into the room.”
He stepped forward, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead before you could argue. “Yeah. And you didn’t say ‘hi’ the way you normally do. Voice is raspier, too.”
You stared up at him, stunned. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Long enough to know you’ve got a cold and you’re trying to pretend you don’t.”
You blinked. “Zanka—are you studying me?”
He didn’t answer at first. But his ears went red.
You gasped. “You are!”
Zanka fidgeted, clearing his throat. “You’re important,” he said quietly. “Can’t protect something I don’t understand.”
You melted.
Even when you two fought, he knew you like the back of his hand.
You’d gone out on patrol alone. Nothing unusual. Just a regular assignment, a quick loop around the district.
You were capable, competent, had been doing this for months now.
But when Zanka found out you didn’t wait for backup?
When he caught wind that you didn’t call in before heading into one of the northern zones alone?
Yeah. That’s when it started.
“You should’ve told me,” he snapped, arms crossed, eyes sharp with something halfway between anger and worry. “You went in without a check-in? Do you know how dumb that was?”
You bristled, squaring your shoulders. “I’m not a rookie, Zanka. I handled it.”
“That’s not the point,” he shot back, stepping closer. “It’s not about whether you could handle it—it’s about what could’ve gone wrong.”
You hated when he got like this. Protective. Sharp-edged. Not cruel, but just pointed enough to make your chest tighten.
“I’m not made of glass,” you said, chin lifting. “You don’t have to track my every move.”
“I do when you don’t think twice about putting yourself in danger!”
The words were clipped. Too sharp. His voice didn’t raise—but it cut.
You flinched, just barely.
Your fingers curled in toward your palms, picking at the skin near your nails—a habit he knew all too well.
Your breathing hitched, so quietly it was almost imperceptible.
Almost.
But Zanka wasn’t just anyone.
His gaze didn’t stay on your face—his eyes dropped to your hands.
Saw the twitch of your fingertips. The slight tremble in your jaw. The way your breath shivered, like you were still trying to look furious, even when you were breaking down from the inside.
You blinked too slowly.
He saw it.
He felt it.
He was in motion before his thoughts could catch up, stepping in close, calloused fingers curling beneath your chin like he was afraid to touch too fast.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice instantly softer, the edges gone. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not—” Your voice cracked halfway through the word, shaky and raw.
“But you’re about to,” he whispered.
His thumb swept just beneath your eye, even though no tears had fallen yet. Like he was already preparing to catch them.
His other hand found your waist, grounding you, holding you steady in that way only he could. You felt the warmth of his palm against your skin, solid and safe.
“I didn’t mean to yell,” he said quietly, forehead dipping toward yours. “I just… I got scared. I don’t care about the mission. I care about you.”
You exhaled, a tiny, shuddering sound that barely made it past your lips.
“I didn’t think it’d upset you like that,” you mumbled, throat tight. “I thought I was being smart. I just—I wanted to help.”
Zanka sighed through his nose, and his arms slid fully around you. “You are smart,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re the smartest person I know. But even smart people make dumb calls sometimes, and that doesn’t mean I love you less. It just means I want you to come back to me. Every time.”
Your fingers bunched into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and he meant it.
He pulled back just enough to cup your face again, studying you like he could feel every muscle twitch beneath your skin. “I knew,” he said softly.
“Knew what?”
“That you were gonna cry. Before you even did.” His thumb traced your cheekbone, almost reverent.
You blinked up at him, eyes still glassy. “You always know.”
Zanka doesn’t like talking about feelings. He shows them.
In how he shifts you to the inside of the road without a word. How he makes sure you eat when you forget. How he always has a spare hair tie in his pocket even though he swears he doesn’t remember how it got there.
But the second you open your mouth and tell him what he means to you—what you see in him—he goes rigid, like a wire pulled too tight.
“You’re brilliant, you know that?” you say one day, after watching him train. “Like, seriously. The way you move is insane.”
Zanka’s panting, sweat clinging to his collarbone, but the second you say it, his eyes dart to the ground like it’s suddenly very interesting.
“You’re like… the best there is.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, face redder than it should be. “I’m not.”
“You are,” you insist, grinning. “The best with Assistaff. The strongest. And the best boyfriend.”
“Stop,” he groans again, tossing his head back, exasperated—but smiling.
You just laugh, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him close.
And even if he’s still sputtering, still red-eared and overwhelmed, his hands find your waist again without missing a beat—like he’s done it a thousand times, like he’ll do it a thousand more.
He never says “I’ve memorized you.” He never has to.
He shows it in the way he catches your wrist when you go to reach for something hot.
In the way he always leans just slightly forward when you're cold, like he’s positioning himself between you and the wind.
In how he shifts his grip on your hand when you’re nervous—rubbing the back of your knuckles just how you like.
And one night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you hear him mumble it.
“Got you,” he whispers against your temple. “Always got you.”
You smile to yourself and press closer, knowing that even in the dark, Zanka’s already seen you coming.
✩ a/n — this came to me while watching true crime shows, idk how, don't ask.
✩ word count — 1k
✩ content — sae itoshi x fem! reader, fluff, secret relationship, mention of engagement/marriage, online hate, BUT ALSO- online love, sae my fake nonchalant king, we only accept princess treatment over here, not proofread
✩ synopsis — Sae Itoshi is a cruel man. Except when he’s yours. And that makes all the difference.
The man who turned his back on everything that didn’t serve his goal.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t talk much.
He didn’t date—according to interviews, the topic of romance had never been relevant enough to mention.
On the pitch, he was ruthless. In post-game conferences, even worse.
His fans loved him for it. Idolized the mystery. They called him untouchable.
So imagine their collective hysteria when, on a sleepy Thursday morning, there was something posted on his Instagram story.
A simple image: him, very much asleep, messy hair half-tucked into a pillow, one arm stretched out toward the side of the bed.
But the real focus was the girl next to him.
Wide awake. Grinning. Throwing up a peace sign like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Her cheeks squished slightly into the pillow, lips curled in the kind of happiness people could feel through the screen.
The internet broke in seconds.
User1326: WHO IS SHE??
Anonsoccer: Does she have blackmail on him??
iluvsaeitoshi: Sae Itoshi has a girlfriend?? No. Not possible.
urfavdetective: Is that even his account? Did she hack it??
soccerfreak: Blink twice if you’re in danger, Sae.
devourmeisagi: He’s being held hostage
Within the hour, there were video theories, Twitter threads, even dramatic re-edits with melancholic music and captions like ‘he used to be heartless… until her.’
Meanwhile, Sae blinked awake to the sight of your back turned to him, wrapped in his hoodie as you adjusted your skincare headband in the mirror.
His phone buzzed endlessly beside him, but he didn’t flinch.
The moment he saw your face in that mirror—wide-eyed, frantic, clearly aware of what had happened—he already knew.
“…I’m sorry!” you said quickly, twisting around. “I thought I posted it to close friends! I swear, I didn’t know it went to your actual story until I checked like ten minutes ago and—”
“It’s fine,” he cut in with a shrug, voice still raspy from sleep.
Your mouth fell open slightly. “It’s… what?”
“I don’t care.” He stood, rubbing a hand through his hair. “We’ve been together two years. Not like we’re hiding it.”
You blinked, but he was already in the bathroom with you, brushing his teeth like nothing had happened.
Your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re really not mad?”
He leaned over, tapped his finger under your chin, and mumbled through his toothbrush, “Next time just double check the circle, dummy.”
You giggled.
And just like that, the world knew.
Still, Sae never made an official announcement.
He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
But slowly—without warning, without labels—you started appearing.
Sometimes caught by paparazzi.
Sometimes in the background of his rare stories.
Always candid, always glowing.
There was the time you were spotted at a high-end shopping district, arms swinging empty while Sae carried six bags on both forearms like a walking hanger rack.
“Are you sure? I can carry—”
“I just paid for your nails,” he deadpanned. “I’m not gonna let you break one, amor. I’ve got it.”
The pictures had fans screaming in the comments. Some good. Some bad. As always.
saeiloveyou: omg not her making him carry her bags
hehegirl: PERFECT BF MATERIAL OMG
user230: you can tell she’s using him for his money. #golddigger
ticklemebarou: they’re getting married, trust
iluvmonsters: how to manifest a sae itoshi?
Sae, of course, never addressed it.
He just posted a new story later that night. Your hand in his, nails on full display, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.
Then came the off-season.
Sae didn’t take many vacations, but when he did, it was always for you.
That year, he took you to a quiet coastal town—somewhere with no fans, no press, just peace.
He posted exactly one story, a picture of you crouched in the sand, drawing something with your finger.
The lighting hit you just right—your cheeks rosy from the sun, that big, full smile lighting up every pixel. And beside you? A sliver of his leg under the umbrella, barely visible, but the angle caught just enough of his face that people zoomed in like forensic scientists.
He’s smiling.
urfavdetective: YOU GUYS. SAEEE IS SMILING.
But even they didn’t know what happened a moment later.
"You don’t have to get in the water," you said, turning your head to look at him.
Too late.
You shrieked when he scooped you into his arms, laughing wildly as he ran toward the waves.
“It’s cold! It’s cold! SAEEE—”
He didn’t care. He waded in waist-deep, your legs around his waist now, arms looped around his neck.
He kissed you sweetly, like he had all the time in the world.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he murmured.
Your lips brushed his cheek. “Then keep kissing me.”
The confirmation finally came during a post-match interview.
A journalist asked him if the rumors were true—if the girl in the photos was someone special.
He didn’t miss a beat.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
Three words. Flat, unbothered, definitive.
The internet shattered.
There were thousands of edits, articles, breakdown videos.
PR firms tried to reach out.
Reporters begged for statements.
But Sae was just at home, sprawled across the couch, wearing matching Hello Kitty pajamas with you as you both wore sheet masks and argued about what to watch.
“You picked last time,” he muttered.
“I picked Spirited Away. You loved it!”
“…Didn’t hate it.”
“You cried.”
“I yawned.”
You laughed, cuddling into his side. “You’re such a liar.”
He smirked, arm slipping around your waist. “You’re going to marry a liar then.”
Your fingers curled around his left hand—specifically the one that had a matching ring to yours.
Silver, sleek, engraved with both your names. His, yours. Tied together.
A beautiful diamond glinted on your ring finger.
It wasn’t a wedding ring, only an engagement. But you insisted on Sae wearing a matching one with you too.
He kissed it every night before bed.
Sae Itoshi is cold. Cruel. Ruthless.
But not with you.
With you, he carries your bags.
Paints your toenails when you’re sick.
Brings you ramen at midnight.
Wraps himself around you like gravity can’t function without you near.
❦ a/n — yall can have zuko, i'll stick by my husband aang
❦ word count — 1.4k
❦ content — aang x reader, aang x fem! reader, avatar! aang, adult! aang (the legend of aang - new movie - aang) , bickering, no title on the relationship so you can view this as married or dating or however!, might be ooc (i've never written for atla before and am currently on a rewatch so pls go in with an open mind), just two idiots being idiots in love. not proofread !
❦ synopsis — For all the tales that were written about the Avatar, no one ever mentioned that he could be deeply annoying when he wanted to be. Which, unfortunately for you, was often.
── ❦ i'll fight their doubt and give you faith
There were many stories people told about Aang.
They spoke of battles won without cruelty. Of nations rebuilt from ash and pride. Of the boy who had disappeared into legend and returned as the man who helped stitch the world back together with patience, mercy, and impossible hope.
They spoke of his kindness most of all.
How gentle he was. How wise he was for a young man. Just how calm he was for a man who’d lost his people at such a young age.
And those people had clearly never watched him argue with you in public over something completely idiotic.
Because for all the tales written about the Avatar, no one ever mentioned that he could be deeply annoying when he wanted to be.
Which, unfortunately for you, was often.
“You moved it.”
Aang looked up from where he crouched beside the stone path, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “I would never.”
“You absolutely would.”
“I’m hurt you think so little of me.”
“I think exactly enough of you. Maybe even more than you deserve.” You huffed, arms crossed as you looked at his smug face.
Around the two of you, the afternoon market continued in lively chaos. Merchants shouted prices over one another, steam curled from food carts, children darted between stalls with sticky hands and loud laughter. Somewhere nearby, a musician plucked at a tsungi horn while a pair of tourists whispered excitedly after recognizing the Avatar.
None of it mattered. Not when you were glaring at the line of polished pebbles arranged on the ground between you.
It really had just begun as an innocent challenge.
A walk through the market had turned into Aang spotting smooth river stones at a vendor’s stall, which had turned into him insisting he could still win at the old games you used to play as kids, which had turned into both of you kneeling in the middle of the road arguing over whether he had secretly nudged his pebble forward when you weren’t looking.
“You’re impossible,” you said.
“And yet,” he replied, smiling lazily, “you keep choosing to spend time with me.”
“That can be changed.” A few people nearby snorted.
The crowd had started small, just curious glances and slowed footsteps, but like always, the moment voices rose, people gathered. It was a known fact in the city by now: if the Avatar and his partner were bickering somewhere, it was worth watching.
A fruit seller leaned against his cart like he’d found free entertainment for the day.
A little boy in the front row whispered loudly, “Who’s winning?”
“No one,” his mother answered, ushering him away from the crowded area. “Some people in love just fight to fight.”
You pointed accusingly at Aang’s pebble. “That was not there before.”
He gasped. “You think I’d lie to you?”
“I think you’d lie to win. Against me.”
Another ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers.
Aang straightened to his full height and crossed his arms. “You know what this is really about?”
“Oh, I’m sure this will be stupid.”
“You hate losing to me.”
“I hate losing to a cheater.”
“Baseless accusation.”
“Your stupid face is evidence enough.” The childlike retort came out of your mouth before you could stop it. Aang’s face wasn’t stupid, far from it actually, but when games from your childhood came into play it was like you returned to the 12 year old girl you once were.
He put a hand over his heart again. “That’s so cruel.”
You reached for your pebble.
Before your fingers touched it, a tiny breeze skipped across the ground and sent it rolling two inches away.
The crowd gasped.
Your head snapped up slowly. And there Aang was…just looking at the sky, whistling.
“You did not just move my pebble!”
“What? You have no proof.”
“No proof?” You stood so fast your skirt swished around your ankles. “You moved it in front of witnesses!”
He shrugged. “Maybe the wind favored me.”
“The wind is you!”
That did it.
The market broke into full laughter, several people doubling over while others openly took sides.
“The Avatar cheated!” someone shouted.
“Long live strategic bending!” another yelled back.
Aang grinned, completely shameless. “See? Public opinion is divided.”
“Public opinion is wrong.”
You lunged at him. Not with any real violence aimed toward him, but enough to shove both palms into his chest.
He stumbled back two steps, laughing so hard he nearly tripped over a basket of cabbages. The merchant yelped something like my cabbages! and pulled them to safety at the last second.
“You’re a menace,” you said, advancing.
“And you lovveeee me.” The avatar teased, a grin on his face.
“I tolerate you with great effort.”
He raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Now who’s lying?”
You shoved him again. This time he caught your wrists.
Warm hands closed around them gently, familiar and easy. He tugged once, and because he was stronger than he looked and because you were not prepared, you stumbled straight into him. The crowd oohed.
You glared up at him from inches away. “Let go of me.”
“Ask nicely.”
“I’d rather eat sand.”
“That can be arranged.”
A playful gust of air swirled around your ankles.
You kicked at him on instinct, and he laughed again- that bright, unguarded laugh people crossed continents to hear and you got simply for threatening him in broad daylight.
It was unfair.
“People think you’re dignified,” you muttered.
“I am dignified.”
“You’re holding me hostage in front of a fruit stand.”
“It’s called romance.”
“No, this is called public embarrassment.”
He shrugged, “Same thing, sometimes.”
He finally let go of your wrists only to slide one hand into yours before you could step away.
The shift was so natural it almost startled you. One second you were squabbling, the next your fingers were laced together like they had been made for it.
The crowd, traitorous thing that it was, sighed in approval.
“Oh, don’t encourage him,” you said to them.
A grandmother near the back smiled. “Too late, dear.” And of course, Aang looked far too pleased with himself.
You narrowed your eyes. “You just love attention, don’t you?”
“I love your attention.” And there it was. That stupid, soft thing he did- slipping sincerity into your arguments full of nonsense so smoothly you never saw it coming.
Your irritation faltered for half a second. He noticed, naturally.
His thumb brushed across your knuckles once. “You’re blushing,” he said.
“I am not.” “Yeah you are-” You hit his chest, as best as you could, “I am not!”
He laughed under his breath, then bent slightly so only you could hear him, “You know you started this, right?”
“You cheated.”
“I gave you a real challenge.”
“Everyday you find new ways to annoy me.”
Despite your - what some would view as cruel and cold hearted - words, Aang smiled a lovesick smile toward you, “And yet everyday you’re still with me.”
Your mouth opened, then closed. He knew exactly what he was doing.
You hated that.
You loved that.
Which was worse…you couldn’t tell.
The fruit seller tossed an apple into the air and caught it again. “Kiss already or keep fighting, but pick one.”
The crowd cheered their agreement.
You buried your face in your free hand. “I hate this city.”
Aang squeezed your fingers. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” you admitted. “I hate you.”
The audience booed dramatically at your confession. Aang only smiled, soft and certain. “No, you don’t.”
Then, before you could think of a proper comeback, he leaned down and kissed you.
It was quick at first- teasing, warm, and infuriatingly smug.
You grabbed the front of his robes and kissed him back harder just to wipe that expression off his face.
The market erupted. Applause. Whistles. Someone shouted, “Finally!”
When you pulled away, breathless, Aang looked entirely too satisfied.
“You’re unbearable,” you said.
“But I won.”
“You did not win.”
“I’m kissing you, aren’t I?”
“That’s not the competition.” You shoved his shoulder again, though weaker this time.
He caught your hand, pressed a grin to your knuckles, and turned to the still-cheering crowd with a graceful bow.
“Thank you all for witnessing my victory.”
“You are insufferable!” you called after him.
He tugged you along beside him, already weaving through the crowd in the market streets.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a turtle-duck pond nearby.”
“And?”
“I think I can skip a stone farther than you.”
You stared at him. Then at the crowd already preparing to follow.
Then back at the man you loved, “You are so childish.”
He offered his hand anyway, and of course you took it.
❦ a/n — I feel like this fic sucks bc I didn't know how to word it. Also! Sorry if Vivian is OOC!
❦ word count — 1.4k
❦ content — vivian hugo x fem reader, fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, not much else, not proofread !
❦ synopsis — Vivian Hugo wouldn't think that the movers changed his locks, but he does. He also wouldn't think that his girlfriend would be playing realtor, but she is.
── ❦ do you want the house tour? i could take you to the 1st, 2nd, 3rd floor!
By the time Vivian finally pulled into the driveway, he was exhausted.
The game had, luckily, only been three cities away. Unluckily, however, was that the bus ride home felt endless. His phone battery had died halfway through the trip, leaving him completely disconnected from the world for hours, unless you count staring out the window while listening to his teammates snoring connected.
All he wanted was a shower, a meal that wasn't stadium food, and maybe an hour to simply sit and complain about every little thing to you while you played with his hair.
But now, here he was…and the house looked different than it had when he'd left.
Not because anything major had changed. Just because it was finally yours.
There was no real estate agent always looming anymore. No contractors fixing the small things that Vivian insisted needed to be done. No paperwork sitting on every surface. No endless discussions about interest rates and mortgages anymore.
The porch light glowed warmly against the dark evening sky. Now it was just home.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked at the house.
You'd spent the entire day supervising movers while he was away and he'd felt guilty about missing it.
Moving into your first house together was supposed to be something you experienced side-by-side. Instead, you'd handled most of it alone while he was traveling and playing.
He grabbed his duffel bag and climbed the front steps. mThen he slid his key into the lock.
And…nothing happened. Vivian frowned and tried again.
Still nothing.
A third attempt earned him the same result, "...What?"
Had they changed the locks? Could you even do that in one day? Was there a need for that?
Before he could investigate further, the front door swung open.
And every thought he might have had immediately disappeared.
You stood in the doorway wearing an elegant black dress.
The kind of dress that belonged at a fancy restaurant. Or a charity gala. Or literally anywhere except a half-unpacked house.
Your hair was styled and your makeup was done. And tucked beneath one of your arms was a clipboard.
Vivian blinked, "Oh, shit." Your smile faltered, "What?"
Immediately, panic settled in.
Anniversary.
It had to be an anniversary.
But he had those written in his phone calendar. And his physical calendar. He wouldn’t make a mistake as big as that.
It had to be a reservation.
But…you would have told him. And usually he made the reservations…okay not that either.
Maybe it was some important event he'd forgotten.
His brain started desperately searching through every date he could think of.
Your birthday?
No.
His birthday?
Definitely not.
Valentine's Day?
No, wrong month.
First date?
First kiss?
The day he'd said I love you?
The day he'd given you a key to his old apartment?
The day you'd bought the house?
Were people supposed to celebrate that?
"Oh my God."
You stared, "What, Viv? What’s the matter-"
"Did I forget something?" He blurted it out, eyes squeezed shut because he was sure there was something he’d forgotten.
There was a brief moment of confusion. Then realization dawned on your face and you burst into laughter.
Vivian groaned, "Oh, come on."
"You think I dressed up because you forgot an anniversary?"
"Yes..?” You laughed even harder. His shoulders finally relaxed.
Okay. So he wasn't in trouble.
That was good.
Then you straightened, your expression suddenly becoming serious and scarily professional. You adjusted the clipboard you were holding, "Good evening, sir."
Vivian immediately pointed at you, "No." You ignored him, "Welcome to your private showing."
"No."
"Today I'll be presenting a truly exceptional property."
"Baby." He was all but begging you to drop the act.
"A property recently listed on the market."
He shook his head, "Not anymore. It’s our house." You gave him a small smile, "A property featuring one handsome professional football player."
Vivian covered his face, "Oh my God." "And one incredibly attractive homeowner." You added.
"Please stop."
"Would you like a tour?"
He sighed. The long-suffering sigh of a man who had been dating you for years. "...Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"Thought so."
You immediately grabbed his wrist, "Excellent. Follow me."
Before he could even set his duffel bag down, you were dragging him into the foyer. The foyer that currently consisted of sixteen boxes, one lamp, and a dining chair that appeared to have lost a fight with a bear if Vivian could guess by the amount of scratches on the wooden legs.
You spread your arms dramatically, "As you can see, the home features an open concept entryway."
"It's open because we haven't unpacked." Vivian mumbled, too entranced in your little act to actually say it out loud.
You gasped, "Sir, please refrain from insulting the property."
He gave you a look, "It's literally my property." You pointed to yourself, "No, it’sd my property."
"We both signed the paperwork."
You waved a hand at him, playfully dismissing his comment, "Technicalities."
Vivian laughed and the tour continued.
To the living room. Through the office. You even let him see the guest bedroom. You dramatically tried to sell him on the backyard.
Every room received an increasingly ridiculous presentation.
The living room apparently featured "state-of-the-art TV space."
The office boasted "excellent potential for avoiding your responsibilities."
The backyard offered "unlimited opportunities for touching grass."
By the time you showed him the laundry room, Vivian was already fighting a smile.
You threw open the door dramatically, "And now, one of the home's most exciting features." He knew his face was borderline in a full smile, "The laundry room?"
"The laundry room." You pointed proudly toward the washer, "It works." Vivian stared at you like you were crazy. Then laughed so hard he had to lean against the doorframe, "That's your sales pitch?"
"Do you know how many apartments I've had with broken laundry machines?"
"...Right. Okay I’m sold on the laundry room." You smiled victoriously, "Damn right."
The longer the tour went on, the more relaxed he became.
His exhaustion didn't disappear. But he felt less tired, more alive when he was with you.
Because every ridiculous joke reminded him that he was finally home with you. And that was all he'd wanted.
Eventually, you led him upstairs where the hallways were lined with unopened boxes.
The walls still looked strangely bare. Nothing was fully settled yet. But somehow it already felt like you two were right at home.
You stopped outside the last room then cleared your throat, "And finally, sir."
Vivian folded his arms, "Yes?"
You pushed open the door to the master bedroom.
Boxes lined the walls. Half the closet remained empty. The comforter wasn't even fully put on.
Yet it somehow felt more complete than every other room combined.
You stepped inside and Vivian followed.
Then you turned dramatically, stretching out your arms, "And finally, sir, we arrive at the master bedroom."
Vivian stared at you. Then he looked around the room and then back at you, "We've been in the master bedroom before."
You waved your hand in his face, "Details." "Pretty important details."
You ignored him, "As you can see, the room is spacious, inviting, and perfect for relaxation."
Vivian pointed at one of the many boxes you two had to still unpack, "There's a box of Christmas Decorations. It’s May." You looked at the box too, "It adds character."
Vivian snorted at your explanations. You stepped closer, "And the best feature?"
"Mhm?"
You nodded seriously. Then grabbed the front of his jacket, "Is this..."
Before he could respond, you pulled him down and kissed him. The surprised noise that escaped him made you grin.
His hands immediately found your waist like it was instinct.
You smiled into the kiss and let yourself fall backward.
A laugh escaped him as you dragged him down with you. The mattress bounced beneath your combined weight.
"Jesus-"
You giggled, "See? Comfortable." Vivian shook his head, smiling despite himself, "You're unbelievable." "I've been told." You reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The room wasn't finished.
The house wasn't finished.
There were still boxes everywhere.
Still things to unpack.
Still so much room for memories left to make.
Your smile softened, "So…" "So?" He raised an eyebrow at you, although you couldn’t quite tell because of his hair was in his face.
"Did you like the tour?"
Vivian glanced around the room one last time.
Then looked back at you.
His gaze was warm, fond. He was hopelessly in love.
He leaned closer until his forehead touched yours. "I think," he murmured, "I need another one."
Your laugh barely escaped before he kissed you again.
And even if you were surrounded by cardboard boxes and unfinished plans and a hope of the future you would built together, Vivian decided there wasn't a single place in the world he'd rather be.
♡ a/n — thinking about having a fast eater bf while you eat sooo slow
♡ word count — 157
♡ content — multiple characters x reader!, gn! reader, silliness, fluff, first time writing something like this, not proofread
♡ synopsis — He loves you. He really does. He just wishes you would eat just a tiny bit faster.
── .✦ have you ever thought, just maybe, you belong with me?
Your boyfriend loves you more than words can describe. You know that much for a fact.
But when he's staring at your plate like it's evil in the middle of your date? You wonder if he's contemplating murder.
He's finished- licked the plate clean if you will. Actually, he finished his meal about twenty minutes ago! Which may be half the reason that he's staring at you like you're crazy- with half of your plate untouched.
He's asked you many times if you were full, to which you answer no and take a small bite before going back to talking about whatever you were, your food long forgotten.
Your boyfriend loves you. He really does.
And when you finally smile at him and ask if he wants the rest of your food because you're not hungry anymore?
It's gone in two minutes.
Not even because he was hungry, he just wanted to get out of the restaurant.
