“my ult isn’t ready yet, dude. . i just don’t get why you’re yelling at me — i’m doing my job as a tank and you’re letting a bp into our back line. that’s like, your job as a vanguard, dude, i don’t get wh- hold on.”
nagi muted his headset, his eyes flicking to you for a split second before locking back onto the screen.
“stop grinding. . you’re distractin’ me.”
since you sat on nagi’s bed two hours ago, the only words exchanged were variations of “can you get off the game now?” and “in a few minutes.” as nagi’s girlfriend, it’s only natural that you would want his attention to be on you and not on the game! it wasn’t easy getting nagi’s attention when he was focused on a video game, and desperate times call for desperate measures. .
you had snuck up behind nagi, moving the headset off his ear slightly, before resting your chin on his shoulder. you claimed you just wanted a ‘closer look at the game’, but nagi doesn’t remember dirty talk and moaning being a marvel rivals combo.
“i need you so bad , nagi . .” you whined, your tender hands reaching around his gaming chair and lifting up his shirt as they began to glide along his abs, making their way up to his sensitive chest. though his eyes were on the screen, there was no mistaking the way his teeth pulled at his bottom lip, the way his adam’s apple bobbed slowly, how his body tensed: you had him right where you wanted him.
“m’so wet for you already. don’t you want to get off the game and pay attention to me instead . . ?” you sighed into his ear, your fingers finding his hard nipples and starting to pinch and roll softly. you caught the way his breath hitched, how he glanced towards you for a split second. a few more minutes of this and you had this in the bag!
. . that was until nagi had had enough. as soon as reo went afk to use the bathroom, nagi tore off his headset and was on you like a dog. he turned in his chair, his large hands finding your waist and setting you down on his lap as he kissed you hungrily, aggressively even. his hands found their way to your ass, groping and squeezing— your moans were like music to his ears. your hands roamed up and down beneath his shirt, going down, down, down, finding the waistband of his sweats and tugging.
pulling his hands off you, he lifted his hips off the seat just enough to tug his sweats down to his knees. you reached down and pulled his straining cock out of his boxers, sliding your hand up and down his straining length. he tore away from the kiss, his head lolling forwards against your shoulder to muffle his whines as you worked his aching dick, squelching sounds of precum loud in the dead silent room.
it was dead silent until there was a faint hissing from the headset. a reo-sounding hissing from the headset. he had comeback from the bathroom and was ready for another game. much to your disappointment, nagi reached over to grab the headset and put it back over his ears. you moved to get up from his lap, but he stopped you. “stay.” he mumbled, reaching a hand under your skirt and pulling your soaked panties to the side.
he pulled you up and lined his tip with your hole, biting his lip harder when he felt how wet you were. your face contorted in pleasure as you sunk down, your hands set on his shoulders as you started moving up and down an-
“no. that’s too distracting. . just sit. you wanted attention, right?”
and that’s how you ended up in this position. your gummy walls pulsed around his thick length, trying to resist the urge to just say ‘fuck it” and start moving, desperate for something. anything. but he wouldn’t budge. this wasn’t enough.
“nagi, please. can’t- hnngh-! can’t take it. .” you whined into his ear, your pussy clenching around him once more.
“you’re gonna have to.” he huffed. “game’s almost over.”
you spent another two minutes in agony and need, your whines barely affecting him as much as you’d like them to. you glance back at the screen in desperation, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of the victory and mvp sequence (nagi, of course). you let out a particularly loud moan, turning back to nagi with a pout on your face. for some unknown reason, reo had to go afk yet again. strange. nagi didn’t bother muting his headset, since he knew reo likely wouldn’t be back before you two were done. his hands moved to your ass once more, his lips finding your neck as he started moving you up and down his cock, sucking at your neck harder at the loud moans of relief.
reo sat silent as a mouse at the other end of the line, listening, a hand sliding down his shirt and towards his waistband. what, you hardly thought those whines of desperation were quiet, did you ?
Michael Kaiser who makes you wear a crown while he fucks you
Michael Kaiser. The Emperor.
Everyone knew the footballer for his massive ego as much as they knew him for his skill. The kind of man that makes cameras and eyes land on him as soon as he steps onto the field, the kind of man who had women throwing themselves at his feet, the kind of man with an ego and pride so astronomical it was astounding to everyone that he had found a partner he found worthy of not only his presence, but his love, his care, and his attention.
His Empress. It’s what the news outlets started calling you after seeing you at games wearing his jersey, but Michael came up with the nickname first, because only an Empress such as you, could be worthy of being with an Emperor like him.
So that’s why, when he has you on top of him, your thighs straddling his lap, his cock buried inside your sweet pussy, both of you completely bare and naked for one another, he has a custom Versace crown placed on top of your head. Because only his Empress is worthy of being on top of him like this, only you’re allowed to see him like this, his head resting on the pillows, his hands gripping your thighs, and noises only made for you slipping past his lips.
Michaels utterly mesmerized, your tits bouncing up and down as you grind on his cock. Your hips moving in hypnotizing circles, your nails digging into his chest, and a custom six figure crown resting on your head.
“Mihya–haah” You moaned on top of him, “Mmm-I’m getting tired,” You whined, your legs burning from hopping up and down on his dick for so long.
If it were anyone else, he would’ve called them weak, but you’re his perfect Empress, and he makes sure to treat you like it.
“My poor Schatzi…” He spoke as he flipped you over in an instant.
Before you knew it you were on your back, the crown fallen onto the pillows underneath you, and Michael kissing your ankle as you got adjusted to the new position.
Michael picked up the crown and placed it lopsided on your head. He stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you laying under him, on his silk sheets. He leaned in to kiss you and slowly began thrusting again.
“Was my Empress getting tired?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as he began thrusting into you harder, as he kissed your jaw and then down to your neck.
You reached your arms around him and dug your nails into his back, nodding weakly. He looked into your watery eyes, you biting your lip, all from the pleasure he was giving you. It drove him mad.
“Scheiße,” He groaned, “Don’t look at me like that Schatz, you know what it does to me,” He moaned on top of you, his thrusts getting faster and faster.
You did know what it did to him, that was the point. You loved seeing him go crazy for you, fall apart for you, because no one else got to see him like this.
Michael would rather die than show any weakness or vulnerability, but for you? He’s whimpered, kneeled on the ground, and kissed your feet. It satiated something in you, knowing only you could get him like that.
Super models, actresses, and fangirls threw themselves at him everyday, but only you could get him like this. Only you could make Michael Kaiser fall apart on top of you just by batting your eyelashes.
“Schatz-haah” He moaned into your ear, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
Your right hand moved to his head, fingers entwining in his hair, “Mihyaa-go de-deeper, Mihya” You whined beneath him, your legs wrapping around his waist, back arching, and toes curling, because the pleasure was just too much.
He listened without complaints, you were the only person able to boss him around, of course. Michael began rutting into you, hitting that spongey spot inside you that made you see stars.
You cried out, your nails clawing at his back, definitely leaving marks deep enough to scar.
Michael groaned on top of you, you could feel him getting closer by the way his dick was pulsing inside you. Instinctively your pussy squeezed around him, pulling him in deeper to you.
He let out a whimper, a fucking whimper.
“Schatz–I-I’m close,” He moaned out breathily, his hands clutching you, the sheets, anything to ground him as your pretty pussy ruined him.
“Come inside Mihya” You cooed, your hand grabbing his jaw to pull him into a kiss.
Michael threw one hand into your hair, gripping onto you for dear life, and pushed down on your stomach with the other.
Both of you rolled your eyes back immediately, moaning obscenely into each others mouths. Him, because feeling how deep his cock was inside of you completely overtook all his senses, and you because it made his cock hit an angle inside you, you didn’t even know existed.
Michael pressed down harder as his thrusts began to become sloppy and desperate, his lips moving against yours obscenely, as you both bit and chased each other with spit circling your lips.
Your pussy clenched around his thick cock once, and it was all it took to send you two over the edge. He came inside you with a guttural groan the neighbors definitely heard as he spilled his seed inside you. Your pussy clamped down on him hard, as your walls spasmed and you came all over his dick, your juices coating his thick cock.
Michael kept rocking into you gently, getting you both through your highs. His abdomen flaunting your shared arousal, his cum dripping down out your pussy and onto his expensive silk sheets.
He kissed you then, breathing heavily and still sheathed inside you, not moving anymore. He moaned obscenely against your lips, his hand clutching to your hair, some of his fingers intertwined with your messy strands, and some of them gripping the crown on your head. Almost as if he was making sure this was real, like you were real, hoping that you were here, that you’d stay. And of course, you would.
Michael Kaiser had finally found his fairytale ending. He an Emperor, with his Empress under him, adorned in her Emperors crown and his markings along her body, as they lay entangled.
Did i cook?!
Pls tell me i did. plsplsplspls
Not proofread, pls spare me, i wrote this in the middle of the night
Bunny, Sae, and more Michael and Vivian coming soon….Let me know if there’s anyone you wanna specifically see!
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 when it comes to you, yoichi isagi has tunnel vision. you’re the very object of all his desires. it doesn’t help that he can’t see when other people are into him — so you take matters into your own hands and make sure that they see he’s only into you. (12.1K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro soccer player au, canon compliant, characters in 20s, established relationships, healthy jealousy, mentions of injury, mentions of named female antagonist, dry humping, handjobs, obsessive marking, hickies, cum tasting, overstimulation, oral sex (m!recieving), yoichi isagi 25 - pro giver gets to recieve, lover boy isagi. pro soccer player isagi, fem reader.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ you guys!! happy birthday to my beautiful boy yoichi!! my sweet love, i miss you him so much all of the time. i've been sitting on this bad boy for months and im so excited to share with you! hope you enjoy!! click for more.
sometimes, you like to joke that your boyfriend, isagi yoichi, has tunnel vision.
on the pitch or during a game, he only sees one thing. a means to an end, a means to win.
although, when it comes to his personal life, the only thing isagi cares to look at — is you. love wasn’t something he ever wished for or intended on finding and for a long time, soccer was his everything. he breathed, ate and dreamt of the sport from the moment he could walk to the moment he entered blue lock and beyond, there was nothing else to focus on except for becoming the best in japan. the best in the world.
in his future he envisioned, it was just him at the top. no one else by his side, no one else as ambitious as him. of course, until he met you — a chance encounter one fateful night, passionate eyes locked and the rest was history. he knew it then and he knows it now…
isagi yoichi only ever has eyes for you, you’re the only one he’ll ever want.
even if other people want him instead.
like most couples in the public eye you’ve had your fair share of jealous fangirls and vicious fanboys, but you’ve long since passed the stage of teary eyes and the threat of breakups looming over your heads. the blue lock PR team is insanely good at moderation, surprisingly, and you like to think the bond you share with their diamond player is strong enough to withstand whatever test is thrown your way. only sometimes do you feel that nagging vulnerability at the back of your mind, when someone gets a little too close to your all-star player and looks up at him with dreamy eyes as if to hope and pray he’ll look at them differently. look at them the way he looks at you.
your boyfriend has never been one to stray, he’s as loyal as a dog and perhaps has an meaner streak than you when it comes to being possessive – he has an appetite for destruction when others attempt to get close to you, maybe even so much as glance at you and will turn into that vicious egoist not just you, but the entire world, loves. yet sometimes, your territorialism over isagi outshines his over you, sometimes you go to the extreme to prove that you’re the only one meant to be with him.
this is one of those times.
whilst champagne flows and music thumps through your body due to the heavy bass, your mind wonders away from the party thrown in honour of the blue lock eleven’s latest victory against an overseas team in the football league. winning four to one with most scores and assists resulting from your boyfriend’s chemical reactions on the pitch — you should have been sneaking off somewhere to give him an even better prize than a silly gold cup. instead, you dance around the outskirts of the gathering, darting between the familiar faces of his teammates and their loved ones with swaying designer skirts whilst attempting to spy on isagi as he chatters away innocently with her.
her being a recent hire on the blue lock sports team is entirely too infatuated with your yoichi for your liking — as the new assistant physiotherapist for the eleven rowdy players, it was natural that this brand new and shiny ‘hana’ girl would be spending more time alongside the boys. alongside your boy. you don’t blame her, to be fair, it’s easy to be starstruck by yoichi. he’s the best player in japan, he’s gorgeous too — golden skin that glistens during matches and beautiful blue eyes holding the depths of the ocean’s secrets. his charm transcends anything anyone’s ever seen in a player of his ferocity, isagi can be kind and humble, attentive and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he’s with you.
you truly cannot blame her for the obvious little crush she has on him, one that must have bubbled and brewed during therapy sessions in between games and practices.
that doesn’t mean she doesn’t bother you.
your boyfriend, ever the angel, is too sweet to take note of her subtle advances and gazes filled with yearning. he doesn’t know that she’s attempting to flirt when her hand slides a little lower than considered professional during pre-game warm-ups and massages. he can’t tell that she’s pining after him like a high-schooler with a love note tucked behind her back when she makes sure that he has his water bottle and extra electrolytes first whenever isagi has training. nor does he notice that she clings to his sweaty towels for a little too long after he’s handed them off to her.
isagi is so nice, so oblivious — just like when you met. just like when you made moves on him back then. he doesn’t know what a simple tilt of his head during conversation does to a girl — the type where he’s trying to listen in and seem attentive. he’s unfamiliar with his own game and charm, oblivious to his gravitational pull and ability to make people fall for him the way you did, hard and fast without even realising you were about to hit the ground. all because yoichi was there the catch you, free-falling with you through the love in the air.
it’s possible that hana doesn’t know about you and isagi — he’s a show off, always touching you subtly, searching for your eyes across the way, throwing you secretive smiles during interviews… but you’ve been together so long that you’ve begun to hide the precious parts of your relationships away from the public. aside from passing social media posts and the odd rumour about your togetherness… only the people most important to you know that you’re still a couple now. so maybe she doesn’t know. maybe she has no clue.
maybe that’s why she cuddles up to him before the snack table, pulls that typical move by pretending to have one too many sips of high-end alcohol so she has an excuse to sway on her feet and steady herself against your partner’s sturdy frame.
you let her bask in the interaction for now, because while you know in your head and by your own logic that isagi would never betray you for someone else — your heart rears it’s ugly head, the blood in your veins turning a nasty shade of green as it courses through your body. it makes you question whether you should be mad at her or mad at him, who will be on the receiving end of the plot being spun in your mind like a spider forming its web.
a cruel, twisted smirk tugs on the corners of your perfectly glossed lips before you knock back the last of the golden liquid swirling around in your champagne flute. from across the room, hazy ocean eyes slink away from the girl who is no more than a coworker to their owner in order to meet yours. midnight blue flickers to life with love, drinks in the dress that matches them and wraps around your perfect body. isagi’s lips quirk up into a subtle smirk, one that hides his layers of want for you. one that tells you that you’re still the only one on his mind no matter who he’s with.
and you know then, that yoichi isagi will be your victim tonight.
set to receive a curious mix of both punishment and reward that he’s sure to enjoy after such a hard day’s work, of being the best in every sense of the word.
isagi always looks most handsome when he’s concentrating.
during a game, something switches within him. he becomes a beast of untapped talent and potential that shines across the field like a polished diamond. his eyes are often wild, set ablaze with a cool fire that burns his enemies alive. when the pro player is focused, no matter what it’s on, his expression will often send a pang of heat straight through you — the way his tongue often pokes into his cheek, causing it to bulge, and brows furrow at the centre of his forehead, azure eyes darkening as they analyse whatever task he’s paying attention to.
after the party tonight, the two of you headed straight back to your private suite rented out courtesy of ego and anri for the team. isagi would have joined you in the shower, he loves to see you undress and feel your skin against his, but his mind was racing from the match that had been won with his goals. ever the analyst, he has to watch the game through to pick apart the plays from both he and his team. so while washing up, you leave him to concentrate on his replays — trying to scrub away the irrational jealousy wrapping around your brain stem and crawling down your spine.
however, the scorching hot water does nothing to wash the feeling away. when you return to the room and isagi lounging away in the love seat by the balcony, he hardly looks your way — wrapped up in his phone, perfectly toned thighs twitching every time he sees a perfect play, his tie loose around his thick neck and tux half shrugged off. the digitalised final minutes of his match capture every ounce of his attention and you can’t help but wonder if his mind is elsewhere. aside from the sports. you’re so used to being the centre of his world, the only one he looks at that you worry he could be thinking of her tonight instead of you. reminiscing the way her fingers glided over his biceps to steady herself after her faked drunk stumbling.
it makes you sick to your stomach, how jealous you are when there’s no need to be. you trust yoichi and you know that if the roles were reversed, he would trust you too. padding deeper into the room, you become hyper aware of the carpet beneath your toes that curl into it and the way yoichi’s shirt sticks to your damp body — the fabric growing heavy as a result of the water from your shower that seeps into it. fidgeting before him, you note that your senses are heightened by unpleasant emotions of anxiousness and irritation, and clear your throat to speak.
this doesn’t grab your boyfriend’s attention either. so you cough louder before you voice your thoughts and feelings. “she likes you, yanno,” you hum, feigning nonchalance as you perch yourself on the arm of isagi’s chair. you throw your legs over the edge of the rest, feet falling into his lap. the star player says nothing but raises a brow in acknowledgment. he’s listening in now, whether he believes you or not. “hana, she’s got a major thing for you.” you go on, frowning with your lips drawn into a pout.
regrettably, this piques isagi’s interest — one hand reaching for his sports drink with a straw as the other holds his phone steady. “no she doesn’t. she’s just being friendly?” confusion curls around his heart as he chews on the paper straw, inevitably turning it to mush between perfect rows of pearly white teeth. a poor attempt at avoiding his plush lips sucking on the straw is made, heating you up under the collar. for a moment, you forget that you’re mad and irritated, too enamoured by how attractive your boyfriend is even while doing the mundane.
you must be pulling a face, a discontented one, because isagi sets his drink down and smooths his palm over your bare calf to keep you in place — making sure you don’t topple backwards over the edge of the seat. he’s paying attention now – trying to decipher whether or not you’re being bratty or you’re genuinely upset. “she brings you extra protein shakes when you’re not supposed to have them, and schedules you extra physical therapy sessions even though you don’t need them...” you scoff as though your observations are the most obvious thing in the world, playing into yoichi’s concern for you. “haven’t you noticed that? it’s weird…”
when he shakes his head ‘no’, you petulantly snatch his drink away from the table beside you both and take a sip, the dark haired player’s cerulean eyes trailing to your lips around your straw and the way your adam’s apple faintly bobs in your throat. it clicks for him then, the way you’re subtly teasing him under the guise of being upset – you always know how to keep him on his toes, his precious little menace.
you’re not really mad. just a little bit jealous… and all you really want is to be spoiled with his attention.
yoichi clicks the power button on his phone, tossing the sleek black device onto the table. he looks at you then, gaze mirthy and amused as the rough palm of his hand slowly makes its way up to your thigh – squeezing the doughy, exposed flesh in his own form of reassurance. “and that’s not being friendly? she does the same for bachira.”
there’s an annoyingly condescending lilt to the tone of isagi’s voice now that his attention is fully on you. you’ve started a dangerous game in an attempt to prove yourself as number one in yoichi isagi’s heart. the ghost of his touch slipping under the shirt that you wear, moving from your thigh to pinch the fat at your hips – it makes saliva pool on your tongue, makes your vision swim, nearly distracting you from your mission to re-stake your claim on the star player.
he cocks his head up at you, squinting to see if your resolve will crumble just like he does with an opponent on the field.
“that’s only because he pesters her for special treatment too and he’s your best friend,” you squirm as though you’re a creature being inspected under a microscope, turning your nose up at your boyfriend. “do you think i was being friendly with you when i was sneaking into your locker rooms during practices to spend extra time with you?” lifting a hand, you ruffle his hair.
isagi shakes the dark locks of his bangs from his eyes, a deep chuckle rumbling in the depths of his chest and right through you. for a moment, he pretends to think – reminiscing about all of the secret make-out sessions that took place during the early days of your relationship.
“you weren’t?”
“i wasn’t, i was flirting with you.” you roll your eyes in response, ignoring the flutter in your heart at the sound.
faux surprise spreads across the slopes of his features like a filter at your reply and he tuts mockingly, as if to scold your scandalous behaviour back then. as if he didn’t thrive in it, adoring how you so boldly went after him. “and look where that got us…” yoichi’s voice drops into a lower octave and maintains a breathiness that drives you insane, brushing over that patch in your brain that controls your lust and acts as the epicentre for your desire. you know that voice, you’ve become so familiar with it over the years – falling under its control under the moonlight and just before the sunrise, tangled up in sheets or pressed against walls. it’s the very voice isagi uses whenever he wants or craves you, matching the energy whenever you want him to.
in one sudden movement, yoichi’s using his grip on your hips to tug you into his widespread lap from the arm of the chair. his chin juts upwards in your direction, practically begging for a kiss once you’re settled – plump pink lips spread into a hungry, lopsided smirk. daring and dangerous, coaxing you to take exactly what you want from the man before you.
you do just that, patience wearing thin as your fingers wrap around his loose black tie – giving you the leverage to tug him into a slow, wet kiss. it’s not like the two of you haven’t ever kissed like this before, but even after all this time – your tummy still fills with a myriad of butterflies whenever your lips meet. they fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. blue lock’s shining star locks lips with you so tenderly that you hardly notice his tongue prying your mouth open, licking over the barrier of your teeth to taste you before he’s squeezing your waist in his lap – anything to get you to gasp and let him in.
the way he touches you, kisses you, sucks on your tongue as soon as he’s able to is intoxicating – casting a dark veil over your brain to trap the static and prevent you from thinking about anything else aside from him. not that you care, not that you mind…because you know isagi is equally as infatuated with you as you are with him. the two of you have always been like this, perfectly balanced in your obsession with one another. saliva is swapped between you, fed to you by isagi as he licks into the hot cavern of your drooly mouth – pouring his increasingly desperate moans into you. you wonder if he tastes the bitter jealousy pooling on the palette of your tongue, if that’s what draws him into you, makes him suck the spit from the writhing pink muscle and press himself impossibly closer – nose nudging yours throughout the eager rhythm of your airless exchange of bruising pecks.
if you try to breathe in between kisses, the only thing you’ll be able to intake is him. his scent, musky and woody, the whisky seeping through his pores. the level of desire you have for him is too much for your body to handle, threatening to burst at the seams as lust brews under the heated surface of your skin – intertwined with red blood cells shooting through your veins, travelling south. you flinch as your sex pulses to life in isagi’s lap, pathetically wet from how good he sounds mewling between slow, carefully placed smooches. you’d feel ashamed, but there’s no time to be when your boyfriend is so intune with your body, quickly catching onto the blazing neediness that sets your insides alight from the way you instinctively buck down on him. he smirks against the swell of your lips, using his hold on your waist to show you that he feels the same – pinning you onto his growing erection, hard and weighty between your damp thighs.
before the two of you can get too carried away, entirely too turned on from making out like two teenagers – you pull back with spit-glazed lips and hazy eyes. “...and look where it’ll get her if she keeps this up...”
isagi pouts at the separation, unconsciously chasing your mouth – almost letting out a whimper when you purposely hold yourself out of his reach. “f-fuck i… i don’t want to end up anywhere with her. i only have eyes for you. i only like you.” he says firmly, like it’s a promise – grinding up against you in an attempt to get you to give into him.
“just like?” you tease him happily.
“love. i love you.” he huffs with faux annoyance.
jealous nights will usually end like this. with you surrendering yourself just to end up with isagi ramming you through the mattress, proving the extent of his desire and dedication to you…but this time, you want to be the one to remind him where he and who he belongs to.
at his admission, however, you feel a wave of cuteness aggression inside that twists deliciously with the pleasure beginning to form knots deep within and reach out for him; pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “you’re perfect, yoichi isagi. you’re precious.”
“i could say the same about you, baby.” isagi groans possessively once he realises your light affections are all he’s getting for now. in a last ditch effort, his slender fingers curl around the nape of your neck – not to choke you, but to remind you of his presence and the sheer control he has over your body – loyal to him and him alone. all he wants is a kiss, to bask in the sweet flavours and reminiscent alcohol dancing on your tongue but you have other plans.
dipping your head, you latch onto his unsuspecting earlobe – pulling it between your teeth whilst your lashes flutter against the side of his face. you move on, sucking just underneath the same spot and relishing in the way his pulse races beneath your cherry-bitten lips. the unmarred, golden expanse of this throat becomes your next victim, soon to become the perfect canvas for a barrage of purpley-blue hues in the form of love bites. all isagi can do in response is whine and moan salaciously as you mark him up, make him yours. all while rutting his hardness into you, inevitably smearing early evidence of his arousal against the inside of his now-wrinkled suit pants.
“p-precious, what are you doing?” sex crazed hormones begin to drift into the air, rattling about and colliding with kinetic energy as isagi begins to question you breathlessly. In all actuality, he doesn’t care, surrendering his body to your command and control.
“nothin.” you purr coyly, letting go of his neck with a wet pop.
“doesn’t feel like nothin to me…oh, okay. c-christ, okay.” he tilts his head back, allowing you more room to work our magic on the column of his throat – biting down hard on the sensitive spots you’ve familiarised yourself with over the years. like his favourite, just above his adam’s apple, the one that makes him buck up impulsively and hiss when is pulsating cock brushes against the sticky outline of your clothed folds. he sighs out in content, voice deep and ladened with enough lust to send an electric current of ecstasy right through you. “b-baby,” yoichi pants restlessly, arching away from the back of the chair, willing to receive anything you have to give to him. “y-you know, ego won’t like it if you leave anything that shows…”
and still, neither of you can find it within you to care. not when you’re like this, hung up on each other, barely holding back. “don’t care. b’sides, you like it…” your tongue rolls over the fresh bruises you’ve left on him, soothing their sting as you speak. “hey, ‘ichi?”
he’s too dazed and turned on to form proper words, blue lock’s precious number one falling to pieces drunkardly looking down at you pressed up against his chest. “hmm?” comes his lazy hum.
“lift up your shirt.”
“wh—“
“i know that you see yourself as mine, but let me show everyone else that you’re mine,” isagi fucking adores you. you were always meant to be his and he was always meant to be yours. even on the field, playing his first love, he’s sure hasn’t been anyone quite able to match his ego and freak in the same way that you do. so he can’t say no to you, not when you’re pleading, aching to show him off and make it known that he is the centre of your world. slowly, he relents, undoing the last few buttons of his pressed-cotton dress shirt so that he can take the flailing ends of the material between his teeth. the both of you share a haughty groan as isagi reveals his blistering hot skin to the cool, airconditioned room. washboard abs contract under your greedy hands as you smooth over his lean frame – defined by the hard work he does on the pitch every day.
you inch your way down his body, leaving a trail of wet kisses and sloppily placed hickies in your wake until you’re able to sink onto your knees between his spread thick thighs. the entire time, you keep your eyes locked on his – never shying away or backing down, staring straight into mirthy ocean blue because you know just how much isagi loves it when you keep your eyes on him, when you look at him with those sweet puppy dog eyes. like he’s the only thing that exists in your world.
in all your years together, you’ve come to know that yoichi isagi is much more of a giver than he is a receiver. you learned that very quickly and in the most appetisingly sinful ways possible. he’s always quick to go down on you, to taste you, gets a kick out of being the only one to put his mouth on you and know the best way to make you cum on his tongue. you wonder if he’d like the reverse treatment tonight. since, when you do actually get to give him head, he’s extra sensitive.
your cunt flutters at the idea of what’s to come, but you push down your own selfish wants and needs to focus on the man panting in anticipation above you. “yoichi,” you sigh, licking your lips once your knees are firmly planted on the floor — their wet surface coasting over his toned stomach as it contracts felicitously. “wanna suck you off. i’m going to suck you off.”
isagi sucks in a breath, slumping back in the seat and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “yeah? you are?” he leers down at you languidly, his eyes darkening virulently — their cobalt shine dimming as though a storm cloud has raged forward to block out all forms of sunlight emitting from your happy-go-lucky boyfriend. his switch has been flipped and you’re the only one to blame. “right now?”
you pout and nod preciously, resting the chub of your cheek on his twitch thigh before you drag the pinkish tip of your tongue over his perfectly pressed black slacks. “i mean it, yoichi,” he thinks you’re so cute like this, assertive. possessive. a carnal hankering for Japan’s best striker tearing through your body with unspeakable force. “right now.”
“alright, alright,” isagi raises his hands in joking defence, bright laughter brewing from deep within, before he cups your face to capture your gaze — watching you with pride as your mouth accepts the thumb that glides over your bottom lip. “you know, you don’t have to. i don’t want you to think that i need sex to be reminded of how much i love you—” he’s reassuring with his words, because the pro player would never want to make you feel used over some slight jealousy but his concern quickly joins your melting pot of lust fuelled emotions when you suck down on his thumb. hard.
a teaser of what’s to come.
nestling yourself back on your haunches, you beam up at the soccer player with sweet eyes that occasionally shoot down to his now, very prominent, pulsating erection as he manspreads a little more in place. the sight makes your mouth water and a hungry whine lodge itself in the base of your throat too. “i want to,” you say. “i want you.”
“you want me, huh?” he presses down on your tongue with an air of both fascination and condescension about him, enjoying your struggle as you lightly gargle around the rough pad of his digit and earning a saccharine simper from you. “well… that’s nice to know, precious,” isagi coos to you slyly, the slightest crack in his voice hinting at his slowly crumbling composure. the way he yearns for you, even while playing cool, will never cease to make you melt — at the end of the day he craves your attention in the same way you long for his. it’s a delightful dynamic that never leaves either of you undesired because you know each other down to the dark depths of your souls, only fuelling the passion that buzzes between you and keeps your borderline obsessive relationship alive. “tell me more, let me hear it… let me see it, baby…”
pulling from the addictive, wet cavern of your mouth, isagi drags his saliva slicked thumb over your cupid’s bow — smudging it over the corners of your lips with a satisfied hum. it almost sounds like he’s begging, pleading with you to fan at the flames of debauchery circulating through his bloodstream — setting his body alight with bright white lust. like throwing wood or gasoline on an open fire, he wants you to feed his ego, stroke it until he’s certain that he’s the only one on your mind. the only one you’d die for and heaven knows you’d sing isagi’s praises until your final breath.
with your entire body bristling with joy and underlying pleasure at his intimate gestures, you keen into his firm thighs and chase the touch of his fingertips like a good girl. “i always do. i want you in every way. want you to know that you’re mine…” you bleat earnestly, as though you’re stating an obvious fact. “and i want other people to know that too…”
instinctively, your lips part to reveal the thick web of drool that ties the roof of your mouth the your tongue. to see you like this, on your knees with a raging appetite does something insane to isagi’s ego, something of a power trip. it reminds him of how good he must be to get you so riled and fucked up over a girl he hardly cares about. practically salivating with the dire need to selfishly keep him all to yourself. in your heart of hearts you’ll be the only one for him until the day he fades from this earth, but still, you feel an urge to prove that to him.
maybe it’s a little fucked up and twisted that he enjoys it, maybe it’s a little sinister that he’s basking in the way your eyes form heart shapes while you admire him from below — like he’s some kind of god who’s cock you want to serve and worship.
the foundations of your relationship with isagi might be loving and healthy — the happiest you’ve ever been with a partner in your life…but it's woven together by strong threads of slightly unhealthy, unhinged monomania that neither of you care to get rid of any time soon. especially now that your lover is hanging over you, starry eyed and rosy cheeked about to fuck your mouth in some lavish hotel room in a foreign country. you love this. you thrive on it.
“come back to me, precious. don’t wander too far,” isagi’s freehand once abandoned on the fabric arms of the chair takes yours, intertwining your fingers and guiding them over the bulge outlined in the dark material of his dress pants, sucking in a sharp breath when you begin to paw at him by your own will. “fuck… that’s what you do to me, baby. that’s all you. no one else,” his admission sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your clit and coaxes you into the dark, inebriating enigma that is isagi yoichi, clouding your mind and expelling any thoughts you may have from your mind. he clicks his fingers before your dilated eyes, voice low and sexy when he speaks. “you’re so pretty when you’re not paying attention, baby. thought you wanted all of mine…c’mere, suck my cock like you said you would. i wanna watch, wanna show you how i only have eyes for you.”
you feel dizzy, like you’ve fallen under a spell that you never want to wake from. “all me?” your voice is quiet, raspy from the lust that you feel as your dainty hand roughly rubs at his dick print, back and forth, back and forth. god, you might really kill him. isagi. he might die here with you smiling up at him every time he twitches to life underneath your fingertips and he’d die happy.
and when you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his clothed cock, he thinks he might have seen god. “all you, precious. just you…” blue lock’s diamond in the rough races to finish his sentence, unable to fight his instinct to kiss you. appease you. pacify all of your doubts and worries and jealousy. he relents, giving into you — licking past the seams of your swollen lips, just enough to leave you wanting more, blur the thoughts in your brain and put your mind at ease. isagi dangles himself and his body in front of you like a worshiper offering up a sacrificial lamb to the gods, to keep you wanting him and boosting his ego.
that way, you dance around each other, light on your toes, breathing new life and excitement into your relationship no matter who or what comes your way. it works; not that you’d expect anyone outside of the two of you to understand your functional dysfunctionality.
palming him harder and faster, you smooth a finger over the outline of your boyfriend’s leaky tip and watch hungrily as precum seeps through material – effectively darkening it, and earning yourself petulant moans and whines from isagi. pretty sounds that just barely escape through perfect gritted teeth. its impossible not to adore the way that the star player, so strong and confident, trembles above you – going as far to pet your pretty head to ground himself ( never to push your head down, he knows you don’t like that). he grows impatient, struggling to breathe, struggling with the idea of not fucking up into your mouth just yet. you’re torturing yoichi and he loves it, following you into the dark depths of hell.
“i love you like this yoichi; only i get you like this,” you moan, evilly, lowly and tauntingly between his legs, knowingly pushing the pro player beyond his limits. “not her, only i can be the one to taste you. that’s why i’m yours and you’re mine.” between each word, you mouth hotly at his sticky, clothed cockhead – the condensed, temperate air seeping through the barriers of fabric that keep you from him.
you want him to admit it. to say that it’s true. you belong to each other.
subsequently, isagi’s head drops forward, a mop of blackened hair falling over his covetously clouded eyes – pupils blown as the sunkissed surface of his bare chest glistens with a light sheet of sweat. “f-fuck,” the soccer star curses quietly, the volume of his voice just high enough for you to hear. “only you. you’re the only one. p-please precious. c-can i have your mouth on my cock now?”
that’s all you need to hear before you’re leaping forward like a lioness who’s finally chosen her prey. “take it off for me?” whilst you busy yourself with peeling back the final two layers of your boyfriend’s clothes, without much care for their fine craftsmanship – isagi, ever the sweetheart, does some of the work for you and fiddles with the belt cinched around his unfairly slender waist. he makes quick work of it too, hanging onto your every sugary word as the metal buckle clinks in your ears and his hips are set free from their clothed confines.
you leave intentionally placed love bites and hickies against his pelvis as his pants and boxers come down, knowing that they’ll sting with the reminder of you during his next match. then your tongue tangles in the dark curls of his happy trail, honeyed laughter echoing in your throat when isagi’s drippy girth finally comes into view. the entirety of him slaps against his shimmering, rock hard abs once enough of him is revealed to the world, spasming rhythmically as a result of the fresh, air-conditioned atmosphere.
not that you’ve had much to compare it to, but you’re sure that yoichi isagi has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. he’s thicker than he is long, yet the perfect size to keep you satisfied almost daily and plugged full of cum where it counts. contrastingly, his balls are round, plump, full of an ungodly amount of seed reserved only for you and the parts of your body he thinks it’ll look best on. viscous, opaque precum beads at the slit on his tip, ready to be sampled.
and you do just that, leaning forward without using your hands and kitten licking the saltine stream of his essence from his mushroomed cockhead that burns a painful shade of crimson red – completely flushed from your earlier ministrations. it shines sinfully as though its been glossed like your lips. not to mention, the veins that spiral decoratively all the way down isagi’s meaty shaft rival the colour of his azure eyes and pulsate with the lustful blood rush from his brain. you take care with your touch, keeping it tender as you wrap your dainty digits around him, flesh to flesh for the first time that night – circling the pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip, smearing precum through it’s sticky slit sweetly.
“y’so pretty, yoichi…” you say through a pleased shudder, misty bambi eyes flickering from his length in your hands to his handsome face – twisted in ecstatic-like agony.
god, he smells like heaven, is all you can think as you slap your boyfriend’s thick dick against the palette of your tongue rolling over your bottom lip. a heavy musk mixed with blades of freshly cut grass fills your nose, drifts over your brain like a concentrated fog wafting through a swamp – acting like the fumes of a sleep gas that dampen your ability to control your own consciousness. you become hyperaware of everything, the carpet brushing harshly against your bare knees, the weight of him against your tongue and the same tip of your tongue that writhes against the backs of your teeth, yoichi’s shaking thighs and how he throbs in your grip.
starting nice and slow, you jerk the parts of isagi not resting on your tongue – a series of wrecked and strained sighs catching on the ridges of his throat when you adjust your hold on his dick, your slick palm pressing into prominent forked veins that wrap around his shaft. “yeah, says you,” his breathing falters barely, managing to counter your compliment, “i’m all yours. do what you want with me…” the air in his lungs grows scarce and thin like he’s been tossed into the depths of space and lost himself to the darkness of his own debauched mind, when you shake your head from side to side – slurping down whatever paints the pink of your strawberry tongue with opaque white.
its nearly too much for isagi, the threat of bursting prematurely into your mouth, looming over him. so he does what any man should do before getting head from their precious girl. before you can move to take him into your mouth fully, just as you have done many times before, warm breath coasting along his chubby cock – the soccer star swoops down once more, capturing your awaiting mouth in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.
yoichi sucks his own flavour from every inch of your tongue, making you mewl muffledly in surprise. you know his body all to well, you’re familiar with what makes him tick and what has him creaming in a matter of a few measly minutes – but tonight, he wants to hold off, savour the special treatment you give him, giving you the time and attention you need to ( unnecessarily ) prove your position to him. where isagi is number one in japan’s soccer league – you are number one in his heart and mind. a fact that he is proud to know.
you giggle against puffy lips that smack lewdly against yours, choosing to palm him instead of giving him head for time time being. his dick jumps to life at the gentle movement, spewing milky white against your knuckles while you form a closed fist around him. “gonna make you cum, ‘ichi. that’s what i’m gonna do with you,” you state like its obvious, or at least try to, between selfish kisses and the lubricous sounds your hand makes as it glides up and down your boyfriend’s cock – wet from where you’ve been toying with and licking at him. your movements are also aided by the globes of precum that drip down to his balls from time to time.
“god… that’s all i wanna do. fill that pretty mouth with my cum, watch you swallow it…” isagi rasps with finality before breaking the kiss and pulling back to sit at attention. he stares down at you through unfairly long and dark lashes, obsidian black engulfing the assure in eyes as you drag your smooch swollen over the cream he leaks one last time. “can i do that? please, precious?”
the begging combined with the baritone register to isagi’s voice makes your skin crawl in the best of ways — clearing your mind so that all you think about is him. his power over you despite his dick being at the mercy of your wet lips and gentle touch is something to be studied. instead of verbally responding, you let the physicality of your actions speak for themselves — leaning forward, you take your boyfriend down your throat with practised ease, sinking down on him until his bulbous cockhead just barely grazes the back of your throat and your nose is tickled by his faint happy trail.
a symphony of soggy whimpers and lewd gargling noises tangle with the thick smog of lust in the air, isagi’s head collapsing back against the head of the chair — midnight blue locks tousled against the furniture, sitting perfectly out of place.
your tongue molds against the curve in yoichi’s cock, flexing the pink muscle as it swirls from his chubby base up to his seedy tip. “fuuuck me, baby. always forget how fuckin’ good your mouth feels,” the sensation leaves isagi unable to open his eyes, rendered useless as you lick and suck at him to your heart’s content — he just barely manages to lift a shaky hand, lovingly rubbing over one of your cheeks as it bulges with his girth before moving to pet your head. your gaze flickers up and the all-star soccer player lets out a heaving laugh. “d-don’t worry… ‘m not gonna push you down. i’d never… never do that to you,” it’s too soon, to be this fucked up and high on ecstasy... but you’ve always had that affect on him. that ability to make isagi see stars before the night has even begun. your shiny gaze and chubby cheeks so full of him only amplify his feelings, abs clenching to stave off a premature high. “need to feel you, g-ground myself a little…shit, you’re so perfect.”
at the praise, a gentle hum from you reverberates around isagi’s cock, causing a lightening strike of dopamine to spark in the little space between his brain and his skull — dazing him. “you’re so good t’me, precious. how could i ever look at someone the way i look at you?” he drawls, wiping a trace of drool from the corner of your mouth. “my good girl, on her knees, taking me so well.” notes of paise are lavishly layered over the whiny lilt to your boyfriend’s voice, only pushing you to work harder — basking in the rewarding feeling of knowing that you’re the only one to have him like this.
hollowing your cheeks in the way you know he likes, you swallow him down and your throat contracts to tackle his thickness, until his sticky mushroomed tip is just barely brushing over your uvula. you were each other’s firsts, isagi’s never had his cock sucked by anyone else nor anyone as talented as you. he’s so glad to have you, someone who cares to pay attention to what he likes and gets him off the quickest. he could never replace you, not when you’re down on your knees keeping him safe in the warmth of your wet and hungry mouth.
for a moment or two, you lazily bob your head — eyes fluttering sleepily at the heaviness of yoichi against your saliva soaked tongue. it gives you time to taste him, the saltine precum he oozes, sliding down your throat like a viscous lava flow. his flavour is just as enticing as his scent, you’ll never give that up, never let anyone else take this right away from you.
tilting your head to the side, you let isagi shallowly thrust into the soft epithelium of your cheek — a string of colourful curses spilling from his frenzied mouth into the buzzing, sex tainted air. you give and he gives back, every time you gargle on his aching, pulsating cock he treats you with his own airy, pathetic moan. a never ending sinful cycle between the two of you.
“s-shit. such a dirty little trick, precious,” a dirty laughter rings out into the night, fucked up and full of fondness. isagi throws a burly arm over his flushed face, hiding his blush and the shine on his face. “don’t you need to come up for air?” he’s done for, ruined — evident in the way fat beads of sweat begin to bedazzle yoichi’s hairline, soaking through his dark coloured hair. the collar of his white dress shirt darkens as the liquid seeps through, showcasing how much of a mess you’ve made him despite how amused he attempts to appear.
running your tongue over the veins on the underside of his cock, you smile with your dazzlingly pretty eyes and swallow him down to the base once more. “no? didn’t think so… you’re so cock hungry and desperate to prove a point you wouldn’t waste a second without mine in your mouth,” resolve weakened by your tantalising tongue and gaze, blue lock’s all star player lets his filthy mouth run. every dirty, nasty, sick and twisted thought that comes to mind slips through your ears like treacle in the form of poorly structured sentences. acting just like he would be during a match. the sight and sound of yoichi isagi makes your cunt throb, that familiar feeling beginning to stem in the pit of your stomach. “look so happy with me in your mouth, should… let you suck me off more often,”
you’d agree if you didn’t have your mouth full, spit and precum running down your chin — glazing your lips like an expensive gloss that can’t go to waste. what you wouldn’t give to be able to worship isagi like this more often… because giving him pleasure, is receiving it too. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t extremely turned on right now, juices basting the seat of your underwear; clit throbbing so ruthlessly that you have no choice but to grind your hips down against the floor to alleviate its ache. one word and isagi would do anything to take care of you, drag you onto his lap and pound up into you. perhaps flip you over in the chair and fuck you until you received noise complaints from the entire floor, not just his team. you’d love that, you both would… but tonight was all about him.
all about telling him, showing him how he’s the only one that runs through your twisted mind. like a one track horse. and how you should be the only thing that runs through his mind.
even if your lungs burn with the dire need for oxygen, even if your head spins from the lack of air and even if your jaw locks from how long you’ve been deepthroating the soccer star — you won't stop. you can’t stop. not until he’s begging you for mercy and pleading with you to blow his load against your talented tongue or pretty face. everything makes it all worth it, to bring an egoist down a notch, humbling him and reminding him who it is that gives him that boost. isagi is worth it, those striking cobalt eyes fluttering and the pinkish blush blooming across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. all of it.
especially when his expression worsens, morphs into agonised bliss. when you draw back, plush lips wrapped around his tip, tauntingly squeeze his cock between slippery fingers and dance down to give the same treatment to his weighty balls — plump and full of cum yet to be unleashed on you. dancing that fine line between pain and pleasure.
eventually, though, the ache in your chest becomes too much to bare and you pull from isagi’s dripping dick with a lewd pop — panting for air. “you taste so good, yoichi,” you rasp, throat a little sore from blowing him off for so long. “are you gettin’ close?” the innocent cadence to your voice sorely contradicts the iniquitous way that your palm replaces your mouth — stroking yoichi at a strikingly rapid pace. the centre of your hand becomes doused with each movement, covered in a layer of opaque precum that practically pours down your wrist and over your knuckles.
“so close, baby. you’re gettin’ me so close,” one thing that’s certain, is that isagi will miss this once it’s all over. once the dam breaks and the passionate jealousy cools, he’ll miss the view and your soft hands barely fitting around him. your cute little mouth sucking on him for all he’s worth. “my girl— knows just what to do to get me off. ‘m so lucky, so fucking lucky…” he slurs avidly, chest heaving, throat running dry. yoichi throws his head back, desperately trying to delay his inevitable high so that he can selfishly stay in the moment with you.
but the pleasure mounts like the well cemented bricks of a sturdy house deep within his gut — his insides twist deliciously, epinephrine and pure excitement shooting through his veins addictively. he knows this feeling all too well, that prickling sensation that creeps up on him during a match as well as the puzzle pieces that come into view. it’s the taste of victory, the taste of triumph and euphoria. the soccer star only ever gets this way when he’s on the pitch or when he’s at the mercy of his perfect girlfriend.
you.
all he needs is a little push to get over the edge, you know that. you can tell by the way he twitches in your soft grip while you continue to jerk him off lovingly. the soccer star instinctively starts to buck into the small fist you make around him — syncing his movements with the flick of your wrist. almost like the perfect play. “so… let go for me, baby. please, let me have you,” you giggle temptingly, regaining your breath. you hardly waste any time, increasing your speed until isagi is reduced to nothing but a puddle between your fingers. it doesn’t make you any better, you’re pawing at his spit slicked cock like it’s your full-time job.
midnight blue locks fly out of place whilst isagi shakes his head no, adam’s apple bobbing furiously in an attempt to force down beefy cries and greedy gripes. “n-no, not yet. can’t cum yet,” he swears he’s not ready, that he needs to last longer but instantly contradicts himself. taut hips lose control; fucking your hand as though it were your cunt. “don’t stop, precious. don’t you dare fucking stop—!” the tail end of his words die in the night air, twisting into a high pitched wail as you spit down onto the head of his girth. “o-oh god!”
the frothy mix clings to the obvious veins decorating isagi’s chubby dick, oozing down to his balls and base. sliding slowly and then, isagi’s quite literally putty in your hands. milky and heavy when you dip your head, swiping your tongue through his tip, on the verge of making out with it. lapping at whatever he gives you happily.
encompassing isagi’s shaft in the wetness of your mouth, you work even harder to earn his high. nursing his tip, sensually massaging what doesn’t fit, moaning around him so that the vibrations shoot through him – rattle around the inside of his skull so the only thing he hears and feels is you. by god, does it work, yoichi isagi’s mind is as clear as day – devoid of any and all rational thought except for the puzzle pieces, fragments that piece you together entirely.
like he would during a soccer match, the fight of his life, he looks for what’s missing – what makes the perfect play and allows him to survive on the field a little longer. chasing that elusive goal and flash bang of adrenaline accompanying the heartbeat in his chest. except this isn’t a match or a friendly football game, this is the dance of strong willed desire that keeps him on his toes. this is the only relationship he’ll ever want and have. you are the key to isagi’s survival, the missing part of his formula to life.
without you, there is no yoichi isagi. you make up more than half of him.
and so, as you consume his thoughts, fuck him good and make him see constellations made up by lust-blown stars — the dark haired soccer player realises he won’t ever let you doubt how precious you are to him and he won’t ever let you think that a random girl could ever take your place… because there’s no one else for him in this world aside from you. to him, you’re nothing short of perfection — having your puffy lips wrapped around his sloppy, spit slicked shaft is just an added bonus.
“gonna make me… lose it, precious,” he gasps between high-pitched moans, sweat dripping down his throat — a single bead running over his adam’s apple like a raindrop on a pane of glass. a theil courses through his system, jolting isagi in place as pick up speed around him — jerking your head up and down, faster and faster. you add your delicate touch back into play, the combination of your flexible and drooling tongue with the way intermittently squeeze his length teases all of your boyfriend’s senses. he can taste how close his orgasm is, feel that pressure build and tingle in all four of his limbs, see the way your cheeks and chin glisten with spit and precum. he’s right on the edge, and if he closes his eyes even for a second — he might miss how quick it all comes crashing down. “ohmygod… i’m close. r-right there… sweet jesus. baby…!”
you know the signs all too well, the tautness to his abs and stomach, fidgeting thighs and the practically sobbed out, laboured breaths that make isagi sound like he’s drowning — locking eyes with you, angsty swirls of ocean blue boring into your soul, he knows that you know he’s about to burst. because your innocent eyes flicker with mirth and well you pull off his bright red cock to speak, never letting up on the relentless flick of his wrist — your pouty lips quirk upwards into a cruel, calculated smirk. “cum in my mouth,” you demand, no room for questioning. “give it to me ‘ichi. make a mess. give me your cum.” he’s rendered incoherent from the pressure, any retort he had planned dissolved into a haze of need while yoichi frantical nods his head in agreement though he knows he wants to cum elsewhere.
in a battle of heart vs mind (or dick versus mind), what be wants you up there with him, kiss him, coaxing him through it — instead he revels in the feeling of his sensitive tip slapping his dick on the flat surface of your tongue. you’re almost ashamed of how wet the connection sounds as the pink muscle writes in place, aching to swallow down all of his cum, pleasuring isagi with all that you can. his face scrunches again, a haughty moan ripping through the tense atmosphere when you experiment with your grip, alternating between gentler touches and a firm hold on the meat of him. his eyes screw shut while he fights little whimpers and moans. isagi always sounds so sexy when he's about to cum — you can hardly get enough.
a surge of power courses through you as you tear the great egoist to pieces between your teeth and hands working him to the high heavens. your strokes become more insistent, matching the fastness to his uneven breathing. yoichi’s cock throbs rhythmically, forked veins pulsing as happy hormones dart from his brain, down his spine and to his balls aching for release. he’s almost there, walking the tightrope, dancing on a fine line — isagi’s body tightness, muscles stiffening and that’s when his eyes suddenly snap open wildly.
that’s the final straw for yoichi. the nasty squelch that echoes from your slobbery mouth when his hips instinctively jump up to feed you his cock — “no… no i—” the soccer star stammers, pupils blown until they eclipse the midnight sky trapped in his eyes. his voice is strained, husky, as the world around him threatens to fall away. “fuuuck, that’s it…‘m cummin’… shit. didn’t wanna—” he punctuates his words with sharp, accidental thrusts and the first spurts of viscous and hot seed hit the back of your throat — nearly taking you by surprise.
you can’t even bring yourself to stop, worshiping isagi’s dick like it’s god’s gift to mankind — peering up at him with blissful hearts dazzling in your eyes because you need him to need you, to love you enough that he’ll keep filling your mouth with his cum. he’s salty, creamy, everything you could ever want and it feels so good to make him tremble and shake above you. you press a hand against his tummy, feeling it tighten under your palm. your mouth is too wet, too hot, too perfect and far too much for him to handle and he crumbles like a tonne of bricks back down to earth.
just like that, the striker’s orgasm continues to rip through him, painting your mouth a shade of white as his release copiously spurts from his ravaged cockhead. “you gotta… you gotta stop, precious,” isagi heaves your name gently, because he’s still going and he’s far from done. at first, you feel scorned, cheeks and chest burning with embarrassment — did you go too far? is this too much? does he not… want you anymore? but your boyfriend is quick to reassure you, trembling hands lifting from the arms of the chair to cup your shiny, arousal soaked face tenderly. his own painted with a pained and pleading expression. “please come up here baby, need you. still cumming, got me so fucked up.”
letting go of his milky tip, you both greet each other with coy smiles. yoichi holds your face and you keep hold of his hard cock as you carefully crawl into his lap. he instantly guides you into a sloppy open mouthed kiss, simpering against your cum-soaked tongue in release as he sucks his own release off of it. the taste of himself is enough to keep isagi turned on, ploughing roughly into the ‘o’ shape your soft fist forms around him — using your hand like his own personal fleshlight.
memorised by him, your lips chase after his, your eyes while you pump him through the rest of his plentiful orgasm — little mewls of his name escaping into each warm breath you take between languid lip locks. they’re lazy and dazed, entirely uncoordinated yet so completely addictive. all you want to do is taste him and all he wants to do is swallow you whole until you’re apart of him — swapping spit, swapping the thickness of his cum that still remains on your tongue.
“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… can’t get enough of you. treat me so fuckin’ good…” yoichi trips and stumbles over his words, losing control of his taught hips that wildly grind and thrust into your sloppy palm. thick white oozes over the edge of your knuckles, an endless trail of it seemingly starting at the slit on his bright red tip. everything is a mess — his body is drenched in sweat, his pants and your bare thighs soaked and stained with cum whilst his eyes borderline shine with tears. and despite it all, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
yoichi isagi is beautiful and he’s all yours.
squeezing the base of your boyfriend’s shaft as if to milk the very last drop of his orgasm out of him, you nudge your nose along the side of his own and press encouraging kisses over his cupid’s bow and swollen lips. you’ve broken him in, made sure he’ll never so much as look at or have the desire to fuck someone else ever. “mmph… yoichi. keep on cummin’ for me, whatever you have to give. i want it,” the size of him doubles as a second load builds up in his balls, dwarfing your hand that works him up in slow, silky strokes.
“i love you. fuck, i love you — god!” isagi becomes ravenous for his release and with one final guttural groan he paints your hand and your supple thighs with another round of heavy, white hot cum. his entire body shudders with the force of it, white nose crackling in his ears like static from an old fashioned TV. he feels like he might die, like he can’t breathe because of how much he’s cum by now… but you’re right there with him, foreheads pressed against each other and your lips a breath’s width away from swallowing down exhausted-sounding curse words.
his head falls to the crook of your neck, ragged breath fanning over your damp skin as yoichi mumbles the syllables of your name like a well rehearsed mantra — spilling seed over your intertwined bodies, tucked into his cramped chair.
the temperature of the room begins to cool, silence now replacing the buzzing particles of lust that once filled the air. the egoist is still holding you tight, hiccuping incoherent thoughts and broken phrases against your flesh whilst he calms down. eventually, you break the quiet by smooching him softly on the side of his head, the two of you sharing a hushed giggle. “you okay?” you ask attentively, stroking back the mussed sweaty locks of his dark hair.
“mhm…more than; think i got a little carried away,” comes yoichi’s lazy reply before he cautiously leans back, flinching only when you release his sensitive sodden cock from your hold. glistening azure eyes sweep over your face and crinkle at the corner with a bashful smile. your egoist has faded away and your sweetheart boyfriend reappears for the final act. “sorry for pulling you off earlier i just, really really, wanted to kiss you.”
shaking your head reassuringly, you lift your soiled hand to suck his cream from your fingers — laughing when isagi leans up to lick the reminders of his release from the corner of your mouth dirtily. “i liked it, i think it’s hot how you always wanna taste yourself.”
“what can i say? it tastes even better when it’s coming from you…” he groans lowly at the sight of you cleaning your hand up, fighting the urge to pull you in for another round. “how’s your jaw, and your knees?”
“all good,” your cleaner hand scales the length of isagi’s tired body, tracing over patterns of berry purples and midnight blues that have taken the shape of love bites across every inch of his golden skin. evidence of your promise to each other. “hope these aren’t too sore tomorrow…” you add quietly, grinning at your work.
pride washes over him as you draw invisible lines between each bruise, connecting them like constellations. “i like my pleasure with a bit of pain. so, i think they’re perfect,” yoichi states before he takes your wrist in his large hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your pulse point. another silent promise, once that commits his heart to yours for as kind as you’ll have him. “you know how i feel about belonging to you. i am yours as much as you are mine — even if we get a little crazy about it,” there’s hidden meaning in his words, a reference to hana and the jealously that sparked tonight’s raunchy rendezvous. “i love when you show me off, i love when you get like this. i love you all the time. i love you and no one else.”
even though he’d just spent the better half of an hour moaning, crying and groaning your name — isagi takes the time to address the worries that had led to the events of the evening. he loves you, and will only ever love you. no doe eyed, brand new and sparkly co-worker can change that. you’ve been by his side since the very beginning, he’d be a fool to give up someone as perfect for him as you.
in other words, hana has nothing on you.
“i love you too,” the butterflies return to your tummy as a bashful heat tingles just beneath the surface of your skin — you distract yourself by closing your eyes and snuggling against yoichi, hiding your face in his bitten and bruised chest. “think she’ll get the memo, though?” you ask, biting back another round of sleepy laughter.
“oh, i think she absolutely will.” isagi chuckles as his own eyes drift shut, resting his chin atop your head affectionately.
damn right she will.
BONUS:
you can’t get down to the pitch fast enough, and of course, hana beats you to it.
in the second half of what’s supposed to be a friendly warm-up match before the next game, isagi is practically bulldozed over by a member of the opposing team. tensions are high, a perfectly calculated goal swiped from right between his feet fades into nothingness and your precious boyfriend is writhing in pain between freshly trimmed blades of grass and asphalt. as if acting on pure instinct, your legs move before your mind does and you’re darting from your seat in the stalls with other blue lock girlfriends and family members to be by the egoist’s side without even realising.
the tip of your toe just barely makes it onto the grass by the time hana is cosying up to yoichi, his head in her lap, beautiful face contorted with discomfort while she innocently inspects his body for any signs of injury. of course she gets to him first. this is practically the better half of her job but even after your night with isagi, that doesn’t mean you’ve learned to trust her too.
and so, you end up trotting behind the pair and the medical team as they manoeuvre your boyfriend off the pitch. you visibly cringe when hana insists that she ‘handle him from here’ as they go. some of the boys laugh at that, you think.
“that was quite the fall you took there, yoichi, do you… mind if i take a look?” she asks him in a sickly sweet tone, the kind that gives you a toothache or makes your stomach twist like you’ve had too much sugar. she’s dying to give him a pat down, you think, entirely too close to him now that they’re settled in the medical bay. “it’ll only take a second.”
yoichi shrugs, twitching to get back out there and into the game. back out there to show off for you, make you proud. “sure.”
a little frown tugs on hana’s lips whilst she stands before him, he’s colder than usual but continues her work — tipping and tapping at the parts of the star player she thinks are injured. “any pain in your ankle?”
“nope.”
“knee?”
“nah.”
“shoulder?”
“feels good…” the blue eyed striker interjects, patience wearing slightly thin. “are we almost done here?”
isagi rolls his shoulder experimentally to double check his own pain levels but just as he lifts his arm, hana presses down on his ribcage — nodding to herself once the pro player hisses uncomfortably. “ribs,” her hand slips dangerously low. “hips too. take off your shirt, we might need to put some muscle gel on there if we want to get you back out there!”
it could all be in his head, the slight bite of excitement nestled deep within her high pitched, candied voice. she’s just doing her job. she’s just being nice… but after all that you and isagi discussed ( or at least attempted to, with his dick in your mouth for most of the evening ), he can’t help but let his suspicions grow. even still; yoichi does as he’s told, slowly rolling up two layers of polyester and spandex ( from his football jersey and compression shirt ) to reveal his perfectly carved, marbled body to underlyingly hungry eyes.
a gasp rips through the quietness of the medical bay, not the reaction both isagi nor hana were looking for. where blue lock’s number one was expecting actual medical advice, she was expecting injured but otherwise golden delicious skin, her greedy gaze meet’s yoichi’s bruised and bitten flesh, a trail of slightly swollen love bites extend from his neck and collar bones, over his chest and between plush pecs, all the way down to his pelvis and probably beyond…
hana’s cheeks immediately flush, her gaze averting isagi’s bright ocean eyes and hands immediately pulling away from his body. “o-oh my god… i-isagi where did you get all of those bruises?” she feigns surprise. they both know she’s not stupid. anyone with an active sex life and enough common sense can tell that yoichi isagi is covered in hickies.
what she means to ask is… who did this to you?
a personal question with an answer she doesn’t really want to know — one that’ll shatter her heart and whatever fantasy she had of herself and pro player in her head. a stupid crush squashed before her very own eyes.
an awkward silence fills the room, only broken by the light humming of the artificial white lights hanging up above. yoichi grins sheepishly, at least that’s what it seems like to hana, rubbing the back of his neck as if to soothe an embarrassed heat that blossoms there. “oh well… my girlfriend gave them to me...” he laughs lightly, crinkles forming happily at the corners of mirthy blue eyes. what she doesn’t know is how intentional isagi can be. how he likes to see an opponent squirm like an insect under a microscope during a challenge. you see, he’s realised it now, put the pieces together. if it hadn’t been for you staking your claim on him, hana probably would have made a move. too bad he’s only got tunnel vision for you. “we must have gotten carried away, she loves to see me play, yanno?” he adds with another bout of sweet laughter. “she was in the stands earlier, wearing my number. she’s the cutest thing.”
recognition sparks across hana’s face. the last piece of the puzzle falling into place a little too late. she knows who you are, of course. you’ve always been around. always clinging onto isagi. she just never… her entire body writhes in place, tense and humiliated — doing her best to chuckle along with the soccer star seated before her.
yoichi knows that he’s being a little mean, doing all this. putting on a show. subtly declaring his love for you. but he’s setting a boundary that should have been put in place a long time ago and by the way you look at him as you slip silently into the room — eyes so full of love and appreciation, he can tell he’s doing a good job. he’s reaffirmed his love for you in the most meaningful way and that’s all that matters to him.
he doesn’t care for hana, not in the way he does for you and he probably never will. that should have been made clear from the very start.
“i’m sure… i’m sure the two of you make a great couple a-and i bet you look great together!” hana stutters, finally looking isagi in the eye as she sweeps her jealously under the rug. “she’s lucky to have found you…” she mutters the last part under her breath, hoping he doesn’t notice.
but isagi isn’t looking at her and he does notice, instead choosing to stay focused on the point over her shoulder where you stand — ocean eyes and stormy gaze lasered in on you and only you. he notes the relief that washes over your worried body language once you know that he’s truly okay. not to mention the subtle quirk in your lips as you give him an angelic smile. he can’t help but mirror it, truly enamoured by you, amused at himself and how he gets tunnel vision just by looking at you.
“i know we do and i’m the lucky one, she loves unconditionally,” isagi states like his word is fact, because to him, it is. you’re the only thing that matters in this world, his biggest blessing to date. “i will only ever have eyes for her.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
Summary: He returns home after being away for a few days to play an important game. But at home, something is happening that is far more important to him. "You know you're more important than a measly 90 minutes on the field."
Tag/Warnings: Fluff, taking care of his sick girlfriend/wife, domestic fluff, heartwarming, mention of vomiting, A/U where they actually feel human’s emotions and feelings such as empathy and compassion.
a/n: In memory of the first time I got sick while living on my own. Here 'Je suis malade' by Lara Fabian (Hugo). Here 'Je reviens te chercher' by Gilbert Bécaud (Loki).
────୨ৎ────
Bunny ⋆˚꩜｡
Barça’s crushing victory over Sevilla in the Copa del Rey final made headlines.
In red, in big letters, on every TV channel. Even if you were bedridden, with a fever clinging to you like a sin, you knew everything—from every dribble to Iglesias’s hat trick.
You were proud of him.
Because no headache on earth could stop you from watching his games and feeling that pride. You’d brave a dry throat and dizziness just to see him celebrate his goal from afar.
Even if the flu meant dozing off unintentionally for a few minutes and waking up thinking you’d landed in paradise.
But no, that wasn’t the case yet—it was just Bunny standing at the foot of the bed.
Fatigue kept you from making out the expression on his face, but you knew him. He was probably studying you, a smile on his lips as he tried to guess whether you’d just woken up from a nap or were faking it.
"I called your name."
He broke the silence, his eyebrows furrowing in a mix of concern and relief at your presence. Priceless, starved for your mere company.
“I’m sorry,” a cough interrupted your sentence, and your runny nose compelled you to search for a pack of tissues among the pile on the bed. “I didn’t hear you. Did everything went well?”
Lying there like a mummy, wrapped in dozens of blankets and yet still feeling a chill in the air, he moved closer to you and handed you what you were looking for. A gentle expression etched on his face.
"What's wrong, cariño?"
So soft, his voice echoed through the room bathed in orange light—the only light your fragile eyes could bear—his hand finding yours. Pressing it gently with a tenderness that whispered to you that he was there now.
"I don't know," you sniffed again. But this time it was different—he could tell. It was a sniff that revealed an overwhelming urge to cry out of sheer exhaustion. "I think I'm sick."
Trembling, your faint voice reached his ears, tugging at his heartstrings.
"I think so too," he knelt down beside you, the cold of his hand contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from your forehead. "Very much indeed."
With a difficulty as great as not laughing when he missed a goal he had dedicated to you, you propped yourself up. And the world around you rocked like a boat caught in a raging sea.
A sea where every ship flies his flag.
"Easy there," he cooed, stroking your back, probably feeling how damp you were from having stayed in bed all day. "Why didn't you call?"
Slowly, sliding like a snake toward your chin, his thumb cupped your face, lifting it just enough to make out your tired eyes, ringed with dark circles.
"I didn't want to worry you," you blubbered, averting your gaze as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry—I'm such a burden."
You had this innate ability to make everything more romantic.
Even when you were sick as a dog, all he noticed was that your pajamas had his name on them.
He didn’t notice anything else—just the way you’d slept on his side of the bed. Or that the TV was playing highlights from his game.
He didn’t care about your sweat, your runny nose, or your hoarse voice. All he saw was how much of him shone through you. That even in pain and discomfort, you were still thinking of him.
"You know that's not true," Brief and gentle on your chapped lips, he pressed a soft kiss. The tips of his fingers drying away those tears he so despised on you. "You know you’re more important than 90 minutes on a pitch."
"Stop that, Bunny. You’ll get sick."
"That's the best gift you could ever give me," again, he planted another peck on them. "Wouldn't you like to be stuck in bed with me?"
Hugo ⋆˚꩜｡
"Ma choupette?"
The front door slammed shut, jolting you abruptly out of your daze.
Slumped over your desk, wearing a dressing gown that wasn’t yours, you struggled as best you could to remember your very name.
Your mind was still foggy, your eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh light, and your head was pounding in time with your heartbeat—or even faster. You couldn’t tell.
Even peeling the paper off your sweaty arm was a real ordeal. The pen wedged between your fingers a clue about what you were doing before you succumbed to exhaustion.
Desperately trapped in a kind of dream where you couldn’t tell if the voice echoing down the hallway was his.
"Bichette, where are you?"
A reply didn't even have to cross your lips; his inner compass naturally guided him to you.
Like a cat that always lands on its feet, he knew by heart that sense of peace that washed over him whenever he found you again.
Even if he turned blind, his legs alone would guide him to you. That was destiny.
"There you are," he breathed, relieved to find you in your usual spot. As if you would ever miss one of his comings home. "Were you working with your headphones on? What did I tell you about the risk of hearing loss?"
Hugo was very pragmatic; the kind of guy who would point out the doormat that was in the wrong place—the one you might have tripped over—before even kissing you hello.
"I’m sorry, I was sleeping."
Your revelation made him drop his bag from his shoulder, a puzzled look frozen on his face. It was almost as if you’d just told him something huge, really huge, and completely unbelievable.
"What do you mean, 'sleep'? On the desk, you mean? What about your lower back? Your neck? I’ve already told you that taking naps in the middle of the day messes up your sleep cycle."
You couldn’t even get a word in edgewise, the concern in his voice growing as the realization hit him.
"Are you sick?"
"I think I’m sick."
There it was—the question and the answer at the same time. He wasn’t slow on the uptake; he just took the time to consider all the facts before drawing a conclusion.
"I’ll be right back," he slipped away, and you heard the cabinets open, the faucet turn on, then his footsteps in the hallway. "Why didn’t you call me?"
The big question. The one that had been running through his head for what felt like agonizing seconds and had probably already rewritten his brain.
"It's just the flu," you clumsily grabbed the glass of water he handed you, his fingers wrapping around it to steady your hand. "And besides, I had to work."
"Working in these conditions? Seriously," his thumb rested on your chin, opening your mouth just enough to slip an ibuprofen tablet inside. "Look at yourself. You can barely sit up. Drink."
He was a jack-of-all-trades—scolding you while playing doctor and giving you orders. So quick-witted, all yours.
"I ended up falling asleep. Maybe I passed out or something like that," you admitted, gulping down the water he offered you. "I’m sick, that’s all. No need to make a big deal out of it."
He was a proxy hypochondriac, and using terms such as "passed out" may have been the last straw on his scale of what was acceptable to hear.
"Still…"
He wasn’t reassured by your words; you could tell by the way he took your hand. His other hand resting against your lower back, he guided you through the apartment, a labyrinth to a mind so foggy.
“I can’t even concentrate when I’m sick. The flu makes me feel stupid.”
“Lara Fabian sings a song about being sick,” he murmured, tucking you into a bed with rumpled sheets and planting a kiss on your forehead.
The you from this morning was far too preoccupied with his game rather than doing household chores.
"I think she’s talking about a broken heart, not catching a nasty virus," your tried to recall, far too somnolently.
"See? Being sick doesn’t take away from your insight, choupette."
Soon after, sleep carried you away once more while he was telling you about his day. But this time, under the watchful eye of a man who was looking out for you.
And when you woke up, he already seemed more at peace. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his blank book resting on his laps, he looked at you the way a tourist might look at the Eiffel Tower.
A look of wonder and that already irresistible urge to come back and visit her every night, as the “Iron Lady” sparkles with a thousand lights.
"Was it my destiny to get sick?
"I don’t think so. But it was my destiny to take care of you."
Loki ⋆˚꩜｡
He had come back to claim her—that trophy with rabbit ears that sealed the second star on the Parisian jersey.
The capital erupted, the streets overflowing with people celebrating the coronation of the rightful champion.
Their shouts of joy echoed until the early hours of the morning, until the realization of this exploit finally catches up with them.
As for you, you dazed off as the players lifted her, your eyes closing on that picture of him. A silly smile on his lips, your ears almost picking up that beautiful laugh of his.
Maybe the stress of being away from him got the better of you, giving way to something a little more wicked.
A vicious cold.
A cold that immediately put you in bed—no room for negotiation. Just like him when he'd remind you to go to sleep, saying you needed to get your 8 hours of rest.
A cold that made you sleep for 12 hours straight, that woke you up the day after the celebrations with regret that you hadn't called him to congratulate him, and a dry throat.
Not even a quick text, worse than any type of fever.
The first thing your mind jumped on, grabbing your phone with such difficulty that just pulling your arm out from under the comforter made you shiver.
There wasn't even time for your eyes to adjust to the light before they widened.
On your home screen, dozens of unread messages ranging from cute morning texts to immense concerns. Missed calls logged at all hours of the night, almost every minutes. He’d even sent emails.
A sort of descent into madness, made worse by your dismissive attitude. And a realization that only deepened your sadness; you’d probably ruined his evening.
Still a little groggy, your brain didn’t know what to do. He was probably still asleep at that hour, after undoubtedly celebrating late into the night, but his absence actually reassured you.
It bought you some time to get back on your feet. And you would have hated for him to get sick too.
"I was worried."
You’d spoken too soon.
Leaning against the bedroom door, arms crossed, he was observing you. Eyes tired, still wearing the sweatpants from the day before, he looked as if he had a restless, unrefreshing night.
And knowing his personality and habits, that was undoubtedly the case.
"Loki," you called out, the drowsiness finally leaving your limbs. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I didn't call you to celebrate your victory."
Gathering what little strength you had left, you waved him over; your headache still too severe for you to even consider getting up.
Quiet, obedient, he slipped by your side, dropping to his knees as to be at eyes level. For a few seconds, all you could discerne was how his eyes sparkled with the pride and determination of a newlywed.
A gaze that made your heart tighten, leaving your lungs unsure whether to inhale or exhale.
"It’s okay," he reassured, sweet. "Are you sick?"
You nodded, and your throat went dry at the sound of his soft voice. As if you had longed for it for too long, his touch tingly on your skin.
His kiss, as gentle as waves lapping at your ankles, grazing the back of your hand.
"Mon cœur, you should have called me."
Right away, you shook your head.
"Certainly not," you admitted, tightening your grip with what little strength you had left. "It’s not every day you become European champion by beating your friend."
He chuckled, his piercing eyes softening for a moment. A moment when he looked at you the way he looked at her yesterday.
Terribly in love, proud and reassured.
And without even breaking his gaze, he slipped a bouquet of flowers into your palm.
The ones you adored, the ones he gifted you on every occasion. The ones who soothed your heart and could have healed all your ills.
"Maybe you’re right," again, a kiss. "But it's not every day I get the chance to take care of my own bedridden girl."
Kaiser ⋆˚꩜｡
Even though Bayern Munich’s championship win wasn’t much of a surprise after their 35th title, it was still a reason to celebrate.
But not for you.
Confined to bed with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, you felt like you were dying every time you swallowed your saliva and choking when air wouldn’t get through your nostrils.
Feeling both cold and hot at the same time, you were losing your mind as the hours ticked by. Being sick didn’t suit you—it made you very dramatic and caused a lot of overthink.
Overthinking about everything. Like those unanswered messages you sent to Micheal.
Your mind, far too foggy for such an hour of the day, overflowed with morbid thoughts. When you closed your eyes, you saw his plane crashing. When you buried your face in his pillow, you imagined a fatal car accident.
Even staring at the ceiling turned into a manhunt: supposedly, his plane had already reported its landing. So no doubt that he was still alive and that your fever was making you anxious.
Wrapped in his blanket, you peered over the balcony to see if you could spot his car on the street. But nothing—every black cars oddly resembling his.
Every blond men sporting a jaded expression a hint of hope.
Leaning on the railing, you watched the passersby wearing Bayern jerseys, smiles lighting up their faces, and a sigh escaped your lips.
Your nerves were on the verge of snapping; exhaustion was starting to make you delirious, and at that moment, you wished for him to come back to you.
That he would gently scold you, tucking your feverish body in bed, still with that hint of arrogance dripping from every words.
That feigned nonchalance that hides something as big as his love for football.
"What’s exactly is wrong with you now?"
Cold and probing, that voice felt just as good as a fresh breeze when you suddenly felt like suffocating. Disdainful even over such a simple matter—you didn’t know it was possible to be that way.
And yet, as you clutched your comforter tighter, when you turned around, you were glad to see him.
Black tracksuit adorned with the club’s crest, perfect hair, and a bag at his fingertips.
There he was, annoyingly cute with that pout religiously stuck on his lips, a gleam of animosity sparkling in the blue of his eyes.
"Michael, you’re back," you breathed softly, your fever and that anxiety subsiding with every step you took toward him.
"Why wouldn’t I be?"
“Because I was…” You stopped short, and a silence fell over the room as you realized there was actually no reason to worry.
"Get into bed," he snapped, his irritation already evident in his voice. But his rudeness was just as poorly feigned as the distant, anxious look that shone in his eyes. "I brought you some medicine."
You watched him, a raised eyebrow the only display of your confusion.
"Medicine? How did you know I was sick?"
"Go to bed."
Clearly not in the mood to explain, he just repeated himself. A slightly more serious look settled on his face to drive home his point, but it vanished when he tucked you in under the comforter.
Piling blankets on your lap, he even resigned himself to covering you with the one with little hearts—the one you’d given him as a joke and that he kept hidden from prying eyes. The very same one he used when you weren’t there.
He was silent, focused on his task, and brimming with caution.
And watching him open the bottles one by one, tear open the ibuprofen packets, and make trips back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom to take care of you—secretly—had a greater effect than his medicine.
"Open your mouth," he ordered and you obeyed, your gaze never leaving his. In love. Completely charmed by his gentle behaviour. "Wider!"
You shouldn’t have pushed it—this was still Michael Kaiser, after all.
He made sure you swallowed it, taking a tiny bit of pleasure in your grimace at the bitter medicine before forcing you to lie down, a damp towel on your forehead.
He took care of you as if you had an incurable disease. An innate affliction he’d waited his whole life to cure through you—something he couldn’t even cure within himself.
"How did you know I was sick?"
"I just guessed."
"Liar."
You were sick, sure, but his lies didn’t go unnoticed.
"I saw it on the surveillance cameras," he confessed, his words barely a whisper, as if he were ashamed of keeping an eye on you even from across the country.
"Surveillance cameras?"
"Go to sleep."
He acted as if he hated having to take care of you, when deep down, far away, he was almost reveling in it.
"Since when do we have surveillance-"
"I said, sleep!"
Lorenzo ⋆˚꩜｡
You’d woken up with a start in the middle of the night, the winter fog still blanketing the streets outside.
Drenched in sweat, like a damp towel clinging to your body after a swim.
Head spinning, just like on those days when the sun strikes so hard you lose track of time.
And yet, none of that was the case right now. Far from the gentle summers spent away from everyone, tonight it was you who was far from him.
Your bedroom was still lit by the TV you’d left on last night, its blinding light splattering across the walls and bedding. Letting you come to your senses, steady your breathing in front of him.
Or at least, in front of the highlights of the Supercoppa—its final won by Lorenzo and his teammates barely a couple of hours ago.
His footwork and dribbles made your head spin even more, your palms oddly sweaty around the remote control to turn it off.
You couldn’t even remember how your evening had ended. Almost as if you’d collapsed into bed, clutching his pillow—still carrying his scent—to your body like a sin.
Just like the sin of envy, your mind unable to accept the fact he wasn’t by your side at this hour of the night.
All of that just to wake up feeling nauseous, alone in that bed, your whole body burning with the urge to throw up everything you’d swallowed.
As you dared to get up, your legs were so wobbly they threatened to give out, your vision blurry when you reached for the bathroom light switch.
Then suddenly, your stomach turned, and a sudden wave of heat surged through your chest, overwhelming your face.
You could still feel the acid burning in your throat, while your breathing quickened at the sight of a second reflection in the mirror.
Slender, tall, and carrying that weary look no amount of sleep by your side could cure. Lorenzo had come home at the worst possible moment.
"You weren’t answering your phone," he whispered, approaching you cautiously, as if afraid you might falter at the slightest sudden movement. "What’s wrong? Tell me."
You leaned against the sink when you realized that everything was going to be okay now, your racing mind finally quieted.
It must have been a painful sight to see—your trembling hands pushing him away, breaking his heart. Even more than your fleeting gaze.
"Sorry for worrying you," you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, securing it with the same confidence he’d shown when lifting the trophy. "It’ll pass, don’t worry. But stay away—I don’t want you to get sick."
You didn’t even dare look up, embarrassed that he’d see you in such a condition.
But that was underestimating him—his resolve was tenfold when the one he cherished was suffering. Because he knew perfectly well that he could help you feel better and never suffer the way he had.
So gently on your cheeks, he cupped your face so you’d look at him. Because even with your tired eyes, chapped lips, and sweaty face, you still shone with that way you had of wanting to protect him.
To shield him a little more from this cruel world.
"I'm calling the best doctor in town," he said, grabbing his phone while his other hand remained on your forehead. "What are your symptoms?"
"It's just the flu—it's no big deal," you reassured, with a confidence he could hardly believe.
Your body barely able to remain steady, swaying so much that even the edge of the sink looked like a wobbly pudding.
As if to prove you wrong, agree with him against your own will, your body sent you those unmistakable signals.
A knot in your stomach that tightened up as breathing alone became a conscious effort, a bead of sweat running down the nape of your neck sending a shill down to your fingertips.
And then, that sudden dryness in your mouth made you lean over the sink, Lorenzo grabbing your hair to keep it out of the way of what was about to happen.
"Is this nothing?" Another gag, his fingers brushing away a strand of hair, tucking it gently behind your ear. "Nothing this expensive doctor can't treat?"
"Money doesn't solve everything..." The faucet turned on; the water still bearing a strange taste in your mouth.
And yet, his words seemed to you like honey that healed all your ills. His mere presence the cure for your troubles.
"I guarantee that, as far as you're concerned, my money is the answer to all your problems."
Sae ⋆˚꩜｡
"Wake up."
In your dream, sporting an invisible smile, Sae had just won his fourth Champions League.
Content, maybe proud, he looked like a whole different man. That trophy a the tip of his fingers like a king being crowned after years of struggle.
"Wake up."
His white jersey as immaculate as the rebirth of a player who had lost all hope.
"Why are you smiling? Wake up."
Sudden, unwanted, your eyes flew open, gasping for air as if you had been emerged under water for too long.
Sweaty and exhausted despite your visible very, very extended nap, your body almost instantly reminded you of that night spent rummaging around the house for medecine that could make you sleep.
Like a ghost haunting the walls of an old building, your sore throat and dizziness didn’t magically disappeared after a restless twelve hour of 'nap.'
"Why are you sleeping on the couch?"
Startled once again, his figure looming over yours made you gasp.
He seemed carefree, with his bag slung over his shoulder like a teenager, yet he appeared worried. As if something were weighing heavily on his mind. Something that had to do with you.
"Sae, why are you here?"
You asked, trying to prop yourself up—at least having the decency to sit up straight so you wouldn't look like a slumped-over rag.
Without exchanging a word, he helped you, wrapping your shivering figure in that blanket that always carried your scent, your warmth never too far away in its fabric.
"What do you mean? I just got home."
A silence, your mind racing with thoughts of everything and nothing at once. Your memory failing you to even remember the last time you saw him.
"What about the final?"
"It was yesterday, and we won." He looked at you like you were some sort of alien, speaking gibberish. "I rushed back home because you weren’t answering."
His statement was laced with sarcasm, as if you were playing at his face—trying to fool him with one of your unfunny jokes.
"What’s the date?"
"It doesn’t matter," He took off his bag, his usual expression replaced by one that was even more indescribable—a mixture of worry and confusion. "What’s wrong with you? Sleeping on the couch, ignoring my calls, not answering my texts."
"I don’t know, I’m feeling dizzy and all."
"You’re sick," it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. In the sense he knew you so much that every of your actions had a meaning.
Ignoring him? Certainly napping.
Speaking nonsense in your sleep? Dreaming of him.
Sleeping on the couch? Watching one of his games.
A long sigh, exasperated, escaped from his lips as he watched you. Like two people waiting for the other to carry on the conversation.
More like, one man pretending not to be happy that you were sick.
He stubbornly pretended not to care about anything, but deep down, he longed for those moments of vulnerability when he felt he was needed.
When he didn’t have to settle for something less prestigious than his dream. When you were his dream, and no matter what happened, that dream would never change.
"Why didn’t you call? I could have send you a doctor."
"I didn’t even realised I was sick myself."
A glance that said it all was offered to you. And today, it seemed like even your puppy eyes won’t be enough to save you from his gentle scolding.
"And you’re an adult with responsibilities?" A hand raised to your blazing forehead. "You’re lucky I love you."
you always thought nagi was clingy, but nothing could’ve prepared you for having a son who looked exactly like him—and somehow acted even worse.
your little boy had his own room, decorated perfectly with his favorite things. soft walls painted his favorite color, shelves lined with toys, a big plush bed with a comforter that matched his tiny personality. you thought he’d be excited to have his own space, finally able to call a room his own. but no matter how many times you tucked him in there, kissed him goodnight, and told him sweet dreams, he always ended up sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.
“baby, you have your own room,” you’d tell him, already half-asleep as he wriggled between you and nagi, clutching his stuffed toy and rubbing at his tired eyes.
“don’t like it,” he mumbled against your arm, voice muffled but determined. “smells better here. smells like mama.”
from behind you, nagi let out a sleepy chuckle, his voice low and raspy from just waking. “he’s got a point.”
“sei, you’re not helping,” you grumbled, carding your fingers through your son’s messy white hair.
“‘s true, though.” nagi’s arm lazily tightened around your waist, making sure he had his spot secured as well.
and just like that, your bed became home base for not one but two velcro boys. nagi’s long arm always thrown lazily over both you and your son, as if he was reclaiming his territory, while your son’s tiny hands refused to let go of your shirt, even in his sleep.
mornings weren’t much easier. you usually woke up pinned—your son starfished across your chest, drooling into your shirt and snoring softly, while nagi coiled around your waist like a human-sized snake, his face buried in your neck and his breathing steady.
“mamaaa, don’t go,” your son whined when you tried to sit up, still half-asleep but immediately aware of your movement.
“stay, babe,” nagi muttered in the exact same tone, tightening his hold without even opening his eyes.
you groaned, flopping your head back against the pillow. “if i don’t get up, who’s going to cook breakfast?”
“delivery…” nagi mumbled without missing a beat.
“delibewy!” your son chirped, copying his dad perfectly, lips curling into a sleepy grin.
you sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “i’ve basically got twins.”
in the kitchen, it wasn’t any better. nagi leaned against the counter, watching you cook with hooded eyes like it was entertainment, while your son clung to your leg like a koala, making it nearly impossible to move from one counter to another.
“hungryyy,” nagi dragged out the word, his voice pitched just enough to sound pathetic.
“hungryyyyy,” your son echoed immediately, tugging at your shirt dramatically, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
you pinched the bridge of your nose. honestly, you didn’t know who needed actual attention more—your real baby or your oversized one.
by the time you managed to herd them into the living room, you thought you’d get a break. wrong. the moment you sat on the couch, nagi sprawled across your lap, long legs dangling over the side, head pillowed comfortably on your stomach. then your son came toddling over, climbing up onto the little sliver of space left, determined to wedge himself in.
“mama’s lap is mine!” he huffed, pushing at nagi’s side with his tiny hands.
“hey, don’t copy me,” nagi muttered, refusing to move and tightening his grip around your waist like a stubborn child.
“i copy you,” your son shot back smugly, puffing his cheeks in victory.
you looked between the two of them, their matching pouts making your head spin. it was like staring at a smaller, louder version of nagi arguing with the original. “see what you’ve created?” you glared at nagi over your son’s head.
“pretty cute, though,” nagi replied, utterly unbothered, even as your lap circulation slowly began to suffer.
errands were a whole new battlefield. dragging nagi out of the house was already hard enough, but with your son, it became a parade of clinginess. nagi shuffled along beside you, dragging his feet with a bored look, while your son waddled on your other side, clinging tight to your hand and swinging it back and forth.
“do i have to go?” nagi whined.
“yes.”
“me too?” your son parroted, looking up at you with big pleading eyes.
“yes, you too,” you said firmly.
at the grocery store, it got worse. nagi leaned heavily against the cart like he might collapse if he had to stand on his own, while your son sat inside with his arms folded across his chest, mimicking his dad’s pout. both of them gave you identical lazy stares as if shopping was the most exhausting thing in the world. passersby gave you sympathetic (or amused) looks—like you were wrangling not one child but two.
finally, bedtime rolled around again. you tried once more to settle your son into his room, tucking him under his blanket with kisses on his forehead. he smiled sleepily, promised to stay this time, and even hugged his plush a little tighter like he meant it. but by 2 a.m. you felt the mattress dip and a tiny body crawl between you and nagi again.
you opened your eyes just in time to see nagi, half-asleep, lifting the blanket to let him in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“sei,” you whispered, watching your son curl against you with his plushie, sighing as his small fingers immediately latched onto your shirt again. “you’re spoiling him.”
“he just wants you,” nagi shrugged, his voice thick with sleep as he pulled you both closer with one arm. “same as me.”
“mama’s mine,” your son murmured into your chest, already halfway back to dreamland.
“no, mine,” nagi countered softly, pressing his face into your neck with the faintest smirk.
you sighed, trapped between your two velcro babies—one small, one oversized, both equally stubborn. exhausting? yes. overwhelming? definitely. but as their warmth surrounded you and their breathing evened out in sync, you realized you wouldn’t trade this for anything.
your life now was full of clinginess, mimicry, and a whole lot of patience. and honestly? it was perfect.
in which your ex michael kaiser provokes your new boyfriend yoichi isagi until he finally breaks
cw ⋆.˚ mdni, smut, world cup au, female!reader, teasing, pet names (baby, sweetheart, babe), dirty talk, yoichi punches his ass lmfao, threesome, voyeurism, exhibitionism, they're so MEAN im creaming, they both have filthy fucking mouths, face grabbing, praise, oral (f), fingering, squirting, cum eating, dom!isagi will be the death of me, some mxm yes gawd, hair grabbing, ass slapping, pussy slapping, finger sucking, choking, backshots, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it up), coming inside, masturbation, multiple orgasms, yoichi loves to be humiliated and kaiser be bossed around highkey
wc ⋆.˚ 5.6k
a/n ⋆.˚ my blue lock debut omg hope y'all like it!! def wanna write more for them in the future. a whole lot going on here and im fucking drooling all over my screen oh my god this was purely self indulgent bc i need them both at the same damn time idgaf
there’s a quiet discomfort resting in your chest leading up to saturday’s match. it’s nothing to do with your boyfriend, yoichi isagi, and if he’ll lead japan to victory in the quarter finals, but rather who they are up against.
it’s void of concerns over sports and soccer. it’s simply the reality that he will be there.
michael kaiser.
the two of you dated for three years, only for him to completely brush you aside for soccer alone. you understood, because it’s his entire life, the blood that runs through his veins from the minute he wakes up until he falls asleep. yet, there are countless other players that have no issue balancing their love lives with the demands of the sport. your break up? it tore you to pieces.
you two had met during your sports internship abroad in college, where you were assigned to help manage their team in germany during your senior year. being in close quarters to a number of beautiful and single men, well, it was only natural you’d fall for one of them. kaiser was the first to approach you, offering to treat you to a meal as a thank you for all of your help in management. a seemingly innocent gesture turned into one too many drinks and ending up in his bed. of course, in order not to mix work with play, you strictly put up boundaries after that night– but slowly, they began to crumble. in your last month of the internship, he asked you out on an official date, and the rest is history.
you had every plan to stay and work in your hometown after graduating, but with your relationship with kaiser seemingly progressing, you made the decision to move to germany. it was, perhaps, a stupid move as a twenty-one-year-old freshly out of college– you knew no one except your boyfriend and the rest of his team– yet, you loved the country as a whole and knew the language well, so you figured, why not?
things were perfect at first, as all new relationships always seem to be. but as the months passed, and one year turned into two, then three, it wasn’t hard to notice that kaiser was slipping away from you.
“i’m late for practice.”
“sorry, i won’t be back until after midnight. too much training.”
“eat dinner without me.”
the excuses were nearly if not daily, and little by little, your unbothered exterior began to crack.
kaiser was confused the night you broke. he truly didn’t recognize his own neglectful behaviour, so hearing you confront him about it was a shock, to say the least.
“you’re never here anymore!” you yell, tears flooding your eyes, “could you even still call yourself a partner?”
kaiser hisses, running his fingers through his hair. “what? of course i’m still your partner! i love you, y/n, you know that!” he’s defensive, frustration searing in his chest. “i’m doing this for us!”
the room goes quiet for a moment, and then your throat cracks. “no,” you laugh, deflated, “you’re doing this for you.”
after the break up, you got in contact with an old college acquaintance who worked at fifa and managed to snag yourself a three-month gig in japan. that’s how you ended up here, just a little over a year later, sitting in the living room of you and yoichi’s shared apartment. you were offered a full-time position with japan’s national team after your contract concluded, but decided to move into another related position away from them in order to have a healthy distance between your work and personal life since you and yoichi started dating near the end of it. make no mistake, though, the distance from the team had no effect on your loyalty, you still rarely missed a game– especially one as important as the fifa world cup quarter finals.
yoichi’s focused on reviewing the video playback of the last match, carefully taking note of what to do and what to avoid for the upcoming game. your head is resting on his shoulder, just scrolling mindlessly through your phone whilst munching on a bag of pretzels.
“i was too far to the left there,” he says aloud, pointing at the tv screen. you chuckle, finding his little instructive self-talk adorable.
“you ready to kick ass?” you ask him, tearing his attention away from his analysis just for a moment. you sit up and turn your body to face him, cupping his cheeks as his eyes meet yours.
“absolutely,” he says confidently, “i’ll send them back to germany in fucking tears.”
you laugh as you lean in and kiss him softly. he melts into your touch, moving to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you onto his lap. you hum against his mouth as you sink into his hips. “i’d love to see that, actually,” you smirk as you back away for a moment, “especially kaiser,” yoichi flinches at the mention of your ex’s name, eyes flooding with a glint of rage and determination. he hadn’t seen him since the second phase of blue lock, and he was shocked to know you two used to be in a relationship. naturally, he hated him even more after you recounted your history to him. “if you manage to do it,” you lower your eyes enticingly, “i’ll fuck you into the next match.”
yoichi groans, and you feel his cock twitch beneath you. “fuck,” he hisses, “why did you say that when i need to reserve all of my energy for tomorrow?”
you bite your lip with a faux innocence, then swipe your tongue across his mouth. he sighs, drinking you in instantly. “because,” you start, “it’ll motivate you to win. i’m giving you a little extra ego boost.”
his cock is already leaking at this point, desperate for release. you just had to go and be a tease when it was in his best interest to stay away from… strenuous activity for the day. of course you fucking did.
“you’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he sighs, throwing his head back against the couch. his rough fingertips are still digging at your sides. “can i at least eat you out? i can come just from that alone, you know this. give me something, pretty please?” he begs, eyes big and so goddamn needy.
you tsk, then slap his arm playfully. “patience, baby,” you tease, “if you wait, it’ll be even better than you imagined.”
your unknown foreshadowing would, in fact, bring him an unexpected– life-changing, in truth– experience.
the bustling stadium and endless chatter infiltrates your lungs much like the overwhelming scent of hot dogs, french fries, and anxiety.
you couldn’t enjoy just being a fan at the moment, because yoichi’s got you pressed tautly against his chest as he tries to push you both through the intruding swarm of paparazzi. this was the only thing he absolutely despised about his job. he sucks in his teeth, blatantly ignoring all of the questions being thrown at him, squeezing his fists to control himself in response to the ones that were extremely inappropriate. no, he wasn’t going to tell the reporters how good you were in bed. why the fuck did they assume a question like that was okay to ask in the first place?
he lets out a dramatic exhale in relief when you two are finally inside the vip area, tilting his head downwards to make sure you’re alright whilst he releases you from his grip. “everything okay?” he asks, sending you an apologetic smile. “i know that part is always hell.”
you nod, not saying much, just allowing your body to calm itself down. you were just happy to know he hates the paparazzi just as much as you do. “i’m okay,” you promise, after regaining your composure.
he kisses the top of your head delicately before taking his leave to get ready for the match, then do a few interviews before warm-up. you’re seated in the catering area, picking at a few snacks to pass the time. soon, you find yourself in conversation with some of your former coworkers, enjoying their company and betting– without money, in this case– on moves and plays the boys will showcase during the game.
“yoichi’s volley shot was crazy in practice the other night,” angel, the current team manager, expresses in admiration. “i hope he can pull it off again today.”
“he showed me the footage bachira captured,” you add, “he’s really come such a long way, hasn’t he?”
“absolutely. in just two years, he’s already making headway towards being one of the greatest strikers the world has ever seen.”
your heart warms at the compliment. hearing others speak so highly of him, recognizing his skill and all of the hard work he has poured into his passion for soccer, makes your chest pleasantly tight.
deeply tucked away in the locker rooms, though, yoichi is receiving the opposite of praise and directly in his face.
“yoichi isagi,” kaiser patronizes him, arms crossed as he leans against the wall, “japan’s alleged top striker and, per my own personal vote, homewrecker.”
yoichi slams his locker shut with a threatening pang. “shut the fuck up, kaiser,” he hisses, nostrils flaring as he turns around to face him. he fully expected this, but the preparation didn’t cause him to feel any less irritated. “i didn’t wreck anything, you lost the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“lost?” he smirks, stepping closer. yoichi’s cheeks are red with anger, heart thumping wildly in his chest. the few players who remained in the locker room with them tried their best to ignore the fight. “no, you have it all wrong, my friend.” he laughs cockily. “i haven’t lost anything, because i know she’ll come back soon enough.”
“you’re delusional,” yoichi spits.
“that,” kaiser leans over, breath hot against is ear, “would be you.”
you’re probably the only one in the entire crowd that can sense the tension radiating between yoichi and kaiser throughout the game, at least, the amount itself. most people just assume its the usual sports rivalry, but you knew better; the mutual distaste ran far deeper than the two of them just being on opposing teams during an intense match. when you were dating kaiser, it was never broadcast to the public like you and yoichi, so no one in the stadium had any incentive to think their dark chemistry was anything more than standard athletic competition.
yoichi’s panting as his impressive footwork slips past the final defender, eyes aiming clearly on a superb shot to break the tie in the first half.
“even if you win this game,” kaiser’s low, arrogant voice strikes yoichi in his chest as he suddenly appears beside him, “y/n is still going to leave you.”
yoichi grits his teeth, shoving his shoulder into kaiser’s chest to push him aside and fully clear his path for the shot. kaiser's laugh is boisterous as he steals the ball, performing a diagonal switch to change its direction.
“son of a bitch,” yoichi curses, glaring at him.
kaiser just smiles, sending him a condescending wink. “better luck next time, pretty boy.”
no one dares to say a word to yoichi when they’re back in the locker room after the game has concluded. he’s enraged, digging his nails into his palms as his head ruminates over every missed calculation in his plays.
“shit!” he groans, dropping his forehead onto the shower wall in defeat from the loss, “we almost fucking had it.”
you’re waiting inside the locker room for him to finish up, the rest of the players having filed out and leaving him on his own.
that is, until kaiser swings open the door, face dripping in sweat as he chugs a water bottle. you freeze, gaze landing on him. his eyes grow wide at first, but soon fall into something dark, more predatory.
“well, look who it is,” he smirks, “my beloved y/n.”
you scoff. “‘my beloved’? are you serious?”
“aw, didn’t you miss me?” he teases.
“you wish, asshole.”
he laughs, walking past you towards his locker without another word. you stay where you are, arms crossed as you just watch him. he knows that you are, purposefully removing his soaked undershirt slowly and tossing it aside. your breath hitches in your throat as his back muscles flex, heart dropping to your stomach.
you couldn’t look away.
“i’ve been meaning to ask you,” kaiser says suddenly, turning around to face you. he steps forward until only a few inches remain between you. “does yoichi know?”
“know what exactly?”
“that you like to be fucked raw and mean?”
your eyes shoot wide, lips parting from his audacity. “what the hell?” you seethe. “that’s none of your business.”
“so, no.”
you’re gritting your teeth now, finger shoved threateningly into his chest. “i advise you to shut up right now before i slap you.”
kaiser’s lids lower and he grabs your wrist to pry you off of him. your thighs clench, and fuck, it isn’t subtle at all. your cheeks turn red with embarrassment. “baby, i think you want me to slap you.”
“what the fuck is going on?”
yoichi’s question cuts through you like a knife as your eyes quickly move from kaiser to where he’s standing, glistening, clean body dripping water droplets onto the floor as his towel sits low on his hips.
“there he is,” kaiser chuckles. “japan’s little firecracker.”
“why are your hands still on my girl?” he spits, ignoring his insult and shuffling over to your side, ripping you out of his hold.
kaiser licks his teeth. “careful, yoichi,” he hums, “you’re gonna make her pretty cunt drip all over the floor if you grab her like that.”
yoichi’s fist is already meeting kaiser’s face before you have a chance to speak, hand flying over your mouth in shock. kaiser snickers, throwing his forearm up to stop yoichi from being able to reach him a second time.
“stop fighting!” you yell.
yoichi always immediately turns soft when it comes to you. he lowers his fist seconds later, slowly lifting himself from the floor. he doesn’t help kaiser back up to his feet, though. he didn’t deserve that.
kaiser wipes the blood from his cheek as he stumbles to stand back up. “feisty, aren’t you?” he hisses in pain from the bruise that’s already forming.
“damn right, i am,” yoichi sneers, “especially when it comes to y/n.”
“yeah, well i don’t think you’re feisty enough for her filthy tastes.” your stomach twists with something you’re scared to admit right then and your eyes dart towards the floor. “go on, sweetheart, why don’t you tell him?” he taunts. “why don’t you tell him exactly what you need right now? you know i can sense it, right?” his face is smug, evil, "i could never forget how your pretty body reacts to my words.”
yoichi’s eyebrows furrow as he looks between him and you. “what’s he talking about, babe?” he asks calmly.
your palms rub up and down your arms as you clench around nothing. you loved yoichi and he was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. but, you couldn’t deny how badly your body still craved for kaiser’s touch even till this day. yoichi gave you everything, and it never went without your appreciation and satisfaction. yet, still, a tiny piece of you remained unfulfilled.
“babe?” he repeats, face morphing into concern.
“let me spell it out for you,” kaiser steps in, his body now essentially caging both you and yoichi against the wall. “she wants me to bully her with my cock, because you don’t do it for her.”
a small gasp leaves yoichi’s throat, his eyes still resting on you. with your body language, he can easily tell that kaiser’s words are right. he’s still for a moment, like he’s thinking, calculating his next move.
then, something snaps in him, and he’s gripping your chin to force you to look back up at him. “look at me,” his voice is strained, cold, eyes devoid of colour in a way you’ve never seen before. you inhale sharply as your glassy irises finally meet his. you’re shaking, heart thumping wildly against your chest. yoichi laughs in that moment, one mixed with amusement and jealousy. “wow,” he whistles, “so, he’s right?”
“yoichi–”
“no, no,” he holds his hand up to silence you, “i get it.” he walks over towards the locker room door and clicks the lock. you look at him in both confusion and anticipation. “i wanna see exactly what he’s talking about.” he sits down on the edge of one of the benches a few feet away as his gaze burns holes into you. “i wanna see how he ruins you, since he’s so confident i don’t know how to fuck my girlfriend properly.”
you open your mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out. yoichi chuckles, rage boiling inside of him and it makes his cock throb more than it probably should. he looks at kaiser, then nods, giving him his blessing to have his way with you. “go ahead,” he coos, “make her come like the nasty fucking girl she is all over this damn locker room floor.”
kaiser’s smile is sinful as he traps you between his arms, but he doesn’t touch you yet. he just watches how you react, how your face twitches from his breath ghosting over your face, how your legs tremble beneath you.
“what do you want me to do first, hm?” he asks you, one hand moving to cup your jaw. your eyes flutter shut before you can even decide how to respond. he licks his lips as his thumb comes to rest against yours. “want my fingers in your mouth? or maybe you want my tongue on your pussy?”
“please,” you choke out involuntarily, eyes flickering immediately past kaiser’s shoulder to yoichi. he hasn’t moved his eyes off of you, still leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees in focus. he sends you one of the most heinous smiles you’ve ever seen originate from him and you lose it. “god, please, i need your mouth on my fucking cunt,” you beg kaiser, but you’re staring at your boyfriend.
yoichi smirks, mouthing ‘good girl’ to you as kaiser drops to his knees.
kaiser’s tongue is unforgiving as it slides across your folds, calloused fingers digging deep into your thighs to keep you upright. you’re steadying your eyes on yoichi as your lids lower and lips quiver in ecstasy. kaiser moans loudly into your cunt, shaking his head left and right to coat his entire face with your sweet slick.
“f–fuck,” you exhale, hands lifting to grip his strands. you can’t help yourself as you grind hard against his mouth, desperate panting breaths dripping from your tongue. “y–yoichi,” you moan your boyfriend's name, fucked-out, glossy eyes dialating exponentially with each flick of kaiser’s tongue on your puffy clit.
yoichi leans back against the wall, lips smug as he watches you fall apart on your ex boyfriend for him.
“hear that, kai?” yoichi purrs, “she’s saying my fucking name.”
kaiser growls into your cunt as he lifts a hand to grip the plush skin of your ass before giving it a hard slap. your throat cracks and you nearly lose your balance, fingers tugging at his hair firmly as you try to catch yourself.
you hear yoichi hiss from the bench. “fuck, you like that? you like it rough?”
“god– fuck, yeah– yes, oh, god!” you cry, nearly about to lose yourself. kaiser laughs against you as he moves his tongue mercilessly along your bundle of nerves, sweet kitten-licks and long stripes from your needy hole up to cup your clit over and over again.
yochi’s face drops into an expression of dark, dirty tenacity as he finally stands up from the bench to approach you and kaiser. you thought he was going to tell him to stop, but instead, he pries your hands away from his hair so he can grip it himself. kaiser groans at the tension, thrums of bliss pushing you closer to orgasm.
yoichi’s leaning over now, mouth resting right beside his ear. he tugs roughly at his hair and hums, “stick a finger in at the last second, right before she comes. she loves that shit. didn’t you know?”
kaiser wants to be mad, because he actually wasn’t aware of that, but he’s too lost in your scent and taste to care. he does exactly what yoichi says, shoving his finger into your greedy hole just mere moments before you release.
with a sharp cry, you squirt all over his face, body convulsing as he pumps in and out of you and sucks at your puffy nub to help you ride through it. “mmm’fuck!”
“thatta girl,” yoichi praises, “get him aaaall nice and soaked for me.” he forces kaiser’s head away from you and kisses him messily, licking every drop of your cum off of his lips. they both moan in unison at the taste of you mixed with each other. “god, baby,” yoichi groans once he pulls away, “you’re so fucking sweet.” he wasn’t sure if he was talking to just you or you and kaiser.
kaiser stands up from the floor, one hand resting at your hip whilst the other lifts to cup your cheek. he leans in and kisses you slowly, just for a moment, until yoichi is rolling his eyes and tsking, pulling him off. “that’s enough.”
kaiser feels so… submissive in that moment.
you’re still trying to catch your breath when yoichi turns your body around and slams your chest against the wall. he rips your shirt off over your head before pressing open mouth kisses and sloppily licks all along your bare shoulders and neck. you shiver, palms pressing against the wall for leverage. his fingers slip between your dripping, sticky folds, then he sends it a hard slap. you choke out a moan, spit coating your pretty, red lips.
“here’s what we’re gonna do,” yoichi starts, “i’m going to fuck your needy little pussy first, then i’m going to let kai here stuff you full,” he bites down on your earlobe as he sends a second smack to your pussy, “and then you’re gonna decide which one of us actually knows how to ruin you properly.” you whimper as you nibble at your bottom lip. “sound good?”
you nod profusely, walls pulsing with need for both of them to make a wreck out of you like you weren’t already a fucking mess.
yoichi frees himself, then slides his length through your folds to prep himself for you, fisting his girthy length a few times to make sure he’s all perfect and hard for you. he lets out an elongated sigh when he finally pushes into you, one hand gripping your shoulder, the other your ass cheek. his teeth sink into your neck as he begins to move, slowly at first, making sure you feel every ridge of his big, fat cock against your walls.
“y–yoichi,” you whine, wriggling your ass against him, “move– hic– faster, p–please.”
“oh, sweetheart,” he coos, almost mockingly, “why didn’t you ever tell me you love being destroyed?” he pulls back near completely out of your hole, then slams back down into you hard. “poor little pussy has been neglected for so long because i didn’t know.”
his condescending blame causes heat to flood to your stomach, and you clench around his cock so greedily. he growls, shoving it deeper into your stomach.
“i–i wasn’t sure if you were into– ah– into that.”
he breaks out into a dark laugh from your assumption. “god, do you even know me? after an entire year together, you still haven’t caught on to my big fucking ego?” he moves your body away from the wall forcefully and bends you over a bench. you choke as his tip pistons into your deepest pleasure point, hands gripping the seat to red and white knuckles. “maybe it’ll finally click in that pretty little brain of yours after i’m done here with you.”
you nearly forgot kaiser was still there. your eyes look up at him for a moment to see he’s watching intensely, as if he’s trying to figure out what his counterplay is going to be when its his turn; to convince you that he knows how to fuck you best.
yoichi’s hand reaches around the front of you to grab your neck, shoving his thumb into your mouth simultaneously. he slaps your ass as he picks up his pace, teeth gritting at the beautiful, loud smacks of his pelvis against your skin.
“fuck, fuck!” you scream, head tempting to fall limp, but yoichi’s hand keeps it steady upright, “gonna make me fucking come–”
“just from my cock alone?” he smirks. “god, baby, your pussy loves me so much.” you're drooling all over his hands, cheeks flushed as you near falling apart for the second time. you bite down on his finger as he hits your sweet spot perfectly, cunt squeezing his cock with need. “you about to come, baby?” he coos, “can feel you getting so fucking wet f’me.”
“i–i’m so close,” you huff, sweaty strands of hair falling in front of your face. you groan as his veiny shaft glides across your g-spot, legs shaking as you begin to fall apart for him.
“good girl,” yoichi praises, “let me feel you.” you release all of your sweet juices with a long blissful hum, ass moving to meet him halfway as you desperately throw yourself back onto him.
yoichi’s breaths fall short as you continuously clench around him through your orgasm. “gonna fill up this pretty little cunt,” he bites down on his lip and chokes out a moan as he releases hot ropes of white into your warm walls. “yeah, take it just like that,” he gasps, hips stuttering as his thrusts begin to slow, “god, you’re so fucking good to me.”
he collapses onto your back, your body still shaking violently as the sweetest, prettiest whimpers sneak past your lips. yoichi plants soft kisses along your spine before gently removing himself from you and helping you to sit down on the bench.
your fucked-out face is the prettiest sight he’s ever seen in his life. he moves in closer and kisses you gentle and slow for a while, tongue sliding into your mouth in the most comforting way.
he smiles down at you proudly as he leans back up, full with every bit of deserved confidence from how good he just fucked you.
then, he remembered it wasn’t stopping there. he looks at kaiser, face still full of arrogance, as he just silently steps away to make space for him.
kaiser swallows hard, slowly approaching you. he was so sure of himself before, but now? after watching the way yoichi fucked you into next week, he wasn’t anymore.
“k–kai,” the way you whine his name and how you’re looking at him, so dazed and needy, sends a rush of blood straight to his cock. if he wasn’t hard enough before, fuck, he was now.
“what do you need, sweetheart?” he thrums softly like he isn’t about to break you, “does your sweet little pussy need my cock, hm?” you nod, lips slightly in a pout as you immediately open your legs for him. his breath hitches in his throat with how compliant you are. “fuck, you’re such a good girl, already knowing just what to do.”
you stare at his thick girth once it’s in view, salivating at the thought of him being inside of you again. yoichi stiffens, because he notices, but doesn’t step in to stop it. he agreed to this. he was too deep into his ego to let it go. he needed to prove he was better than your ex.
your breaths are uneven as kaiser slides into you, his long length bottoming you out instantly. you're already whimpering from the sensitivity as you throb around him.
“ah– shit,” you hiss, “you feel so g–good.”
“yeah?” kaiser thrusts deeper and harder and you yelp, “you missed me?”
you don’t want to say yes, but your mouth moves before your mind can stop you. “fuck, yeah.”
yoichi’s heart tugs from your words, but not from jealousy– humiliation. and he loved it. he loved the sickening feeling it gave him. he loved the thought of sharing you to destroy himself. this situation opened his eyes to how vanilla your sex life actually was; showed him all of the crazy, kinky, suppressed desires he had dormant that just needed the perfect moment to manifest. fuck, there was no way things could go back to that after this.
you let out the prettiest cry, “harder, kai,” and kaiser can’t do anything but listen to your plea.
he picks you up by your waist and presses you up against the lockers with a loud slam, thrusting into your greedy hole with resolve. he bites your jaw, running his wet tongue across your skin with every unforgiving thrust of his hips into yours.
“fuck,” kaiser growls, “you’re squeezing me so tight, sweetheart.”
“keep go– shit, right there,” you gasp, “right fucking there!”
kaiser moves faster, his moans competing with yours. “you hear that yoichi?” he taunts, “hear how loud she’s getting for me?”
yoichi can’t help himself as he grips his leaky cock and fists it to the sight of your ex wrecking you. “fill her up, kai,” he huffs, throat cracking. he looks down for a moment to see his wet, creamy shaft coat his hand and groans. he felt like he was being used right then, and he loved every second of it. “shit,” he hisses, head falling back against the wall as he continues watching you two through his droopy eyelids. “give it to her,” he adds, “ruin her fucking cunt f’me.”
kaiser obliges. it seemed like he actually enjoyed taking orders.
“ah, fuck!” you cry, nails digging into his spine as your wrap your arms around him. your eyes roll as you feel him pound into your stomach. “i’m gonna fucking come!”
kaiser growls as he feels you start to spill all over him, grip on your ass growing firmer with each deep thrust. “just so you know, yoichi,” he huffs breathlessly, pulsing inside of your walls, “i can make her come with just my cock, too.”
he spurts his hot seed into your hole as you finally let go, allowing all of your sweet slick to drip out of you and all over him. you hear yoichi moan loudly, cursing under his breath as he comes onto his fist.
kaiser’s panting into the crook of your neck as he comes to a still, your arms still wrapped around him for leverage. he gently removes himself from you and sits you down on the bench again, permitting you time to pull yourself together.
the room reeks of sweat, sex, and unspoken secrets as the three of you quietly calm again. once you do, the rush of dopamine begins to dissipate and reality sets in. you’re all looking between each other, wondering where to go from here. clearly, you still harboured some level of feelings for kaiser and vice versa. yet, it was very obvious that you felt deeply for yoichi, and much more than the latter.
“thank you,” you say to kaiser, “this was probably the best sex i’ve had in a while,” he’s confused for a moment of where the conversation is going. you continue speaking, “but my heart rests with yoichi now.” you send him an apologetic smile.
kaiser’s heart sinks, but not as much as he expects it to. he knew all along that, in the end, your choice would most likely be yoichi. he wasn’t the greatest boyfriend, and no amount of good fucking could make up for that. he lets out a sigh of defeat, but accepts your decision. “yeah,” he laughs deflated, “i kind of figured.”
yoichi wants to one-up him arrogantly about it, but doesn’t, almost feeling bad for the guy.
back in the apartment, yoichi’s rubbing sweet circles into your plush thighs as you lay together on the couch, watching an episode of your favourite tv series. he plants a kiss onto your neck and you sigh.
“can i ask you something?” you question.
he lifts his head to look down at you. “shoot.”
“why did you agree to earlier?” you ask. “why did you allow me and my ex to fuck, and literally in front of you?”
he laughs at that, but his smile is sincere. “like i said, i have a big fucking ego. i had something i wanted to prove,” he says, “but i also discovered there’s a lot more i’m into that i just never allowed myself to explore.”
“like?”
“humiliation, exhibitionism, voyeurism– literally everything i didn’t know i wanted until now.”
“hmm,” you think, rolling onto your back so you can look straight at him. “with all of that being said, would you ever want to do something like that again?”
he lifts his brow at you with a smirk. “do you?”
you shrug, “maybe,” then smile wickedly, “but it’d have to be kaiser. only him. i’m not interested in another dick that isn’t yours or his,” you admit, honestly and openly.
yoichi expected himself to be angry at the suggestion, but instead, it made his heart skip a beat. “yeah,” he chuckles, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips, “i was thinking the exact same thing.”
𓏵 WARNINGS : made with fem!reader in mind but no pronouns are used (pls lmk if i do!), swearing/cussing, suggestive, might be ooc.
⤷ ゛A/N : i added my sae drawing that was supposed to be for studying anatomy/lighting since i heavily referenced it from this, but i thought it fits so like... yeah.ˎˊ˗
