isagi starts every interview completely normal. you're thinking, wow. he's actually really good at this. then the interviewer asks, "how did you know where the ball would go?" and he accidentally spends three uninterrupted minutes psychoanalyzing every player on the pitch like he's reading their browser history.
"well, the center-back has a habit of shifting his weight 0.4 seconds early whenever he's under pressure, the goalkeeper favors his right knee because of an injury from two years ago, and my teammate looked scared so i knew he'd panic-pass–"
the reporter is blinking. the translator is sweating. his coach off-camera is making the universal wrap it up motion.
someone asks him if he considers another rookie striker his rival. isagi smiles so sweetly everyone expects a respectful answer. "no. he's kind of just there."
the clip gets 20 million views overnight because the other striker was standing six feet away doing his own interview, but he heard isagi loud and clear (shown by his very expressive side eye).
during a live broadcast, the interviewer asks, "who's the hardest defender you've faced?"
isagi answers immediately. "oh, definitely him." he points directly at the player walking behind the camera. the defender hears his name, smiles proudly... before isagi continues, "because he's impossible to predict. everyone else is pretty easy after 20 minutes." the poor defender doesn't know whether that was a compliment or a violation.
they ask him for a message to his growing fanbase. he gets nervous and blurts, "please don't argue with people online because of me." the interviewer laughs. isagi doesn't. "seriously. i can see you guys doing it."
cut to twitter immediately arguing over that clip.
itoshi rin
every interviewer quickly realizes asking rin open-ended questions is a mistake.
"how does it feel to score your first professional hat trick?" "... fine." "can you elaborate?" "... i scored three."
a reporter asks him if he'd like to thank anyone after his man of the match performance. rin thinks for a full 10 seconds. "... no."
the interview ends four questions early because nobody knows where to go from there.
sponsors desperately want a marketable superstar, so they coach him beforehand.
"smile."
"okay."
"try to sound warmer."
"okay."
"maybe thank the fans."
"okay."
the camera rolls.
"thank you... i guess."
bro, that's less warm.
one interviewer jokingly asks, "any weaknesses?”
rin answers, "interviews."
the entire press room bursts into laughter. rin wasn't joking.
itoshi sae
sae somehow gives the impression that he's media-trained because he always looks composed. he's not. he's just naturally expressionless.
a reporter asks, "how important was teamwork today?"
someone asks him if he gets nervous before big matches.
"no."
"never?"
"traffic is annoying."
that becomes one of those random athlete quotes that gets edited over meme music for absolutely no reason.
they ask him what he thinks about becoming one of the league's newest stars.
“people say that."
"well, do YOU think that?"
"not really."
his club's social media admin nearly throws their laptop because they'd already drafted three "our rising superstar ⭐" posts.
the funny thing is reporters slowly adapt to him. by the end of the season, interviews sound like hostage negotiations.
"one-word answers are okay."
"good."
"excellent! that's progress."
nagi seishiro
nagi forgets interviews exist until someone shoves a microphone in his face and says, "congratulations on the win."
"oh… thanks."
they ask him what was going through his mind when he scored an unbelievable volley.
"dinner."
"... excuse me?"
"i didn’t have lunch."
the clip hits 15 million likes because everyone believes him.
one interviewer asks him to describe himself in three words.
"sleepy. hungry. done."
the interviewer starts laughing so hard they accidentally end the segment early.
he constantly answers rhetorical questions.
"i guess dreams really do come true, huh?"
"yeah…”
"what?"
"dreams… they come true."
the club eventually starts assigning reo to stand just off-camera because whenever nagi starts drifting into outer space mid-answer, reo silently points toward the next reporter.
mikage reo
reo walks into interviews with CEO confidence and absolutely zero filter. reporters love him because he'll answer anything. PR managers hate him because he'll answer anything.
someone casually asks what convinced him to join his club.
"money wasn't really important."
his agent nods proudly.
"i mean i already have enough."
his agent physically leaves the interview frame.
an interviewer asks if he gets competitive.
reo nods enthusiastically. "absolutely."
"with who?"
"everyone."
"everyone?"
"even the GPS. if it says i'll get there at 4:32, i'm getting there at 4:31 or earlier."
they ask him who spends the most time getting ready before matches.
he answers: "nagi."
nagi, walking behind him with bedhead and one untied shoe, goes "huh?”
his biggest crime is accidentally revealing behind-the-scenes information.
"coach gave a really inspiring speech before kickoff."
the reporter is like "really? what did he say?"
reo, without thinking, answers, “he said if we lost he'd shave someone's eyebrows."
the club has to cut to commercial.
by his second season, every interview starts with a PR representative whispering, "remember... some things stay in the locker room."
reo smiles confidently. "of course."
five minutes later: "so anyway, here's what happened on the team bus..."
bachira meguru
bachira is every media manager's favorite person... until the interview actually starts. he walks in smiling, waving at every camera, complimenting the interviewer's shoes, and everyone thinks, finally, someone charismatic.
five minutes later, he's somehow talking about how defenders "taste different."
"... what?"
"like... some taste like spicy ramen. some taste like stale bread."
"taste…?"
"yeah."
nobody asks him to elaborate because they're honestly scared of the answer.
he's the king of answering questions that were never asked. "what was the key to today's win?"
"one time, i got chased by a goose."
"sorry?"
"i think that's why i'm so good at dribbling."
people believe him.
he has absolutely no concept of inside thoughts.
"your chemistry with your striker seems incredible."
"yeah! he looked constipated during warmups so i knew he'd have a good game."
the camera cuts to said teammate looking absolutely betrayed.
every interview somehow ends with the interviewer laughing instead of getting the answer they originally wanted.
shidou ryusei (suggestive content… 😔)
the league has to implement a five-second broadcast delay specifically because of shidou.
every single interview begins with a PR manager saying, "please... just answer normally."
"got it."
30 seconds later: "that bicycle kick made me feel like i was ‘bout to finish all over the field, dude! i thought my soul left my body for a second!”
"... we'll... use that."
reporters try to ask him the safest questions imaginable. "how did you celebrate after scoring?"
"i unloaded the trailer cuh."
"... pardon?"
"my toilet saw the chocolate gates."
one interviewer asks what motivates him.
"violence."
complete silence.
"... on the pitch!" he laughs.
the clip ends before he can clarify.
after one particularly chaotic interview, a veteran reporter is heard whispering into the mic, "i need a drink…”
karasu tabito
karasu thinks interviews are funny because reporters always ask questions they already know the answer to.
"did you expect to win today?"
"would've been weird if i expected to lose."
he accidentally develops a reputation for roasting reporters without actually meaning to.
"how did you deal with their press?"
"same way i'm dealin’ with these questions."
"... how's that?"
"patiently."
one interviewer asks him for his biggest weakness.
"answerin’ stupid questions."
"... are you talking about soccer?"
"i am now."
he has the most disrespectful habit of looking directly into the camera like he's on the office every time someone asks something ridiculous.
"do you think scoring goals is important?"
karasu just stares into the lens. "... nah, not really."
fans love him because every interview feels less like a press conference and more like watching someone argue with customer service.
kaiser michael
kaiser is somehow both the easiest and hardest player to interview. he speaks clearly, sits with perfect posture, and always looks like he's in complete control... until you realize he's answering every question like he's trying to entertain himself instead of the audience.
one reporter asks, "what makes you different from other strikers?"
kaiser smiles politely. "i score more."
"... anything else?"
"that was the important part."
sponsors beg him to sound more humble, like "remember, acknowledge your teammates."
kaiser responds with, "of course."
camera rolls.
"my teammates did an excellent job creating chances."
everyone in the room smiles.
"it would've been a shame if i wasted them."
the smiles disappear immediately.
an interviewer asks if he ever feels pressure living up to expectations.
"uh, why would i?"
"because millions of people are watching you."
"then they should enjoy the show."
the clip gets turned into every football edit imaginable.
he has a habit of accidentally making everything sound like a challenge.
"any message for the defenders you'll be facing next week?"
"rest well."
"because?"
"you'll need it."
the opposing club's social media account reposts the clip with 17 question marks.
ness alexis
ness is trying so hard to sound professional. emphasis on trying.
his very first interview starts just fine actually.
"we're all working incredibly hard, and i'm grateful to be here–"
"what makes kaiser such a dangerous player?"
his brain disconnects from PR mode so fast.
"have you SEEN him?"
"yes–”
"he's amazing."
“right–”
"like... genuinely unbelievable."
somewhere off-camera, the media manager slowly lowers their head into their hands.
reporters quickly discover that asking him about literally anyone else gets a normal answer. but asking him about kaiser turns him into the president of the fan club.
someone asks him to describe kaiser in one word.
"one?" he pouts.
"yes."
"... that's impossible."
during one interview, he accidentally says, "sometimes i forget cameras are recording."
the interviewer laughs.
"wait… they're recording now?"
the panic on his face becomes one of the league's most-used reaction memes.
by the end of his rookie season, interviewers intentionally sneak one kaiser question into every interview because watching ness completely abandon professionalism halfway through has become must-see television. every single time he catches himself halfway into another speech–
"he's just so incredi–" deep breath. "he's... a valuable teammate."
summary: pranking them by avoiding or dodging their kisses.
characters: hugo, sae, loki, kaiser, reo, nagi
content: fluff, ooc, light violence in hugo, loki is a menace, clingy, whiny boys who want their kiss, lost the plot with michael's
✧˖*vivien hugo
it was normal morning and you’d just got out of the shower, getting ready in the mirror. hugo was beside you brushing his teeth, heavy with sleep. when he finished, he leaned in for his morning kiss but at the last second you swerved and his kiss landed on his cheek instead. he blinked slightly confused but he shrugged it off. he leaned in once again but this time there was no kiss at all. this time he froze and stared at you with growing confused and hurt.
“what’s wrong? did I do something wrong? am I being punished??”
you didn’t respond and just walked away, laughing silently.
he followed you, demanding an explanation. “are you mad at me? do you not love me anymore”
“no, I’m not mad and I still love you”
he hugged you from behind. hug is an understatement. he leaned in, exerting his entire body weight on you causing you to tip over and fall on to your bed. his arms locked around you in a tight hug.
“vivien!” you yelled, trying to push him off. “get off me!”
he held you even tighter “no”
you started to lightly punch him in his upper body. “let—” punch. “me—” punch “go−”
“why are you avoiding my kisses” he whined, his voice muffled by his face buried in your chest. “please kiss me or else I’ll die.”
he was acting like a golden retriever that was denied his favourite toy. He looked up at you, his voice small and pathetic “please just one”
finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “can you please get off of me?”
he sat up but still didn’t let you go. you reached for him, cupped his face and kissed him. he relaxed instantly and melted into your kiss. you pulled away but he was unsatisfied. he pulled you back, deepening the kiss as if he was sucking the life out of you, until you were dizzy and breathless.
when he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and whispered, “please don’t do that again” you nodded, still trying to catch your breath. And he planted a final kiss on your forehead.
✧˖*sae itoshi
he was ready to leave for practice, bag slung over his shoulder. you walked him to the door hold his water bottle. before he left he looked at you with a soft and loving gaze and leaned in to kiss you. but at the last minute, you swerved, feigning concern about his shoelaces. when he ties them, he leaned in again and you dodged it once again by saying you left the oven on. he was genuinely confused under that blank expression.
“did I do something?”
“oh, no. why?”
his brows furrowed while he watched you left for the kitchen. he followed you, hovering at the entrance of the kitchen and he announced “I’m leaving now”
“okay good luck at practice” you walk up to him. he was expecting a kiss. But you gave him a hug and skipped away. he left anyway. upset and confused. and with no goodbye kiss
“sae-chan is distracted today what happened?” shidou questioned as he inched closer to sae.
sae, inching away from him, “mind your own business you horny demon”
his jaw was tight. the events of the morning plagued him so much. he started questioning everything: had he done something wrong? did he upset you somehow? did he forget something important? is she pranking me?
whatever the reason was, it subtly tormented him for the rest of practice. and shidou was right—he was distracted..
by the end of practice, he was a mess. he replayed every interaction you had with him in the morning, over analyzing every action, word and moment.
when he got home, he sought you out immediately. found you laying on the couch, on your phone completely unaware of the emotional torment you had put him through. he walked up to you, gently grabbing your chin to face him.
“did I upset you in some way?”
“no you didn’t”
he searched your expression for a lie but found none. “okay” he let out a soft sigh and his shoulders relaxed.
still holding your chin, he tilted his head and gave you a slow, passionate kiss.
✧˖*julien loki
the moment you dodged his kiss at the last second, he paused. his eyes narrowed and a smug smirk formed. “interesting” he teased “is that how it is now?” Before you could react he walked away.
he made you play the long game and good god did he make you feel every second of it. he constantly and relentlessly teased you.
he deliberately spoke near you, tempting you and when you tried to kiss him he pulled away. and he wasn’t subtle about it either. he would straight up seduce you, his lips grazing yours, but when you try to close the gap he dodged, pulled away or straight up blocked you.
it became a game of who would cave in first and it was clear that it wouldn’t be him.
“oh cmon it was a joke give me a break”
“hmm no. youll crack before I do.”
it has been three days, and he still hasn’t kissed you. you marched into the kitchen and cornered him. “im tired of this” you cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him. But he swerved. You let out an exhausted sigh. “okay fine you win” you said, head held down, under your breath.
a smug smile formed and he tilted his head to see your expression. “whats that?”
“I said you win. happy now?” you snapped and stomped away in defeat. he gently grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you back
“no need to be so snappy, mon amour” he slid his arm around your waist, his face inches from you with a childish grin. “you were the one who started this” he began kissing you slowly and deliberately from the neck going up, to your jaw, then your cheek. his thumb was teasingly tracing the pattern of your lips, as if he wanted to kiss you. you leaned in and he pulled back, with that sly grin.
you huffed and pushed him away, but he cupped your face and leaned in, finally kissing you, slow and deep like he was trying to compensate for the last three days. you felt him smiling against your lips at your defeat.
✧˖*michael kaiser
michael did not take it lightly. You were in the kitchen completely absorbed in whatever you’re doing. he came up behind wrapping his arm around you and turned you around. he began to kiss you slowly from your neck, then your jawline, then cheek. when he reached your lips, he leaned in but you swerved. “what?” “hm?” “why did you dodge my kiss?” “I didn’t?”
he tried again and leaned in but you dodged it again and ducked out of his embrace.
“big mistake, liebe” he yelled lunging at you.
you scurried out of the kitchen, your laughter echoing in the corridor
“you think this is funny?”
your home was a battlefield. he chased after you. you were doing the most: jumping over sofas, crawling under tables, running into the kitchen and circling the island a couple of times.
when you ran into the bedroom you were at a dead end. he cornered you in the bedroom and pinning you down onto the bed. you were still laughing.
“game over, I win” he said, chest heaving. “and now im going to take my prize”
“no fair you cheated” you protested, still breathless from the running and the laughter.
“schatzi, you don’t know?” he purred, his lips hovering over yours. “I always get what I want."
he claims the kiss he’d been chasing you for. it was a deep and possessive kiss, stealing your breathe once again.
he pulled back with a smug grin, he traced your lips and kissed you again, softer and needier. he whispered between the kiss “never again, Schatz.”
✧˖*reo mikage
reo was genuinely offended. he went through the five stages of grief.
first, denial. he was in utter disbelief and couldn't fathom what was happening. noone's ever withheld affection from him before. especially not you. then anger. not at you, but at himself. he started replaying every interaction and revised every date, wondering what he'd done wrong or forgot an important date.
then he started bargaining: what if she forgot? what if I'm reading into it too much? what if she is pranking me?
then depression: he mopped around the whole day, his head down and did not want to do anything.
but he didn’t go through the acceptance stage. he refused to.
it became a mission to win you over. he bought you the most expensive flowers and showered you with gifts, as an apology for something he didn’t know he did wrong.
“reo enough!!” you yelled
“no. are you still mad at me?”
“I was never mad at you?”
“you didn’t kiss me”
“oh my gosh, I cant joke around with you”
reo paused. “IT WAS A JOKE!!?? WHY WOULD YOU PREY ON AN INNOCENT MAN LIKE THAT”
“I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D TAKE IT THIS FAR”
there was a moment of awkward silence after the yelling match. reo began to pout. you sighed and pulled him in by the collar and kissed him. it was brief and sweet. “happy now?”
“no” he pulled you in by your waist and kissed you, like he was compensating for lost time. he pulled back, his lips still lingering on yours. “don’t joke around like that” he placed a kiss on your cheek, hovering over your ear. “just don’t stop kissing me.
✧˖*seishiro nagi
you didn’t kiss him good morning, but he did not think much of it. you probably forgot. so he didn’t make much of fuss. but when you left for errands without a goodbye kiss, he became a bit confused. when you came back and didn’t kiss him, he noticed the pattern and he did not like it..
nagi didn’t think much about anything. but this? he started to think too much into it. were you fed up with his laziness? you always initiated kisses. it never seemed to bother you much. but now that you’re not giving him any attention at all, and it sent him into a spiral.
you noticed it immediately. he hadn’t touched his gaming gear for the whole day and he followed you around like a lost kitten.
“are you okay, sei?” you asked.
“yea” he said,but he his eyes were desperate.
he clung to you like a baby koala. sitting so close to you or resting his chin on your shoulder while you're doing dishes or waiting for you outside the bathroom door. he wanted you to address the situation, to notice his despair.
finally he was fed up. He cupped your face, murmuring “why are you not kissing me? are you mad at me?”
he didn’t give you a chance to answer. he softly squeezed your face making your lips pucker up and gave you a clumsy kiss.
when he pulled back he looked at you with a soft, relieved expression. “don’t do that again. it felt so wrong”
♡ top divider: @designlikenonsense butterfly dividers: @moonstoneandmoonlight
♡ a/n: this has been in my drafts for a while. proofread to an extent
♡ pardon if there are any mistakes. english is my first language, but I'm still on the learning curve of actually writing.
♡ thank you for reading and feedback is appreciated
content . . ৎ → in which you get possessive over them and they secretly love seeing you claim them ☆
ft. vivien hugo, sae itoshi, michael kaiser, julien loki, and bunny iglesias ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱
˚₊‧꒰ა VIVIEN HUGO
The little bell above the sweets shop chimed as the two of you stepped out into the cool evening.
A paper bag full of pastries swung from your wrist while Hugo casually walked beside you, one hand tucked into his pocket. Even after dessert, the ridiculously tall midfielder somehow looked composed enough to be walking into a press conference instead of down a crowded street.
"You've been smiling ever since we left the café," you pointed out, glancing up at him with a teasing grin. "Something must've put you in a really good mood."
"Hm."
You nudged his arm lightly. "Is it because you're spending the afternoon with me..."
You watched him pause, as if he were genuinely considering your question.
"...Or because you finally got your favorite éclair?"
"The éclair made me happy."
You frowned dramatically, narrowing your eyes at him.
"And what about me?"
He turned his head to look at you, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.
"You made today worth remembering."
You stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
"...You really have a talent for saying the sweetest things with the most unreadable face possible, don't you?"
"So I've been told."
Before either of you could continue walking, a wave of hushed squeals erupted a few feet away.
"Oh my gosh—that's Vivian Hugo!"
"He's even taller in person!"
"And he's so much more handsome than on TV..."
The group huddled together, practically vibrating with excitement as they debated who would approach him first. And after a brief round of panicked whispering, one of the girls finally stepped forward, her friends hiding behind her as moral support.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hugo?" she asked, trying not to stumble over her words. "We're really huge fans! We watched all of your matches, and... um... would it be alright if we got a picture with you?"
Hugo nodded once.
"Of course."
The girls immediately erupted into delighted squeals.
"I told you he'd say yes!"
"Oh my gosh, look at him..."
One of the girls clasped her hands together before blurting out, "This is so embarrassing to ask, but... do you happen to have a girlfriend?"
Her friends immediately gasped.
"Oh my god!"
"I'm so sorry—we tried to stop her!"
"I just had to know! He's ridiculously handsome!"
Before Hugo could answer, you slipped in beside him wearing a look that was clearly meant to be intimidating. To Hugo, however, it looked more like a cat proudly guarding its favorite sunspot.
"Sorry, everyone." You gestured toward him with your free hand. "This absurdly tall guy with an unhealthy addiction to éclairs is already spoken for."
You smiled brightly.
"By yours truly."
The girls stared for a beat.
"...Oh."
"Oh my gosh."
"Wait, that's actually so cute."
One of them laughed sheepishly, nudging her friend.
"Girls, let's give them some space."
"Yeah, we already got our picture. Let's not interrupt their date."
"Sorry for bothering you two!"
With a chorus of embarrassed giggles and quick apologies, they waved goodbye before disappearing down the street.
Hugo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh là là... Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You marched over, wrapped yourself around my arm, and looked at them like a cat proudly marking its territory."
You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "I was not marking my territory!”
"You looked incredibly pleased with yourself though. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were silently celebrating because you'd scared off the competition."
"...Well," you admitted after a brief pause, "they did leave. I'd call that a successful operation."
He studied your face for another second before quietly chuckling.
"...Come here."
Before you could ask why, both of his hands found your cheeks.
"V-Vivi! What are you doing?"
"I've been trying not to do this ever since you called me your absurdly tall sweet tooth."
"You can't just squish my cheeks because I embarrassed myself!"
"I'm doing it because you were adorable." Hugo said softly, finally letting go. "I just think you're unbearably cute whenever you get possessive over me."
You rubbed your warm cheeks, refusing to meet his eyes.
"...I'm never doing that again."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"I sincerely hope that's not true."
˚₊‧꒰ა SAE ITOSHI
The little bell above the teahouse door chimed as Sae stepped inside, his gaze briefly sweeping across the familiar wooden interior. For the first time in years...Nothing had changed.
The elderly shop owner looked up from behind the counter before her eyes widened in recognition.
"...Sae-chan?"
Sae gave a small nod.
"It's been a while."
"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, hurrying around the counter with a bright smile. "Look at you! You used to come in here with your little brother after practice, and now you're all over television." She clasped her hands together, looking him over proudly. "You've grown into such a fine young man."
"I've gotten taller."
"You certainly have." She laughed before suddenly narrowing her eyes. "Now, tell me... are you married yet?"
"...No."
"Engaged?"
"No."
"A girlfriend, then?"
Sae sighed almost imperceptibly.
"...Why does every visit home turn into this conversation?"
"Because you're handsome!" she replied as though the answer were obvious. "If you don't have anyone, I know a lovely young lady whose mother comes here every Thursday. She's sweet, polite, and she's been asking if I'd ever met that football player from Kamakura—"
Before she could finish, you quietly stepped beside Sae, slipping your hand into his before intertwining your fingers.
You offered the shop owner a warm smile.
"I'm afraid your matchmaking services won't be needed today."
The elderly woman blinked.
"Oh?"
You glanced up at Sae before smiling just a little wider.
"This hometown celebrity has already been claimed."
The shop owner gasped, both hands flying to her cheeks.
"Oh! So that's why you came back looking so much happier!"
The shop owner disappeared into the kitchen with a cheerful hum, leaving the two of you by the counter.
A moment later, you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.
"...Sae?"
He rested his chin lightly atop your head, his voice as calm as ever.
"Thank you. I was starting to think I'd have to sit through another round of matchmaking proposals."
You let out a soft laugh, relaxing against him.
"So that's why you let me interrupt? I was wondering why you looked so unbothered while I practically claimed you in front of her."
"I was hoping you'd do exactly that," he admitted without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "It's considerably more effective than rejecting every recommendation she has."
You tilted your head just enough to look back at him.
"So I'm your official anti-matchmaking strategy now?"
"The only one I need," Sae replied. "Besides... you looked rather cute getting possessive over me."
Your face immediately warmed.
"...Don't get used to it."
˚₊‧꒰ა MICHAEL KAISER
The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as you wandered past rows of freshly baked pastries, the warm scent of butter and sugar filling the air.
"I still can't believe this place is open," you murmured, eyeing the display case. "You talked about these rusks so much I was convinced they only existed in your memories."
Kaiser slipped his hands into his coat pockets, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
"I have excellent taste, Liebling. Some things simply survive the test of time."
Just then, one of the bakery employees approached carrying a tray of neatly cut sample pieces.
"Good afternoon!" she greeted warmly before her eyes landed on Kaiser. There was a brief pause.
"...Oh."
Recognition flickered across her face.
"You're Michael Kaiser, aren't you?"
"The one and only."
Her smile widened almost instantly.
"I knew it! Welcome back!" She laughed nervously before holding the tray toward him. "We're handing out samples of our new honey rusks today. Please, have one—it's on the house."
You waited beside him, expecting the employee to extend the tray your way after offering Kaiser a sample.
She didn't.
Instead, she lingered in front of him with an eager smile, her entire attention fixed on the famous footballer standing before her.
"I really hope you like it," she said. "It's one of our newest recipes, and we've been recommending it to everyone today."
You glanced from the tray to her, then back again.
...I guess I'm invisible.
The faint pout that settled on your face didn't escape Kaiser.
His eyes flickered toward you for the briefest moment before a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He plucked a honey rusk from the tray, turned toward you without the slightest hesitation, and held it just beneath your lips.
"Open, Schatz."
You looked up at him, momentarily caught off guard.
"...You're feeding me?"
"I don't see anyone else I'd rather share it with."
Your cheeks warmed instantly. Aware of the employee still standing there, you hesitated for only a second before leaning in to take a bite. Kaiser watched with quiet satisfaction, then popped the remaining half into his own mouth as if the gesture required no explanation at all.
The employee blinked several times before an embarrassed laugh slipped past her lips.
"Oh... I'm so sorry." She pressed a hand to her forehead, mortified. "I completely misunderstood. I thought you were here alone—I didn't realize you two were together."
"It's alright," you replied with a reassuring smile as your hand naturally found Kaiser's forearm. "Don't take it personally. He has a habit of collecting attention wherever he goes."
The employee disappeared behind the counter with another apologetic smile, leaving the two of you alone beside the shelves lined with warm loaves and pastries.
No sooner had she walked away than Kaiser's arm found its way around your waist, drawing you effortlessly against his side. His shoulders gave the slightest shake as a quiet laugh escaped him.
"So..." He glanced down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Were you genuinely jealous over a complimentary bakery sample, Liebling?"
You looked up at him with an offended gasp. "I wasn't jealous. I was simply wondering why I was standing there like decorative furniture while you were being treated to free food."
"Oh?" He arched a brow, the corners of his lips lifting. "Then why did you cling to my arm the second she realized we were together?"
"Because she looked embarrassed," you defended, trying your best to sound convincing. "I was helping her recover from the awkwardness."
"How noble of you." His thumb absentmindedly traced small circles against your waist. "And here I was thinking you were reminding everyone that I'm your boyfriend."
"You already know you're my boyfriend. Everyone else was just... receiving the same information."
A satisfied grin spread across his face as he leaned down to press a quick kiss against your temple.
"My beautiful, sweet Liebling..." His blue eyes met yours, sparkling with unmistakable amusement. "Getting jealous over a complimentary bakery sample... I do hope you realize you've just made my day."
˚₊‧꒰ა JULIEN LOKI
The morning air carried just enough of a chill to make jogging pleasant. Beside you, Julien matched your pace with effortless ease, his breathing so steady it was almost insulting.
"You know," you said between breaths, "I refuse to believe you're actually running."
He glanced over with a faint smile. "I am."
"You passed three cyclists in the last five minutes."
"They were going rather slowly."
"They were on bicycles, Julien."
"They'll recover."
You laughed, giving his arm a light bump as the two of you rounded the next corner.
Just then, a young woman stepped out of a nearby café with a cardboard tray balancing two coffees in one hand and a paper bag of pastries tucked beneath the other. She looked up at the same moment Julien noticed her, both of them reacting a fraction too late.
"Oh!"
Before the drinks could topple, Julien was already moving. He caught the sliding coffee with one hand, steadied the paper bag with the other, and instinctively reached for the woman's arm to keep her from stumbling.
"I'm terribly sorry," he said at once, releasing her as soon as she regained her footing. "Are you alright?"
The woman blinked up at him, still trying to process what had happened.
"...Julien Loki?"
A small chorus of delighted gasps came from the nearby bench.
The elderly ladies who had been chatting moments ago were now watching the scene unfold with unconcealed interest.
"Oh, look at that..."
"He caught her before she fell."
"Mon Dieu, it's just like one of those romance dramas."
The poor girl's face turned scarlet.
You could practically see the imaginary opening credits rolling.
Absolutely not.
Suppressing a laugh, you walked over and slipped comfortably beside Julien, your hand finding his forearm as naturally as if it belonged there.
"I'm so sorry about that," you said with an apologetic smile. "My boyfriend has this unfortunate habit of forgetting that normal people can't react as quickly as he can. He was only trying to save your coffee."
The woman looked from your hand resting on Julien's arm to his face before letting out an embarrassed laugh.
"Oh! I... I'm sorry. I completely misunderstood."
"No harm done," you assured her. "I'm just glad nothing spilled."
One of the grandmothers smiled knowingly.
"So that's the girlfriend."
"I was wondering when she'd make her entrance."
After another round of apologies and relieved laughter, the woman excused herself, leaving the two of you to continue your jog as though nothing had happened.
You barely made it half a block.
"Eh bien..." Julien's voice was soft with amusement. "You were very quick to clarify that I was your boyfriend."
You kept your eyes ahead, pretending the conversation didn't interest you.
"I was preventing a misunderstanding."
"Were you?" He glanced at you, a knowing smile forming. "Because you repeated it with such confidence, darling. Almost as if you wanted to make certain everyone heard."
"They were already deciding who you should marry."
Julien let out a quiet laugh, his fingers slipping between yours as you walked. "So you saved me from a future arranged by strangers?"
"Exactly."
"How fortunate I am, then." His smile grew. "Saved from an imaginary marriage by my very devoted girlfriend. I should probably thank you, non?"
As if on cue, he brought your joined hands closer, pressing a small, affectionate squeeze as the two of you continued along the path.
˚₊‧꒰ა BUNNY IGLESIAS
The cameras were still flashing when Bunny Iglesias stepped out of the stadium corridor, his lavender hair slightly messy from the match and his expression as calm as ever.
A few reporters gathered around him almost immediately.
It wasn't unusual. Bunny had become someone everyone wanted a piece of—the young Spanish forward who had taken the football world by storm, the New Generation World XI player everyone expected to become one of the faces of the sport.
But tonight, they weren't asking about his goals. They were asking about her.
"So, Bunny, there has been a lot of discussion online recently regarding the rumors about you and Valeria Cruz," one reporter said, raising his microphone. "Many fans believe the two of you are more than friends. Would you like to address those rumors?"
Bunny blinked once.
"Valeria Cruz?"
The reporter nodded. "Yes. The photos of you together have caused quite a reaction. People are saying she might be the person you're dating."
For a moment, Bunny simply stared. Then a small, almost amused smile appeared.
"People seem to be very good at creating stories."
The reporters laughed softly.
"So you're saying there is nothing between you?"
"I am saying that people often see two people standing near each other and decide they already know the entire story."
"And what is the real story?"
Bunny looked thoughtful, his fingers adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.
"The real story is that I played a football match today, and I am more interested in discussing that."
A few reporters smiled, but they clearly weren't ready to let the topic go.
"But you understand why fans are curious. You're one of Spain's biggest young stars. Everyone wants to know about your personal life."
"I understand," Bunny replied calmly. "But curiosity does not always mean people are correct."
Before another question could be asked, Bunny noticed you making your way through the crowd toward him, your expression calm but familiar enough for him to recognize your quiet determination.
You didn't interrupt the interview or draw attention to yourself; you simply reached him, took hold of his arm, and gently guided him away from the reporters. The sudden movement left the media team staring as the cameras quickly followed the two of you.
Bunny allowed himself to be pulled along without protest, a small smile forming as he looked down at you.
"I believe they have their answer now."
You looked back toward the reporters and the cameras, finally realizing the conclusion everyone had reached. The rumors, the speculation, the endless guesses about Bunny's supposed girlfriend—it was no longer a mystery.
Bunny, however, seemed far more entertained than bothered. He glanced at you as the two of you continued walking away from the crowd.
"You know, cariño, I think that was the fastest way anyone has ever ended one of my interviews."
"I didn't want to wait until they finished making assumptions."
A quiet laugh escaped him. "Ah, so that was the plan? Walk in, steal me away, and let everyone figure it out themselves?"
"It seemed easier."
Bunny nodded thoughtfully, a small smile appearing. "I have to admit, mi amor, I respect the confidence. Walking into a crowd of reporters like that was bold."
"You think I was brave?"
"Very." He looked amused. "I spend my life in front of cameras, and even I don't enjoy that many people staring at me."
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Because you looked completely serious while doing it." His smile widened slightly. "It was cute."
He stopped walking for a moment, gently taking your hand in his before lowering himself slightly until he was at your eye level. The teasing expression on his face faded into something warmer as he looked at you.
Then he turned your hand over and pressed a quiet kiss against your palm, holding it there for a brief moment.
⤹ ୨୧ ‧₊ vivien hugo does not belong in the kitchen.
notes: or any kitchen for that matter, hugo is a dumbass, my pitiful attempt at #peakcomedy, no tw just being mean to hugo, also gn!reader
asking vivien hugo for help around the kitchen is a recipe for disaster.
does he know how to cook? unfortunately, he does. he can chef up a mean bowl of instant noodles, boiled eggs with chicken dryer than his jokes. but that’s just about it with him. it’s what he learned when he was a kid with the metabolism of an elephant back in training for the france national team.
so when you ask him to help you with the beef wellington you’re preparing for dinner, you should’ve known it would be your biggest beef steak—sorry, mistake.
when this 187 centimeter tall (or 6’2” in freedom units) hunk of pure protein hobbles into the kitchen like a baby giraffe just learning how to walk, you immediately know that this is uncharted territory for him.
“what do you need help with?” he asks, looking around with morbidly wide eyes, like everything in the kitchen might leap at him and cook him for dinner. truth is, you should’ve sent him away right then but you didn’t.
“just watch the oven for a little while i prepare the sauce, please.” you don’t turn to look at him, hands engaged in making sauce which would go well with the wellington. hugo hummed and knelt in front of the oven, watching the wellington swell up in the pan slowly.
“also braise it with egg wash occasionally, it’ll get dry otherwise.” you intercepted his internal reverie of idly watching the wellington bake. hugo flinched at your words, did you really trust him with such an important task?
you noticed his expression and laughed, “what are you so afraid of? it’s food. not going to bite you or anything.” you looked away, “if you don’t want to do it, fine. but we’re putting in so much effort, i don’t want us to eat dry wellington.”
that seemed to have flipped a switch inside hugo’s partially empty head, he got up and looked around for the egg wash, after not being able to find it for a good minute you sighed and pointed towards it on the counter, “there. use your eyes.”
hugo found it and held an intense stare-down with it for a long moment, mentally preparing himself. were you sure to trust him with this?
he picked up the brush and bowl and approached the oven again, he opened the door and the smell of fresh pastry and faint notes of meat filled his senses. now he felt even more terrified of ruining your hardwork.
he grabbed the brush handle and dipped it in the bowl with egg wash, swirling it a few times before lifting it and swiping it across the flaky surface of the wellington.
first swipe, safe.
he closed his eyes and smiled, making an uncanny resemblance to darren watkins jr. he gave a couple more swipes of the brush before lifting the lid back up.
you clapped gleefully, “see! that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you leaned up to kiss his cheek. he smiled, smug. “yeah.”
second time wasn’t so good.
hugo, being the dimwitted little idiot he is, forgot to close the oven door after braising the wellington in egg wash.
why, you may ask?
simply because he felt the quest to chase after your lips for a kiss was more important than securing dinner.
so, he had you pinned against the counter, littering tender kisses all over your face and distracting both you and him from the impending surge of doom you both were about to face.
beep! beep! beep!
you pulled away from hugo’s mouth with a gasp, “hugo! the smoke alarm!” hugo, all dazed and kiss-drunk barely registered a thing before a dim lightbulb flickered in his head. oh right, the wellington.
you both went up in panic and moved to open all the windows, hugo turned the oven off (great, there’s something which he actually can do.) and you put on your mittens, grabbing the tray of the charred remains of what was once a beautiful beef wellington.
grief and devastation painted your face as you peered into the blackness of the pan. a disappointed frown curled on your lips and you slowly turned to face hugo, “why did you leave the oven open?!” you whined, putting the smoking tray in the sink.
hugo had no dignified explanation to save his skin.
what was he supposed to say? “hey i love you so much and i wanted to share saliva with you, hence why i forgot to close the oven door.” pfft. okay. you would disown him.
but you knew, from the shame written on his telling face, that was indeed what happened. “gosh, you’re stupid.” you huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, mourning the loss of your greatest love. not vivien hugo.
“we can order take out..?” hugo proposed. ever the fixer-upper. you just scoffed and tossed your mittens at his face which he failed to catch.
take-out ended up being ordered, the beef wellington was thrown out, and hugo rightfully earned himself a lifetime ban from the kitchen.
lesson learned: vivien hugo cannot be trusted within a five mile vicinity of a kitchen.
a/n: mad as hell france lost against spain so take whateverthis is i headcanon hugo CANNOT cook for the life of him and julian loki. they both dying. france pls win against england tonight pls
hii!! i absolutely love your hugo and bunny fics!!
can i request one where we get both of them (yes at the same damn time) and arguing over who makes reader-chan feel good with their huge d...
///im embarrased to admit but i just want to be sandwiched between these two huge men LMAOOO
thanks !!!!!
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ "you can't have what you threw away, chérie." | cw: smut, double penetration
your ex-boyfriend hugo's words rung in your ears, even now as you're between him and your current "boyfriend", bunny (when in actuality, he was just your fuck friend).
it was the messiest thing ever (for people who live on gossip), for you, one of the most infamous wags of nowadays, to suddenly break up with vivien hugo, a ng11 player and arsenal's most prized prospects, and then get with bunny iglesias, another ng11 player who is also a prized player for fc barca? how preposterous.
despite you breaking things off with vivien and it being quite peaceful, it didn't stop the fact that vivien was passive aggressive—god, not towards you! hell no; rather, to your new boy-toy, bunny.
and now that it was the world cup? and the fact that france, the country that your ex-boyfriend represents, is going against spain, the country that your new guy is from, are competing against each other in the semi-finals? the media outlets were eating this up, but little were they aware of the absolute debauchery happening in your hotel room (which was coincidentally between both of their own hotels).
they had made a bet in private, after noticing they were to play against each other on the pitch, to see who would make you cum the most (or pleasure you the most, as hugo would've put it since he has a much softer way of speaking than bunny). so there you were, in between your ex-boyfriend (who may or may not want you back), and your fuck buddy who found enjoyment in messing with him.
bunny held you by your hips, fucking you from behind while hugo was busy fucking your mouth by the time they began arguing, albeit they've been at it since they got to your room.
"fuck, shut the hell up." bunny sneered, pulling your hair and pulling you away from sucking hugo off. he slapped your ass and slammed into you hard. "you talk too fucking much. i'm trying to hear her, not you."
"haaahh—bunny, t-too rough-!"
then hugo gently lowered your head back on his cock, where you more than happily sucked on the crown of his cock.
"well, maybe because you aren't doing her right, you goddamn idiot."
bunny let out a dark laugh, like he wanted to actually throw himself on him than you. "you really wanna go there, capullo?" [dickhead**]
"just fuck me!" then all of a sudden, they both shut up, looking at you in your rather compromising position--spit and cum on your face while your pupils were damn dilated from the pleasure.
"well, aren't you enthusiastic..." "i'm saying... at the same time."
oh.
so that's how you found yourself, on top of your ex-boyfriend, with his cock in you, while your other fuck buddy was behind you, his cock also in you. so. to be completely serious: your fuck buddy and your ex-boyfriend were fucking you. at the same time. with you squished between them.
rightttt.
"hahhh—nghhh-!"
it was a stretch you couldn't even explain—it was goddamn overwhelming. with the sheer vulgarity of the fact that both of their cocks were in your cunt making your face warm with embarrassment and arousal.
"fuck... you like that?" — "of course, she does. why else do you think she wanted for both of us at the same time?!"
“mhmmmm—fuck me harder…”
it was something out of a porno—for you to be between two of the most successful football stars in the world while they fuck you at the same time.
it was addicting, how gentle yet assertive hugo was when he kissed you soft despite fucking you so so good while bunny was domineering, pulling your hair and kissing you passionately.
"we'll see who wins on the pitch then..." hugo spat, cursing bunny out in french before leaving. in the short time they had you, you had been eiffel-towered, and flipped in positions you didn’t even think was damn possible. but that’s what happens when you get yourself involved with world class athletes with insatiable stamina...
and even when france lost their match against spain, of course hugo had to come to you for a round 2. because, words are comforting but he’d prefer your pussy—as well as bunny after his victory.
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im combining this with another request id gotten !!! which was along the lines of the plot of this !!!!! :))))) i hope i did your req justice im sorry (dk how to feel abt this but sigh) 🥲🥲🥲 but ill be posting my ng11 fic later todayyyy yayaya
content: sharing one bed with sae itoshi because the hotel overbooked.
the mistake isn't even discovered until everyone's dragging their suitcases into the lobby.
you're halfway through checking the reservation list when one of the hotel employees awkwardly clears his throat.
"there's... one issue." everyone freezes. somehow, every room was booked correctly except yours.
you laugh at first because... seriously? until the receptionist confirms that every nearby hotel is completely full.
one of the assistant staff members—someone you've barely spoken to during the trip—steps a little too close.
"well," he says with a grin that makes your skin crawl, "i don't mind sharing my room."
you immediately force a polite smile. "that's okay. i'll figure something out."
"come on, it's only one night." before you can answer again:
"no." the lobby goes quiet.
sae doesn't even look up from his phone. "she's staying in my room."
everyone turns to him. "itoshi?" the coach blinks.
he finally lifts his head, teal eyes landing briefly on the staff member before looking away again.
"well, unless there's another room."
"there isn't." pause. "then it's settled." his tone is so flat that nobody argues.
except the assistant. "are you sure? i mean, i offered first-"
sae finally looks directly at him. it's only for a second.
but whatever expression crosses his face is enough for the man to immediately shut up. "right."
sae picks up his room key. "come on."
the elevator ride is painfully quiet.
"thanks," you mumble. he hums.
after another few seconds, he speaks. "he was making you uncomfortable."
it's not a question. "was it that obvious?"
"to me." that's all he says.
his room is nicer than yours would've been. one king-sized bed.
one couch that looks like it'd break your spine after twenty minutes. you immediately point at it.
"i'll sleep there." "no."
"what?" "it's uncomfortable."
"sae, i'm not kicking you out of your own bed." "good."
"so?" "we're both sleeping here."
you stare at him. he stares back with the exact same unreadable expression.
"it's a king-sized bed." "we're adults." you tch. "you're overthinking it." easy for him to say.
you spend the next twenty minutes pretending not to notice how close he is while both of you get ready for bed.
he acts like absolutely nothing is different. brushes his teeth, answers a message, sets an alarm, and lies down.
"goodnight." just like that. meanwhile you're standing beside the bed wondering how your life turned into this.. but whos complainin "you know this is weird."
without opening his eyes- "only if you make it weird."
you roll your eyes. "you're impossible." you cross your arms "mhm."
you don't expect to wake up in the middle of the night. or because you're cold, or because the hotel air conditioning feels like it's trying to recreate antarctica.
half asleep, you instinctively scoot toward the nearest source of warmth. which just so happens to be sae.
your forehead ends up pressed lightly against his shoulder, your hand 'accidentally' curls into the sleeve of his t-shirt.
he wakes for maybe three seconds. looks down. realizes you're asleep.
instead of moving you away, he simply pulls the blanket a little higher over both of you and goes back to sleep.
the next morning.. you wake up first, then immediately realize where you are.
you slowly lift your head and sae's already awake, looking at you.
"finished panicking?" you immediately let go of his shirt.
"i wasn't panicking." you gulp. "your face says otherwise." pause. "don't."
"you drool a little." you audibly gasped "i WHAT?"
there's the tiniest pause, barely noticeable. then, "i'm kidding."
you blink. "ugh.. you better be." he's already getting out of bed. "mhm-hmm, whatever you say."
your jaw drops, you face him and you catch a hint of the hardest you've ever seen sae itoshi try not to smile.
written by - @ysvanielle (me) | please do not copy, steal, modify, repost or translate my content onto any other platforms or tumblr. reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated !
hiii so idk if you do dark themes like stalking, predator x prey, dubcon and noncon buuut if you are open to it, could you do a bunny iglesias x reader one? power imbalance, size and corruption kink maybeee . reader is a huge fan of football and barcha, reader idolizes bunny iglesias. but reader is oblivious that her idol is currently stalking her ! i like the trope of the "obsessed celebrity". it's up to you the plot, but i like stalking themes
bunny iglesias who took a photo with you at a fan meeting once and did egosearch on all social media to find my profile, because MAYBE he could find reader's profile.
bunny iglesias who stalked every reader's social media
reader who has a fan account dedicated to soccer specially for bunny.
reader who is innocent, naive and oblivious to the fact that her fav celebrity is always discretly at the same places as them!
bunny iglesias who has a serious jealousy problem. he wants to be the only one of readers life, he cant stand seeing reader seeing other players matchs.
bunny iglesias who is kinda suicidal and sadistic, a depressed man that is obsessed by reader. he puts reader on a pedestal of being his "cure".
Here's your request, I'm sorry for late posting cuz idk how to write this, I'm overthinking fo this request, btw thanks
𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: This story explores the thin line between "fan devotion" and "obsessive fixation." While the protagonist starts as a fan, the power dynamic shifts instantly when Bunny reveals that he has been the one watching her all along.
All up in the blogs, say we met at the bar When I don't even know who you are Say we up in your house, sayin' I'm up in your car, Oh, ooh, whoa, oh, whoaWhy you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know , lying that you're sexing me,When everybody knows It's clear that you're upset with me, You're delusional, you're delusional Boy, you're losing your mind It's confusing, yo, you're confused, you know,why you wasting your time?
- Mariah Carey
The photo was innocent enough.You remembered that day perfectly—the way your hands had trembled as you held up your phone, the way your voice had cracked when you asked, "Can I take a picture with you?"
Bunny Iglesias had smiled. That scars on his face, cocky grin that made thousands of fans scream his name. He'd slung an arm around your shoulder, pulled you close, and the flash had captured the moment.
You'd posted it on your fan account that night.
@barcha_bunny_lover. 15K followers. Countless edits, match analyses, and thirst tweets dedicated to the Spanish U-20 star.
Best day of my life. Thank you @BunnyIglesias for being my inspiration. ⚽️💙❤️
You never noticed the account with no profile picture that liked the post three seconds after you uploaded it.
You never noticed the blue tick that had viewed your story within a minute.
You never noticed that the private account with 0 posts—the one that followed you that same night—had a username that was just a string of numbers.
@BunnyIglesias_0852
But Bunny noticed you.
He'd done an egosearch. Of course he had.After the fan meeting, after the handshakes and the autographs and the hundreds of faces that blurred together, he'd typed his own name into the search bar. And there you were.
Your profile picture was a close-up of his face from a match last season. Your bio read: Bunny Iglesias truther. Barcha till I die. She/her. (your age).
He scrolled.
Photos of him. Clips of his goals. A thread analyzing his playing style. A poll asking Which Bunny goal is the best?
And then—pictures of you.
A selfie at the stadium. You in a Barcha jersey, your hair pulled back, your smile bright and innocent. A photo of you with friends at a café. A screenshot of you watching a match on TV, your fist raised in triumph when Barcha scored.
He saved every single one.He created a folder on his phone. Just for you.
The first time he showed up where you were, it was an accident.
He'd been driving through the city, restless, unable to sleep. His therapist said he needed to "find joy in the mundane." He found joy in watching you.
You were sitting at an outdoor café, alone, a book open in front of you. You weren't reading it—you were scrolling through your phone, probably on your fan account, probably posting about him.
He parked across the street and watched.
You ordered a coffee. You laughed at something on your screen. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
He imagined what it would feel like to be the one making you laugh.
The second time, it was deliberate.
He found out you attended every Barcha home game. Your seat was in section 112, row 7, seat 4. He bought the seat next to yours for the next match.
You didn't notice him.
You were too busy cheering, your eyes fixed on the pitch, your voice joining the chorus of the crowd. He watched you the entire time. Watched the way your jersey rode up when you raised your arms. Watched the way your lips formed his name when he scored.
"BUNNY!"
He scored a hat-trick that day. Every goal was for you.
The third time, he followed you home.
You took the metro. You got off at a stop in the outskirts of the city. You walked down a quiet street lined with old apartment buildings. You lived on the third floor.
He noted the address. He noted the way you checked your mailbox. He noted the way you smiled when you pulled out a letter.
He wanted to be the reason you smiled like that.
It was a Tuesday when he realized he had a problem.
You posted a story. A screenshot of a match you were watching—Barcha vs Real Madrid. You'd circled a player who wasn't him.
New transfer is looking good! Can't wait to see him play with the team!
Bunny's jaw tightened.
He stared at the screen. At the player—some rookie from Italy, all wide eyes and desperation. You were praising him. Him.
Not Bunny.
You were supposed to be his fan.
His.
He typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted. He couldn't reply from his main account. That would be crazy. That would be obvious.
So he logged into his private account. The one with your folder. The one that followed you. He's not that good.
He sent the message. Then he deleted it. Then he spent the next hour refreshing your profile, waiting to see if you'd seen it.
You didn't reply.
But you didn't post about the Italian again.Good girl.
It happened at a bar.
A sports bar, crowded with fans, the TV blasting a match between Barcha and a lower-tier team. You were there with friends, laughing, drinking, your eyes glued to the screen.
He was there too.
He'd found out through your story—Game night at The Kickoff! Come say hi if you're there! —and he'd shown up twenty minutes before you arrived.
He sat in the corner, a cap pulled low over his eyes, a hoodie hiding his frame. He watched you order a drink. Watched you cheer when Barcha scored. Watched your friends tease you when you yelled his name.
"Still obsessed with Bunny, huh?" one of them said.
You blushed. "He's the best player in the world."
"Say it louder, he might hear you."
He smiled into his beer.
You got up to use the restroom. He followed.
The hallway was dim, the music muffled. You were washing your hands when he stepped in behind you.
You saw him in the mirror.
Your eyes went wide. Your mouth fell open. Your hands froze under the running water.
"Bunny?"
He smiled. Slow. Predatory.
You turned around, your heart pounding. "What—what are you doing here?"
"Came to watch the game." He stepped closer. "Saw you were here. Thought I'd say hi."
You were speechless. Your idol, standing in front of you, in a grimy bar bathroom, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.
He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek. "You're shaking."
"I—I'm just surprised."
"You post about me a lot."
You blushed. "I'm a big fan."
"I know." His thumb traced your lower lip. "I know everything about you, princesa."
Something in his voice made your stomach flip. It wasn't fear. Not yet. It was... anticipation.
He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "I've been watching you for a long time."
"You have?"
"Mm." His hand slid down your neck, your shoulder, your waist. "I know your favorite coffee order. I know where you sit at the stadium. I know you live on the third floor of a building with a broken intercom."
Your breath caught. "How do you know that?"
"Because I'm obsessed with you." He said it like it was simple. Like it was obvious. "And I don't like sharing."
He pressed you against the sink, his body trapping you, his hands on either side of you. He was so much bigger than you. Taller. Broader. Stronger.
"I saw that post," he said, his voice low. "The one about the new transfer."
"Bunny—"
"You're not supposed to look at anyone else." His eyes were dark, hungry. "You're mine."
He kissed you.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was possessive, demanding, his tongue sliding into your mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him, and you felt how hard he was.
You should have pushed him away.
You didn't.
He took you home. Not your home. His home. A penthouse overlooking the city, all glass and steel and expensive furniture. The lights of the skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He led you to the bedroom and pushed you onto the bed.
"You have no idea," he said, crawling over you, "how long I've wanted this."
He tore your clothes off. Your shirt, your bra, your jeans, your panties. He threw them aside, his eyes roaming your body like you were a prize he'd won.
"Perfect," he whispered. "So fucking perfect."
He didn't undress slowly. He ripped his own clothes off, his body scarred from years of football, muscles taut and hard. His cock was thick, already leaking, and he stroked himself as he looked at you.
"You're going to be good for me, right?"
You nodded, your voice gone.
He grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He spread your legs wide, exposing you, and he laughed.
"So wet for me already. And I haven't even touched you yet."
He leaned down, his tongue finding your clit. He licked you slowly, deliberately, savoring you. His fingers slid inside you, curling, stretching.
You moaned, your hands fisting the sheets.
"Say my name."
"Bunny—"
"Louder."
"Bunny!"
He grinned against you, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers pumping in and out. He brought you to the edge, held you there, and then pulled away.
"Not yet."
You whimpered.
He flipped you over, pulling your hips up, positioning you on your hands and knees. He smacked your ass, hard, and you gasped.
"Look at you." His voice was rough, raw. "So perfect. So mine."
He lined himself up and pushed inside you in one brutal thrust.
You screamed.
He was so big, stretching you, filling you, and it hurt—it hurt so good. He didn't wait for you to adjust. He started moving, fast and rough, his hips slapping against yours.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel incredible. Like you were made for me."
He grabbed your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your spine to arch. "Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Say it like you mean it."
"I'm yours!"
He fucked you harder. Faster. Each thrust drove you deeper into the mattress, your knuckles white as you gripped the sheets. His other hand found your clit, rubbing in rough circles.
"Come for me," he commanded. "Now."
Your body obeyed. You shattered, your orgasm ripping through you, your pussy clenching around him. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as he followed, his cum hot and thick inside you.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing you into the bed.
After a long moment, he pulled out. He rolled you onto your back, looking down at you with those dark, possessive eyes.
"You're not going anywhere."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead. Soft. Tender.
"I'm going to take care of you, princesa." He traced a pattern on your skin. "No one else. Just me."
You were too dazed to respond.
He didn't need you to.He already had everything he wanted.
