You’re sat in the villas library. Resting on the expensive couch, book in your hands, with an astounding view of the French Riviera in front of you.
And your boyfriend…oh your boyfriend, was busy blocking that sunny view with his gargantuan figure.
He’s been at the foot of the couch for 20 minutes now. Standing over you, playing with your bare toes, begging for your attention.
But you’re feeling particularly cruel today, so you make him wait and beg.
“Please mon amour” Vivian whined.
He lifted your leg and sat on the couch where your feet were resting, and leaned his cheek against the arch of your foot.
“Please,” He kissed your ankle and rested it on his shoulder as he looked at you with big watery eyes. But you only continued to ignore him, “I’m busy Vivi,”
“Please mon amour. How much more should I beg?” He pried your knees apart and threw his large frame over yours, resting his face on your stomach, and forcing your legs to cradle him.
“I’m reading Vivi. Grab your blank book and stare at it until I’m done,” You replied, your breath hitching slightly due to the added weight on top of you.
“There’s only so much a man can imagine! Nothing my mind can conjure up compares to you. Please, at least look at me,” He whined, kneading your hips.
Vivian had never been so frustrated with you before. He grabbed the book out of your hand and threw it somewhere behind him.
You looked at him, shocked. He was never the type to do something like this. Before you could scold him he moved further up your body, resting his face in the crook of your neck.
Vivian kissed your neck, eliciting a shudder from you, “I don’t see how that book could possibly be more interesting than me,” He mumbled against your skin as he kissed up and down your neck, to your collarbone, and jaw, “Some book written by a dead guy over your very alive boyfriend,”
You couldn’t help but smile and wrap your arms around him, realizing you’d gone a little too far in withholding your attention from him.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp as he continued his attack on your neck, “I’m sorry Vivi. I was messing with you,” You giggled lightly, “Nothing in this world holds a candle to you,”
He leaned up and kissed you then. Slow and passionate. You closed your eyes and pulled him closer. As if urging your bodies to become one.
You hummed agaisnt his mouth as his tongue slithered into yours, exploring the space like it was his first time, even tho he was the only and most frequent visitor.
He whimpers quietly into your mouth before reluctantly pulling away, “Come shower with me? I want to try that new restaurant,” He asks, hovering over you now.
You look at your boyfriend. His two-toned hair tousled, those unfairly long lashes, his lips pink and plump from your kisses, an old faded Arsenal shirt hanging off his figure, and his big strong hands resting on your waist in anticipation.
You bite your lip and smile, nodding your head at him.
He wastes no time. Vivian’s usual robotic expression overtaken by a rare but contagious smile as he throws you over his shoulder and carries you out of the library.
You squeal and grip his shirt, giggling as he carries you past your book discarded on the floor, and through the bathroom doors.
You can’t help but sigh in contentment.
A library with more books than you could ever read, a villa on the french riviera, and a handsome footballer hopelessly and utterly in love with you.
Life does really work out.
Okay but does life really work out
Will i ever know? whatever
cute fluff posting just to post because i’m so tired and have a bazillion drafts but i just don’t have a will to finish, edit, and post them. so i offer this half assed for now. i apologize.
Clingy vivian is real, he’s actually in my bed beside me rn, he says hello.
Ik it’s vivien but everyone is saving vivian so i will follow the crowd this once
working on requests! i’ll get there one day
my only will to live is this ongoing hugo x reader fic. i feel so seen it’s like the author is in my mind and has lived my life.
okay bye. bully me into posting and finishing. because i’m off to the trenches known as university in a month and who knows when we shall see each other after that
oh to be an anime footballer, no university or degree needed. only ego and destiny
contains: virginity loss, pervert vivian, no protection sex.
Hugo was your best friend. You two were inseparable, like peas in a pod. You’d been with him since the beginning of his career, long before the fame, before the cameras constantly followed him around, before women started throwing themselves at him every chance they got. Back then, he was just Hugo—your Hugo. The boy who’d walk you home after school, steal fries off your plate, and complain endlessly whenever training got too hard.
You grew up side by side, practically attached at the hip. Sleepovers became normal. Sharing hoodies became normal. Sitting on his lap because there wasn’t enough space became normal. Everything about the two of you felt natural, effortless.
When you were younger, physical affection meant nothing between you. Holding hands while crossing the street, hugging each other after long days, leaning against him during movie nights—it was all innocent. Hugo never thought twice about it.
Until you both got older.
Because as the years passed, the two of you changed.
You matured. Your features softened and sharpened in all the right places at the same time, your body no longer resembling the awkward girl he used to run around with as kids. And Hugo changed too—broader shoulders, rougher hands, a deeper voice, a stronger presence. The two of you weren’t children anymore, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
At first, he didn’t notice when things started affecting him differently.
Not when you’d casually sit beside him with your thigh pressed against his during long car rides.
Not when you’d throw your arms around his neck from behind after he came home exhausted from training.
Not when you’d wear his shirts around the house, the fabric hanging shorter on you than it used to.
But slowly, those little touches stopped feeling innocent to him.
Your hand lingering on his arm suddenly made his heartbeat stutter. The way you’d absentmindedly play with his fingers while talking made him lose focus entirely. Even something as simple as you laying your head on his chest during movie nights had him staring at the ceiling for hours afterward, unable to sleep.
And the worst part?
You had no idea, or so he thought so.
To you, it was still Hugo. Your best friend. The person you trusted most in the world.
But to him, every touch started meaning too much.
Especially because you were so comfortable with him.
You’d crawl into his bed without hesitation when you couldn’t sleep. You’d fix his hair while talking to him up close, your face inches away from his. Sometimes you’d grab his hand in public without even thinking, and Hugo would have to force himself not to squeeze back too hard, not to think too deeply about how perfectly your fingers fit between his.
He hated how affected he became.
Hated how his mind wandered whenever you sat too close. Hated how protective he got whenever other men looked at you too long. Hated how he started comparing every woman to you without even realizing it.
Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being just his best friend.
And Hugo knew he was completely fucked the moment those harmless little touches—the ones that once meant nothing—started driving him insane.
Hugo genuinely tried to ignore it at first.
He told himself it was temporary. Just hormones. Just stress. Just the result of spending too much time around you.
But it kept getting worse.
Painfully and physically worse.
Because you were still the same with him—completely unaware of what you were doing to him.
You’d plop down beside him after showering, hair still damp, wearing those tiny sleep shorts like it was nothing. You’d steal his hoodies and stretch in them lazily while talking, the fabric slipping off one shoulder without you noticing. Sometimes you’d climb onto his bed and rest your head on his thigh while scrolling through your phone, entirely oblivious to how hard his dick was.
And Hugo hated himself for reacting the way he did.
You were his best friend.
His best friend.
But his body didn’t seem to care anymore.
There were nights when he had to physically leave the room because you had become too comfortable with him. There were also nights when he would lock himself in the bathroom, stroking his dick and clutching the panties he had stolen from your laundry basket as if he were losing his mind. He felt disgusted by his behavior at times, especially because you had trusted him so much.
Meanwhile, you just kept touching him so casually.
Your fingers brushing against his stomach when you reached for something.
Your legs thrown across his lap during movie nights.
Your sleepy voice mumbling his name while half-asleep beside him.
Every little thing chipped away at his self-control.
Hugo wanted you in ways that terrified him.
It wasn’t just attraction anymore. It wasn’t some small crush he could bury under years of friendship and self-control. No—this was hunger. The kind that sat heavy in his chest (and dick) and followed him everywhere, turning every little interaction with you into torture.
Because you were so unaware.
So soft with him.
And Hugo was starting to lose his mind over it.
Sometimes he’d catch himself staring for too long. Watching the way your lips moved while you talked, the way your shorts rode up when you curled beside him on the couch, the way your body fit so perfectly against his whenever you hugged him. His thoughts would spiral instantly, filthy and relentless, before he could stop them.
He started clenching his jaw constantly around you.
He detested how every time these moments end and he returns home, he begins stroking his cock, fixated on the events that transpired.
Looking away whenever you bent over near him because he knew if he kept staring, he’d think about things he absolutely shouldn’t.
But it didn’t help.
Nothing helped.
Not when you’d absentmindedly sit on his lap like you used to as kids, completely oblivious to the way every muscle in his body immediately locked up. Not when you’d wrap your arms around him and press yourself close without hesitation, your warmth sinking into him so deeply it drove him insane afterward.
And God, your voice.
The sleepy little tone you used with him late at night nearly ruined him every time.
There were moments where Hugo genuinely thought he was going to snap.
Like the night you crawled into his bed after a nightmare, wearing one of his old shirts. You climbed beside him without a second thought, pressing close to his chest like you always did. Your leg tangled with his instinctively, your fingers curling lightly into his shirt while you mumbled his name sleepily.
Meanwhile, Hugo was fixated on the ceiling, his entire body on fire. He was worried you might notice the pent in his shorts.
Because all he could think about was you.
How warm you felt.
How good you smelled.
How easily he could wrap an arm around your waist and pull you impossibly closer.
He felt pathetic for how badly he wanted you.
Sometimes he’d leave after being around you and immediately feel consumed by guilt, because no matter how hard he tried, his mind always wandered somewhere dangerous. He started having to avoid touching you for too long because even the smallest contact affected him now.
Your hand on his chest.
Your nails dragging lightly across his arm.
Your thighs brushing his when you sat too close.
Everything made his thoughts turn dark and needy.
And the worst part was that you still trusted him completely.
You’d smile at him so sweetly while he sat there internally fighting himself apart. You’d look at him with those soft eyes while he struggled not to think about kissing you senseless. Sometimes you’d lean into him so naturally that Hugo had to physically hold back a groan.
He wanted you so badly it made him irritable.
Other men touching you suddenly made his stomach twist violently. Hearing you talk about dates or flirting jokingly with someone else put him in horrible moods for the rest of the day. He started standing closer to you unconsciously, touching your waist without thinking, glaring too long whenever someone looked at you in ways he understood all too well.
Because he knew exactly what they were thinking.
He thought the same things every single day.
And it was getting harder and harder to pretend he didn’t.
Hugo was close to exploding at this point.
Months of suppressing everything he felt for you had hollowed him out completely. Every little thing you did affected him now—your touches, your voice, the way you smiled at him so easily. He was constantly tense around you, constantly fighting himself, constantly trying to stay the version of Hugo you trusted.
Your best friend.
That evening, he was sitting on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone while trying to ignore the restless frustration sitting heavy in his chest. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of traffic outside.
Then the front door opened.
Hugo barely reacted at first, You always barged in without knocking anyway.
But when he looked up and saw your face, everything in him immediately sharpened.
Your eyes were glossy with tears, lips trembling slightly like you’d been trying not to cry the entire way there.
He sat up instantly. “Hey. What happened?”
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you walked straight to him before climbing into his lap without hesitation, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder.
And fuck.
Hugo nearly lost all coherent thought right there.
Your body pressed fully against his, warm and shaking from quiet sobs. He could feel your thighs against his hips, your chest rising unevenly against him while your fingers clutched desperately at the back of his shirt.
Meanwhile, his hands froze at your waist.
Because even now—even while you were crying—his body reacted to you automatically.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly, voice rougher than usual.
You sniffled against his neck. “I’m so embarrassed…”
His jaw tightened immediately.
“What happened?”
“There was this guy,” you mumbled shakily. “I thought he actually liked me and then I saw him with another girl today and…” your voice cracked, “I feel stupid.”
Something dark twisted inside Hugo’s chest.
A guy.
Another fucking guy.
And somehow you were here, crying in his lap over someone else while Hugo had spent years wanting you so badly it physically hurt.
His hands tightened unconsciously against your waist.
You didn’t notice.
You just kept clinging to him, pressing yourself closer for comfort while he sat there struggling to breathe normally. Your cheek brushed his neck softly when you shifted, and Hugo had to shut his eyes for a second because he genuinely thought he might snap.
“You’re not stupid,” he muttered.
You gave a weak laugh through your tears. “You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”
Best friend.
The words hit him like a blade.
Because he suddenly couldn’t do it anymore.
Couldn’t sit here pretending this was enough. Couldn’t keep letting you touch him like this while acting like he didn’t crave more. Couldn’t keep listening to you cry over men who didn’t know you the way he did.
He looked down at you.
Really looked at you.
Your watery eyes. Your flushed cheeks. Your lips parted slightly as you breathed shakily against him.
And something inside him finally broke.
Before he could stop himself, Hugo grabbed your face gently and kissed you.
Hard.
Like he’d been holding it back for far too long.
For a split second, he expected you to shove him away.
Instead, you kissed him back immediately.
And that completely ruined him.
Hugo let out a shaky breath against your lips, one hand sliding from your waist up to your jaw while the other pulled you impossibly closer against him. The kiss turned messy fast—years of tension and restraint unraveling all at once.
You made the softest sound against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair, and Hugo genuinely felt dizzy from it.
Because you were kissing him back.
Actually kissing him back.
All those years of wanting you, trying not to want you, trying to bury every filthy thought he’d ever had about you—and now you were melting into him like you’d wanted this too.
He kissed you deeper before he could think better of it, completely consumed. Every suppressed feeling poured into it at once: jealousy, frustration, longing, lust.
His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled back, breathing unevenly.
And the way you looked at him afterward nearly destroyed what little composure he had left.
Your bodies pressed close as you two kissed again. You could feel his desire intensifying, and you knew he wanted more. You also knew that you were ready.
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours, "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice soft. "We don't have to rush into anything. I've waited this long, I can wait longer."
You smile, your heart filled with warmth and affection, "I'm sure, Vi," you say, your voice steady. "There's no one else I'd rather do this with. It's only ever been you."
He looks at you, his eyes filled with surprise and happiness, "Really?"
You nod, "Really.”
He grins, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer, "Then what are we waiting for?"
He starts to unzip his pants, but his hands are shaking slightly, betraying his nonchalant facade. He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
You watch him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Vi," you say, your voice soft, "It's okay. We don't have to rush."
He looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire, fear, and disbelief. "No, I want to," he says, his voice hoarse. "I've wanted this for...fuck, I don't know how long. I just...I don't want to mess this up."
You cup his face, your thumb brushing his cheek, "You won't. We're in this together, remember?"
He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opens them again, they're filled with determination. "You're right," he says, his voice steady. And with that, he finishes unzipping his pants, his eyes never leaving yours.
He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance. He looks into your eyes, his expression serious. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice soft. "There's no going back after this."
You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "I'm sure, Vi. I want this. I want you."
He takes a deep breath, and you can see the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous, you realize. He's been waiting for this for so long, and he's nervous. The realization sends a warmth spreading through you, and you lean in to kiss him softly.
He responds immediately, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprises you. He pushes into you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You gasp at the slight pain, but it's quickly replaced by pleasure as he begins to move.
He starts slow, but it's not long before his desire takes over, and he begins to move faster, harder. You can feel the heat building between you, your bodies moving in perfect sync. You can hear his ragged breaths, his moans of pleasure, and it only serves to heighten your own pleasure.
"Fuck" he groans, his voice hoarse. "You feel so fucking good."
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, whimpering in his ear.
He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in circles as he continues to move inside you. You gasp, your body arching against his as pleasure courses through you.
"Cum for me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you come apart around me."
His words push you over the edge, and you cry out, your body convulsing with pleasure. He follows soon after, his body tensing as he finds his own release, groaning your name.
For a moment, you both stay like that, him still inside you, your bodies pressed together, your breaths ragged. Then he pulls out, gently lowering you onto the bed beside him. He turns to you, his eyes filled with a softness that you've never seen before.
"Chérie" he says, his voice soft. "I...I don't know what to say."
You smile, your heart filled with happiness and contentment. "You don't have to say anything, Vi. I know how you feel."
fluff. dating him was easy, until he found out you support the enemy. sometimes true love is complicated.
characters may be ooc , but nothing to worry about
ITOSHI SAE
It’s a peaceful afternoon in Madrid, or rather, it was before Sae stirred in his sleep, blinking slowly as his fingers reached out instinctively, expecting to feel the soft warmth of your skin, the weight of your body wrapped around him from your usual post-lunch nap routine.
But there was nothing, just an empty space on the bed. Grumbling under his breath, his brows furrowed as he pushed himself up on one elbow, and he didn’t need to see himself in the mirror to know how messy his hair probably looked.
“Where the hell did you go?” Muttering to no one but himself, voice still hoarse with sleep, eyes still half-lidded, and then like a curse upon his soul, a sound echoed faintly from the living room.
The anthem.
Not just any anthem, the one that was banned from this household. It was a particular, pride-swollen orchestral swell that only belonged to the bane of his existence.
Sae stared at the doorway, unimpressed, perhaps annoyed from the way he woke up and had to sacrifice his hearing. Rubbing his face, he got up and padded into the hallway, silent as a ghost, the kind that haunts with judgment and witty remarks. And there you were, sitting pretty on the couch, blanket around your legs, eyes glued to the TV, and probably smiling more than you should, because you are a traitor who allowed yourself to watch an FC Barcha match.
You were so enthralled you didn’t even notice the tall figure looming behind you, didn’t feel the silent anger that lurked behind you.
Click. The TV screen went black.
You shrieked. “WHAT THE HELL—LAVINHO WAS ABOUT TO SCORE!”
His deadpan voice followed. “I’m taking your TV remote privileges.”
Whipping your head around and there he stood: hair messy, shirtless in grey sweats, arms crossed over his chest like he was judging all your life choices at once, because let's be real, he was. Teal eyes full of betrayal, pain, and minutes taken from his afternoon nap.
“You were supposed to be asleep...”
“I would’ve stayed asleep if my girlfriend didn’t ditch our nap to commit crimes against humanity.”
You huffed, slightly offended because you did nothing wrong. “Sae, it’s just a match.” He stepped closer, now sitting next to you. “It’s Barcha. And you’re in my living room, in my house, rooting for them.”
“Don’t be so sensitive.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, tugging the blanket closer because suddenly it’s so chilly here, and wonder why, probably not from your boyfriend who plays for Re Al.
“I’m not sensitive,” he said coldly, trying his absolute best not to throw some insult at his rival team. “I just play for the better team.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re lucky I didn’t use your Barcha jersey to wipe the floor.”
“Oh my god,” you gasped, hands going to cover your mouth. “No, you didn't.”
He didn’t deny it; instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, smug kiss that made your heart stutter and your irritation melt. When he pulled back, he looked somehow satisfied, not to the fullest, but that should do.
“Next time you leave my arms for them, I’ll make you wear white for a week.”
“White is boring.”
“I’m boring now?”
“Emotionally, yes.”
He kissed you again just to shut you up. So it happened that he fell asleep on the sofa, and you’d watch the rest of the match on your phone, with the volume off. Sae didn’t need to know, but he already knew by the way your fingers stopped caressing his hair.
MICHAEL KAISER
You came home with two bags of groceries, earbuds in, humming some song as you slipped into the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, which is not that unusual, but not normal either. The smell of Kaiser’s cologne lingered, as he was probably in his room, reviewing footage, hating on his teammates, or doing shirtless yoga, who knows.
Halfway through stacking cold drinks in the fridge, it’s when you felt it, the presence that sought nothing but control … or your kisses, because you were gone for so long, a whole fifteen minutes to go to the store and buy food so you won’t end up hungry.
Turning to see him leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, smug, tattoo on full display, arms crossed, that usual glint in his blue eyes that screamed I know something you don’t.
“What do you want for dinner tonight?” you said casually, focusing again on arranging things until you were completely done.
“Oh, whatever you make, liebe,” he replied, observing you like a hawk, and you were the little mouse who didn’t know it was going to be struck with its doom. “By the way… I was looking for my hoodie earlier.”
“Yeah?” You raised a brow, because really very useful information, life saving, and no, it's not because you keep borrowing his clothes (stealing them).
“Yeah. Ended up finding something else instead.”
You've never been caught doing anything wrong, but he... that pathetic, arrogant, and super hot boyfriend of yours will always be able to break through your lack of defence and strike when you least expect it.
“I must ask… since when do we collect BVB Dortmund jerseys in my apartment? Especially ones signed by Lewandowski from 2012?” he asked, voice honeyed with sarcasm. “A true crime scene, if you ask me.”
“You were snooping through my side?” Blinking, averting your gaze from his because you don’t want to look him in the eyes.
“It accidentally opened when I was grabbing something,” he said, stepping closer, making a little no space for you to escape. “Adeyemi? Reus? Meine Engel… you got a whole BVB museum in there.”
You turned away, pretending to care deeply about the onion in your hands. Kaiser wasn’t done. Oh no, he was just starting.
“So…” he drawled, touching the blue rose on his neck, on purpose. “Thoughts on the Bundesliga season so far? Bastard Munchen’s been solid, especially that one match… four-nil against Dortmund. I heard their tears tasted amazing.”
Grabbing the nearest object, which was a plastic measuring cup, and threw it at his chest. He dodged, chuckling at your awful attempts to defend yourself from the truth that hurts so much.
“Oh, touchy subject?” he teased, now having the nerve to smirk at you with that shit-eating grin. “Fine!” you snapped. “I’ve supported Dortmund since I was twelve. My dad used to take me to games before I even knew your name, so yeah, I do still love the team.”
He's glad he got a response, but he didn't expect it exactly this way. “So you’re saying you love them more than me?”
“I’m saying football existed before you strutted into my life with your rockstar ego.” His mouth fell open in mock betrayal. “Excuse me? You’re living in Munich, sleeping in my bed, and you’re secretly cheering when Dortmund scores against us?”
“I’m not secretly cheering, I’m respectfully celebrating while you are not here to judge me.”
“Oh, respectfully? Liebling, you’re one step away from painting your face yellow.”
You glared, ready to open the fridge and pour the ice-cold drinks on him, but there were better ways to “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“What?! You’re banning me from my own bed?” He might act like an emperor who has all the control and power, but he's actually a pretty princess, and it's hilarious to watch him when the game turns against him.
“You’re calling me a traitor over some merch. You can enjoy your dinner with a side of regret.”
Kaiser opened his mouth, closed it, and then smirked. If that’s how you want to play, so be it.
Next time “Der Klassiker” rolled around, he scored a hat-trick, pulled off his shirt, held it to the crowd, and guess who got a brand new KAISER 10 jersey in place of that yellow nonsense that night? Personalized, with a little note: For my favorite traitor.
BUNNY IGLESIAS
It wasn’t unusual for a footballer to have someone in the stands cheering him on. Wives, girlfriends, families… stadiums were full of them. What was unusual, surprising even, was when the said girlfriend, the love of his life, the woman who made his empty apartment feel like a home, turned out to be something she was not.
Bunny didn’t notice right away, not during the match, not during the interview, not even during the long, silent car ride home. But when he stepped out of the shower that night, towel hanging low on his hips, damp curls tousled over his forehead, he knew something was off.
You weren’t giving him your usual soft smile, praises, or attention. You weren’t curled up waiting to review his goals like you always did. Instead, you were sitting on the bed, glued to your phone, not even sparing him a glance.
Man of the Match and not even a kiss? So he did what any wronged man in a towel would do: he walked over, leaned down, and snatched your phone straight out of your hand.
“Bunny—!” you yelped, scrambling up after him. He held it up high, out of reach. “Mmm, let’s see what stole the attention of my princess,” he murmured, voice smooth, and mildly amused with that familiar, detached tone like he was watching a slow-motion car crash.
You leapt to grab it, but he took a step back. “Not fair,” you muttered. “Why are you so damn tall?”
But he wasn’t listening. Not really. He scrolled, and his brows lifted slightly. "Clothes... new series arrivals… Re Al funny moments… Re Al match highlights…” The air grew quiet. “Re Al this. Re Al that. Oh—Itoshi Sae, too? That’s a name.”
Deathly silence. Your boyfriend looked at you, then at the phone, and back at you.
He wasn’t angry, not at all, but his eyes held the disappointment, like he'd stumbled into a memory that didn’t belong to him. A memory you hid from him, and he understands why. That melancholy undercurrent to his voice came back when he said, “This is worse than cheating.”
He turned your phone off, set it aside gently, and sat on the edge of the bed, towel barely clinging to his hips. “All this time, I thought you were shaking during El Clásico because you were happy for me.”
You turned out to be a Re Al fan, not a casual one either. No. You were the walking archive of team stats and league positions, quoting matches from 2014 and arguing formation choices like your life depended on it. A nerdy fan, and apparently, a pretty traitor.
“But I am happy for you, and I will always love you more than anything in this world!”
Bunny blinked slowly, thinking whether he should believe you or not, even if you proved your love for him every second. “I remember you screamed when Kroos scored last year.”
You sighed because you hate it when he does this; you don’t know if he is serious or just messing with you for fun. “Baby…” He ran a hand through his hair, the faintest bitter smile forming. “You know, I don’t even care that much about this sport half the time. But you support them. ”
“It’s not like that,” you tried to explain, now playing with your hands as you feel his gaze on you. “I’ve supported Re Al since I was a kid. It’s my entire childhood.”
He nodded once, “So what does that make me, the villain who kidnapped the princess from the white knights?”
“No,” you whispered, now holding both of his hands in yours. “You’re the dragon who gatekeeps me from escaping.” He laughed under his breath, not cold or joyful, just incredibly soft and loving.
“It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think?” he said finally, and the smile you adored so much reappeared on his face. “Wearing my Barcha jersey on your back, while there’s another team in your heart. You are a very bad bunny~”
“So you’re not mad?” leaning closer, trying to tease him or get a reaction out of him, because was he hotter when he was half naked? Yes, yes, he was.
“I’ll live,” he said, brushing your cheek with his fingers. “But next time you’re watching match highlights, at least pretend to be distracted by me.” It was your turn to smile as you pressed your lips to his. “Only if you don’t score again next weekend.”
He smirked. “Oh, I will score, just for you and especially if Sae’s playing.” Yeah, he is still the menace you love.
⭑ TAGS/WARNINGS: x reader (romantic), smau, crack, swear words, unfunny author, suicide/murder jokes, some suggestive jokes, established relationship, cringe, probably ooc, tw michael n bunny + my humour
⭑ WORD COUNT: x
notes at the end
!! PLEASE DON’T COPY OR FEED MY WORK TO AI !!
ᯓ ALEXIS NESS
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ᯓ SEISHIRO NAGI
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ᯓ RIN ITOSHI
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ᯓ SAE ITOSHI
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ᯓ MICHAEL KAISER
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ᯓ BUNNY IGLESIAS
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⭑ DIVIDERS: by @/sisterlucifergraphics
⭑ VII’S NOTES: decided to finally start finishing and posting my bllk smaus cause i got quite a few of them :PP, also I REALLY DON’T LIKE THIS POST’S THEME BUT I WAS TOO LAZY TO THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE 💔 also recently discovered this site to do fake chats but idk if i like it more than the one i used for my previous smaus
content. nsfw (+18), gender neutral pronouns used (they/them), some hcs might be more accurate for a female audience but yeah I’m trying my best and it’s 1:30am
totally self-indulgent because YES I am a simp for this man and I can’t wait to see more of him + sorry for my English but it’s late and I can’t spell
bunny LOVES intimacy and is craving your touch 24/7
he will send you hints when he’s particularly needy, such as text messages, winks or touching you in certain spots, such as your thighs
if you ask him between boobs, ass or thighs he will answer a different thing each time just to ragebait you
he actually can’t choose a specific body part because he loves your whole body
hold onto his back when you’re fucking. even better if you leave nail marks or scratches.
this man loves to show off every trace of you on his body: scratches, bites, hickeys… whatever comes to your mind
HE BITES and he’s not afraid to leave marks
he’s also very into breeding and enjoys hitting it raw
if you’re not comfortable with it for whatever reason, he won’t throw a fuss and use a condom without too many complaints
he will grab your ass. that’s a non-negotiable.
bunny is down for any kind of idea you want to try — he views sex as something fun and creative to strengthen your relationship
he will never admit it to his teammates but he got extremely turned on when you tied up his wrists and you where on top riding him
loves being on top but sometimes will let you take control because he’s a simp
kiss his scars. that will drive him crazy.
he likes to see how small you are compared to him (he’s still 2m tall and has a lot of muscles sooooo yeah)
sometimes he likes to put some music as a background noise
has an habit of licking his lips when he’s about to go down on you. he does that while looking at you directly in the eyes
he’s undoubtedly strong af, and he would purposefully trap you near a wall just to lift you up and have sex like that
bite or suck on his neck, he will moan like you’ve never heard before
he loves when you scream his name, it is basically you letting him know how good he’s making you feel
probably has a list of places where he would love to crack you
he speaks Spanish when he’s particularly enjoying the act
will give you a lot of aftercare and affection afterwards
he is not big with words during aftercare, just let him know what you need (a towel, some water, a blanket, a shower) and he will get it for you
he LOVES patting your head and caressing your hair
he is a sucker for being the little spoon, the only issue is that you look like his backpack
in every moment, so both during sex and during aftercare, he adores being kissed on his shoulders and upper back
