𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝔃𝓮𝓻

Scenario

After class Karasu pulled you aside to talk, at first you think he would just tell you some gossip he had somehow obtain or drag you into somewhere again, until he handed you a plushie keychain that you have been eyeing for a while now, you immediately look up at him with a happy glim in your eyes, you opened your mouth to talk but was cut off by Karasu "I've...been thinking and I really couldn't get ya' out of my head, I know we're supposed to stay as friends...but I couldn't help but fall for ya' each day we're together, I don't expect ya' to reciprocate my feelings but y'know it would be nice if you did. I'm cutting all the yappin' and gonna tell you straight forward that I'm in love with you [name]."

You froze, you didn't know what to say, you thought 'this might be a joke again' but those thoughts were soon interrupted by him again since he could tell by your body language that your unsure if he's lying or not, he took your hand and place it on his chest where his heart is, you could feel his heartbeat "I ain't joking, I like you [name], why would I joke about liking ya'?...why..would I joke about my feelings to the only person who can make my heart race like this?"

- First date with him -

• he would take you to somewhere that has your interest like for example you love the ocean he would take you to the beach for a picnic date or the aquarium, if you like flowers he would take you to a flower field, if you like arts he would take you to the museum, if you're into theater he would take you to one. It really depends on your interest since he wants to see you smile and enjoy your time, because to him seeing you enjoy and get to be yourself around him is much is his perfect ideal date ♥

- his love language -

• his love language would be acts of service and quality time

Acts of service

- he would do things that would make your life easier even if you don't ask him to do so, like carrying your bag, giving you a piggy back ride if your tired of walking, opening the doors for you, tying up your shoe laces and be there for you when you need it + many more.

Quality time

- he loves the way you does certain things that most people wouldn't have notice, he loves spending time with you because it makes him feel more deeply connected with you and understand you better, even if you don't talk to him he's good at reading your body language.

“Don’t gimme that look.” Karasu hums, readjusting his knees so he can bring himself down over you. “Ya know how it gets me.”

“But you’re being mean.”

Your voice breaks a bit, hips pushing up as he closes the distance between you and you almost get close enough to grind yourself up against his cock. But Karasu is faster, stronger. It only takes him a second to press his palm into your lower stomach and pin you back against the bed with a stare that makes your toes curl.

“Ya know that ain’t right.” He shakes his head, raising a brow at your pouty expression. “Don’t get bratty on me just ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ yer way.”

You sniffle at the way he says it, like you’re getting told off. But Karasu knows it’s quite the opposite, much like he gets with everyone around him— he’s known your limits from the very beginning. Knows when you need a little more patience and care, and this is one of those times, it’s always the same.

But when you’re giving him a little glassy blink from where you’re pressed back into the pillows beneath him, well— he’s not exactly made of impenetrable iron either.

“But Tabito….” You try again, an embarrassed hitch to your voice that makes Karasu’s cock throb from where it’s resting heavy against your thigh now. “I just really want it, I can’t wait any longer.”

You even go as far as to spread your legs a little wider, skin warm beneath his palm from where he’s pressing into you and when he looks down between your bodies he sees the way your slick glistens in the light, Karasu chuckles, eyeing you. “I see it, baby. Ya don’t gotta do all that.”

But he still gives in a little bit.

He keeps the touch gentle at first, his hand snaking between your bodies to swipe his fingers through the delicate petals of your pussy and your body rises to it immediately. Karasu strokes at you then, two fingers rubbing circles around your clit and he gathers your slick up to ease his movements— applying a little pressure, watching you suck your lower lip between your teeth.

“There. Feels real nice, don’t it?” Karasu huffs, watching your mouth part as he slowly swipes back and forth over your clit. “But I know that still ain’t enough for ya.”

Your hands make fists in the comforter as you try to speak, but when Karasu goes back to drawing more shapes into your pussy it’s all for nought. He shifts a little bit then, leaning in to smear a kiss across your forehead and he drags a trail of precum along your thighs in the process.

Your legs tremble at the touch, threatening to close around his wrist and Karasu’s smirk leans more satisfied than sympathetic.

“What’s that, hm?” He says with his next sticky circle between your folds, his fingers soaked with your slick as his gaze drops between you. “Think yer ready?”

“I am.” Karasu almost chuckles at your eagerness, maybe he would if he was talking to you.

“Shhhhh, baby. Gotta let her answer me, yeah?” He glances up at you, then back down at your pussy and one side of his lips pull higher than the other when he hears you whine again. “Gotta hear it for myself.”

He does then, Karasu adds another finger to the mix as he rubs at you with three of them— your folds forced to spread wide for his touch and every twist of his wrist is so wet and loud that he can feel the embarrassment radiating off of you in waves.

Fuck, you turn him on when you wear that weary little look. Glassy eyes and fluttering lashes, puffy lips from where you’ve been sucking on them. The weight of his cock pulses again as he tries to bite back a hiss.

“Think yer about ready now.” Karasu groans.

Your eyes jump up at that, to plea in place of your words because you’re not trusting your voice to beg. Except for one little word that manages to slip through and change it all.

“Daddy…..”

Karasu’s cock jumps as you say it, drooling all over your spread thighs with precum and he allows himself a deep growl beneath his breath at how hot it is. Enough to push himself upright before he’s pulling away, and you give him a look like you’re going to cry when his touch leaves you.

He’s not going anywhere though, ‘cept even closer.

“Ya want it that bad, huh?” Karasu murmurs, swiping his soaked fingers along his shaft as he gives you a sharp look. “Ya make it real hard to say no to ya sometimes. Ya know that though, don’t ya?”

“I— I don’t…”

“No?”

You shake your head next, desperate— an innocent little gleam in your eyes that makes Karasu want to eat it right out of you. You know how that gets to him, and he thinks you play into it, that sick part of his brain that wants to corrupt and ruin you.

The thought alone drives him to crawl between your thighs again, close enough this time for the tip of his cock to graze between your slick folds and it’s adorable the way your hips shake in delight when he uses his hand to press you down again.

But Karasu’s eyes spark in amusement before he’s offering you a slow roll of his hips first, and the thick tip presses up against your clit as he forces your hips to stay pinned against the mattress.

You begin to whine instantly, legs trying to wrap about him so you can pull him close but he clicks his tongue. “Ya ain’t foolin’ me, baby.” He smirks, groaning at the way he watches your slick cling to the thick shaft of his cock before he stretches out his neck to the side, and his fingers squeeze into your skin. “’ll see to it ya get yer fill.”

Your lashes flutter, and a soft little “More” slips from between your lips. “Please? Can take it this time.”

Karasu’s eyes feel like they burn through you. “Well that depends who yer askin’, baby. Remind me again.”

“D-daddy.”

Karasu snorts as his palm stays pressed up against your hip, but the other takes a slow fistful of his cock at the base before he gives himself a few more strokes. And the sight of it makes you bite on your lower lip before he’s angling himself to line up with the entrance to your cunt.

“That’s right. I was just easin’ ya into it ‘s all, givin’ ya a lil more time.”

But after that, he doesn’t waste anymore. The first press of the tip is bigger than you always seem to anticipate— no matter how many times he fucks you, you’ve always got that same look about you as he feeds you that first inch.

Always beggin’ for much more than you’re ready to take.

It’s just the tip, resting inside of your walls but already Karasu can feel the way your hips are shaking beneath the strength of his palm. He presses you even deeper into the mattress to keep you still, making sure you can’t hump your hips up for more— but he offers you a slow stutter of his hips anyway, feeling the way your walls squeeze and twitch around the head of his cock.

“That’s it, baby. Yer lookin’ real cute takin’ it, think ya can keep going? Take it all?” Karasu’s words strain, his eyes lidded as he looks you over.

But your head nods anyway, like you’re not already fighting against that tight coil of pleasure he can feel. “Y-yeah.”

Karasu smirks then, his lungs quaking in his chest as he tries to hold himself back, tries to ease you into it but you’re already shaking before he can even take his next breath. You’re too needy, too wound up and warm that you can’t stop your pussy squeezing.

Another inch and he feels the way you seem to get even tighter— it makes you gasp out something garbled and choked off, and his hold on you is so tight at this point you’re sure it will bruise.

“Careful.” He murmurs, tries his best to draw it back.

But you’re so sensitive, and it’s instantaneous, accidental— the way your walls suddenly begin to twitch as Karasu’s thick cock is pushed against the coiling nerves of your tight pussy. Your eyes squeeze closed, and your hands start tugging at the blankets beneath you as you begin to writhe and twist— cumming all over his cock when he’s barely even half way in.

But fuck— Karasu loves it. Loves the humiliated little expression you make as you try not to whine about it, poor hips jutting beneath his palm as he keeps you pressed beneath him with his strength. He forces you to stay creaming around his cock as he eases you through it with a few shallow thrusts, smears his lips across your cheek before pressing them to the shell of your ear.

"I tried to tell ya, baby. Gotta let me handle it." There’s a teasing hint to his tone, something that makes you burn and jerk beneath him even more— like you’re desperate to hide, knowing there’s no way he’ll let you.

"K-keep going." Your voice cracks. Body loose and pliant but you still try to grab on his broad shoulders and hold him close. He tilts his head down at you.

"Ya sure? Don't want it to be too much for ya."

But you cut him off, lips pouting out with your bleary eyes as you mutter out pleasepleaseplease’s and i can take it’s! and who is Karasu to deny you as he loops you real tight in his arms.

The next pleased shift of Karasu’s hips squelches loud and wet as you answer, but when he turns to smear another kiss against your cheek this time— he thinks it’s so fucking cute the way you turn to meet it.

“I like ya when yer greedy.” Karasu hums, chuckling as he draws his hips back an inch in anticipation. Your body shakes in his hold as he kisses your cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of ya.”

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₊˚⊹♡ Doesn't use a lot of nicknames, but i like to think he calls his partner "Love" or "Chéri/Chérie."

₊˚⊹♡ Likes to kiss your cheeks, palms, and knuckles. He likes to kiss you in general but those are his favourite spots.

₊˚⊹♡ You're his no.1 off the pitch (yeah, fuck Loki for a minute) He always prioritises your opinions and needs. Going out to a restaurant? Your pick. Sick and bedridden? He's coming to your place and is taking care of everything. Etc.

₊˚⊹♡ Doesn't do casual dating, if he's dating you, then he believes you two are destined to be. You're probably going from girlfriend/boyfriend to fiancée/fiancé in a few years

(wanted to say in less than two years honestly but i thought i might be overreaching)

₊˚⊹♡ He probably likes a partner who appreciates quiet moments, or, at least, doesn't make them awkward.

₊˚⊹♡ If his you're an athlete, artist, or just have something you're really good at, he genuinely respects it and might take genuine interest in it (or larp it, who knows?)

₊˚⊹♡ Surprisingly doesn't mind it when you doodle something on the very last page of his blank book. He likes to have something from you with him.

₊˚⊹♡ Always the one to do your eyelashes and eyebrows. When you think you're eyebrows look good enough without the brush, he cups your face and does them himself. Definitely shares his eyelash routine with you.

₊˚⊹♡ When he's celebrating a goal, he does a peace sign towards the cameras when he knows you're not in the crowd. If you are, he looks for you and gives you a peace sign, and you have to give him one in return.

₊˚⊹♡ He values your and his privacy, so he doesn't really brag about you to others or the media. The public only found out about you two when you came on the pitch after his team won a title and everyone was celebrating with family and taking photos.

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itoshi rin

rin isn't verbally affectionate very often, but he will drive 3.5 hours after an away match at 1 in the morning just because you texted, "i miss you," and when you open the door in complete disbelief, he simply shrugs, walks inside, and mutters, "you said you missed me," like crossing half the country was the most logical solution. 

he learns the mundane details of your life with almost obsessive precision – your work schedule, the routes you take home, which convenience store stays open late near your apartment – not because he's controlling, no, no, but because if anything ever goes wrong, he wants to already know exactly where to find you without wasting a second asking questions. 

if he notices you've been quietly overwhelmed lately, you'll suddenly find groceries already stocked in your kitchen, your laundry mysteriously folded, dinner waiting in your fridge with reheating instructions scribbled in his terrible handwriting, and when you ask if he did all this, he looks almost annoyed that you even felt the need to thank him. 

during the season, when free time practically doesn't exist, he still protects one day every month that belongs only to you, and no amount of sponsorship offers, interviews, or appearances are allowed to touch it because, in his mind, if the rest of the world can book him in advance, then the person he loves deserves the exact same priority. 

he pays attention to your safety in the quietest ways imaginable, always texting when he lands, making sure you get home before he finally goes to sleep despite the time difference, replacing worn-out locks or tires before they become problems, and treating your peace of mind like it's simply another responsibility he's chosen to carry. 

itoshi sae

sae is the busiest person you know, somehow living between countries, time zones, and nonstop competitions, yet he's mastered the art of making you feel like none of that matters because every trip is planned around seeing you whenever physically possible, even if it means booking inconvenient flights, shortening his own breaks, or sleeping in airports just to squeeze another evening together. 

he remembers dates that even you forget – your job interview from eight months ago, your grandmother's birthday, the anniversary of your first date, the day your favorite author releases a new book – and without fail, flowers, gifts, or handwritten notes arrive exactly when they're supposed to because he refuses to let distance become an excuse for carelessness. 

instead of expecting you to constantly fly out to his matches, he's the one quietly arranging transportation, hotels, tickets, and entire itineraries whenever he wants you there because if he invites you into his hectic world, he believes it's his responsibility to make sure you never have to stress over the logistics. 

he protects your privacy with almost ruthless efficiency. i’m talking interviews end immediately if reporters become disrespectful toward you, invasive photos disappear through legal teams before they can spread, and your comfort is consistently prioritized over public approval because fame is something he chose, not something he expects you to endure without support. 

no matter how glamorous his life looks from the outside, he never lets you feel like you're standing behind his career. instead, every achievement somehow becomes yours, too, because he'll always be the first person saying, "i couldn't have done this without you," even when nobody else realizes how much you sacrificed alongside him. 

nagi seishiro

nagi, the human embodiment of "that's too much work," surprisingly becomes the kind of boyfriend who willingly wakes up before sunrise just to drive you to the airport because you have an early flight, spends the entire ride with messy hair and pajamas under his hoodie, and then waits until your plane actually takes off before finally heading home because leaving earlier "felt wrong." 

despite hating phone calls with literally everyone else, he notices that hearing his voice helps you relax after stressful days, so suddenly your evenings are filled with him absentmindedly rambling while playing games, letting you sit comfortably in silence if that's all you have energy for, never making you feel like you have to entertain him. 

he quietly starts learning the things you enjoy, and yes, they're suddenly his hobbies, too, but seeing your face light up is enough motivation for someone who usually avoids effort altogether, so he'll finish an entire book series you recommended, sit through your favorite movies, or spend hours visiting museums with you without complaining once. 

if your love language is quality time, he protects it fiercely, turning down gaming sessions, sponsor parties, and even opportunities to relax by himself because he'd rather spend an ordinary evening lying on the couch with his head in your lap than attend another glamorous event where he has to pretend to socialize. 

whenever he's away for long tournaments, he records little videos instead of just sending texts – showing you hotel views, weird snacks from vending machines, random cats he spotted outside training facilities, or himself sleepily saying goodnight – because he knows hearing from him makes the distance feel smaller and that's worth every ounce of effort. 

mikage reo

reo has every luxury available to him, but instead of using his wealth to replace genuine effort, he uses it to remove burdens from your life, quietly arranging things like surprise housekeeping before your busiest work week, sending your car in for maintenance while you're occupied, or hiring movers when you casually mention wanting to rearrange your apartment because he wants your energy spent on living, not constantly solving problems. 

even during the most demanding stretches of the season, he somehow manages to attend your important moments – graduations, presentations, family gatherings, birthdays – sometimes arriving directly from airports in designer clothes with barely any sleep, because to him, if you're always cheering him on from the stands, then missing your milestones would never be acceptable. 

he learns your family as thoroughly as he learns yours, remembering everyone's birthdays, checking in on your parents after surgeries, sending thoughtful gifts to your siblings for achievements, and making the people you love feel just as cared for because if they're important to you, they're automatically important to him. 

whenever his schedule keeps him overseas for extended periods, he plans entire countdowns rather than simply saying, "i'll see you soon," sending flowers halfway through the trip, ordering your favorite dinner on particularly difficult days, organizing virtual movie nights despite impossible time zones, and making the waiting itself feel like something you're experiencing together rather than separately. 

perhaps the thing that raises your standards most is that he never makes love feel conditional on convenience. no matter how successful he becomes, how packed his calendar gets, or how many people compete for his attention, you never have to beg for consistency because he decided a long time ago that if he was going to love someone, they would never have to question whether they were a priority. 

bachira meguru

bachira is the type to treat distance like it's a minor inconvenience rather than an actual obstacle, so if he has two free days between league matches, he's already on the earliest train or flight to see you, grinning from ear to ear the second you open the door because to him, 24 hours together is infinitely better than waiting another month for the "perfect" opportunity. 

he notices when you've been emotionally exhausted long before you admit it, and instead of asking you to explain everything, he'll whisk you away somewhere quiet without telling you the destination, showing up with your favorite snacks, a weighted blanket, and absolutely no expectations besides spending the day making you laugh until you forget the weight you've been carrying. 

every city he visits somehow becomes a scavenger hunt for things you'd love, whether that's handmade jewelry from a tiny local market, a sketchbook because yours is running low, or flowers pressed inside a random book he found while wandering around, and every gift comes with an animated story about how he found it because the memory matters just as much as the object itself. 

he celebrates your achievements with the same excitement he celebrates his own goals, posting about your accomplishments with absolutely zero embarrassment, telling teammates about you every chance he gets, and making you feel like the coolest person in every room because your happiness genuinely feels like one of his greatest victories. 

even after exhausting 90-minute matches where he's barely able to keep his eyes open, he'll still stay awake long enough to ask about your day in full detail, listening so attentively that you almost forget he's running on pure adrenaline and exhaustion, because loving you has never been something he squeezes into the leftover parts of his schedule. 

shidou ryusei

shidou doesn't understand the concept of "too far" when it comes to you, so if he suddenly has one unexpected day off, he'll impulsively buy a ticket across the country just to surprise you with breakfast, acting like spending hundreds of thousands on last-minute travel is completely reasonable because, in his eyes, seeing you smile is worth every single yen. 

he becomes ridiculously protective of your happiness, and if he hears you've had a terrible day, he's already outside your place with takeout from three different restaurants because he couldn't decide what you'd want, insisting the entire evening belongs to you while refusing to let you lift a single finger. 

no matter how chaotic or unpredictable his own life becomes, you never have to chase him for communication because he refuses to let you wonder where you stand, sending voice messages from locker rooms, airports, hotel elevators, and team buses just to remind you that you're constantly on his mind despite everything happening around him. 

he's incredibly attentive in ways people don't expect from him, memorizing your coffee order after hearing it once, replacing your favorite top because he noticed the sleeves were fraying, or carrying pain medication, hair ties, and portable chargers in his bag simply because you once needed one months ago and he refused to ever be unprepared again. 

when you're together, he treats the outside world like background noise, happily ignoring teammates blowing up his phone, sponsorship emails, and interviews running late because if he promised you the day, then that's exactly what you're getting, undivided attention and all. 

karasu tabito

karasu notices problems before you even realize they're becoming problems yourself, quietly fixing things behind the scenes – booking appointments you've been putting off, researching solutions when you're stressed, reminding you about important deadlines. he doesn’t think you're incapable, but he believes partners should make each other's lives easier whenever possible. 

after away matches, he'll drive several hours instead of flying if it means he gets to spend the ride talking to you on speakerphone the entire time, happily arriving home at three in the morning completely exhausted because hearing your voice made the trip feel shorter than any flight ever could. 

he learns the people closest to you surprisingly well, becoming the boyfriend your friends and family trust because he's always checking whether everyone got home safely after gatherings, remembering important details about their lives, and making an effort with the people who matter to you without ever being asked. 

he never leaves emotional labor entirely on your shoulders. difficult conversations happen the moment something feels off instead of weeks later, apologies come with changed behavior instead of empty promises, and he consistently proves that maturity isn't about never making mistakes – it's about refusing to repeat them. 

despite being one of the busiest athletes in the country, he still somehow becomes your biggest supporter outside of soccer, showing up to events that have absolutely nothing to do with him, sitting through hours of something he knows nothing about with genuine interest simply because seeing you passionate about your own world makes him proud. 

kaiser michael

kaiser has access to private jets, luxury hotels, and practically every convenience money can buy, but the thing that surprises you most is how often he chooses the inconvenient option if it means spending more time with you, willingly sitting through six-hour drives together because you once mentioned road trips felt more romantic than flying. 

every luxury he offers is thoughtfully personalized instead of excessive, so rather than showering you with random expensive gifts, he remembers the exact necklace you paused to admire months ago, replaces your worn-out laptop because he noticed it struggling, or quietly upgrades your plane ticket after you've had an exhausting week because he wants your life to feel gentler whenever he can help it. 

he has an almost frightening memory for the smallest details about you, recalling conversations from over a year ago with complete accuracy, so when you casually mention wanting to visit a tiny coastal town someday, you later discover he's somehow organized an entire vacation around that single passing comment without ever bringing it up again. 

despite his reputation and enormous ego on the field, he makes sure you never feel like you're competing with his image, introducing you proudly instead of keeping you hidden, shutting down disrespect from reporters without hesitation, and making it abundantly clear that the opinions of strangers have absolutely no influence over the respect he gives the person he loves. 

perhaps the biggest surprise is that he never expects you to revolve your life around his career; instead, he's the one rearranging training breaks, flying overnight after champions league fixtures, or sacrificing his own comfort to attend your milestones because loving you means fitting himself into your world just as much as inviting you into his. 

ness alexis

ness is unbelievably intentional, so every time he travels abroad, he keeps a running list on his phone titled "things she’d love," adding to it throughout the trip until he returns home carrying books in your favorite genre, pastries from tiny bakeries he waited in line for, perfume samples he thought matched your vibe, and little handwritten notes explaining why each item reminded him of you. 

he pays attention to your routines with incredible care, automatically learning what time you usually wake up, when work becomes stressful, the days you tend to forget to eat lunch, and gently building little habits around those moments so you always feel quietly looked after instead of having to ask for help. 

because he knows professional soccer often forces him away for weeks at a time, he prepares for your loneliness before it even happens, leaving handwritten letters around your apartment for different occasions – "open when you've had a bad day," "open when you miss me," "open if you can't sleep" – making the distance feel a little less empty every single time. 

he never allows his career to become an excuse for inconsistency, so no matter how late training ends or how chaotic travel gets, he always finds time for a proper conversation instead of sending one-word replies, believing that if you can dedicate your patience to supporting his dreams, then he can dedicate 30 uninterrupted minutes to hearing about yours. 

he loves you loudly in private, but gently in public, instinctively stepping between you and invasive cameras, making sure you're comfortable at crowded events, fixing your coat when it's slipping off your shoulders, memorizing the little things that make your day easier, and constantly proving that real devotion isn't measured through grand declarations, but through hundreds of tiny acts of care repeated every single day. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri understands better than most how precious time is, so even with a schedule packed full of league matches, recovery sessions, and endless travel, he still finds ways to make you feel woven into his everyday life, calling you while he's stretching after training, sending photos of sunsets from whatever country he's in, and never letting more than a few hours pass without reminding you that he's thinking about you because he refuses to let distance slowly turn into unfamiliarity. 

no matter how exhausted he is after a match, if your flight lands late at night or your train arrives after midnight, he's already waiting outside with your favorite drink and one of his jackets because the thought of you coming home alone when he could be there simply never crosses his mind as an acceptable option. 

he pays attention to the little ways you take care of everyone else and quietly returns that same energy tenfold, replacing your skincare products before they run out, restocking your favorite tea because he noticed the box was almost empty, and buying fresh flowers for your apartment simply because he knows they make you smile after long days. 

he never expects you to constantly adapt around his career, instead making sure you always have a say in your relationship despite how demanding professional football can be, planning vacations around your availability rather than his convenience and making it abundantly clear that your own goals deserve just as much consideration as his. 

when the media inevitably becomes invasive, he protects your peace with unwavering calm, refusing interviews that cross personal boundaries, keeping your relationship sacred instead of performative, and making sure that behind closed doors you're never dating an international superstar – you're simply loved by hyoma. 

barou shoei

barou treats taking care of you as naturally as breathing, so before leaving for lengthy away fixtures he'll meal prep enough food to last the week, leave detailed reheating instructions on the fridge, restock every household necessity without mentioning it, and somehow make your apartment cleaner than when he arrived because, to him, love should make someone's life noticeably easier. 

he'll drive ridiculous distances after matches just to spend a single evening with you, arriving well past midnight still smelling faintly of fresh grass and stadium lights, refusing to stay at a hotel because sleeping beside you – even for a few hours before driving back for training – is infinitely more valuable than getting perfect rest. 

he notices practical problems immediately and fixes them before they inconvenience you, replacing broken furniture, changing light bulbs, repairing things around your apartment, carrying heavy groceries without a word, and making it impossible for you to remember the last time you had to struggle with something alone because he's already halfway through solving it. 

despite his intimidating personality, your family quickly realizes he's unbelievably dependable, always the first person volunteering to help your parents move furniture, showing up early to family gatherings carrying enough food for everyone, or quietly checking whether your younger siblings made it home safely after nights out without ever asking for recognition. 

he has impossibly high standards for himself as your partner, so if he ever disappoints you, he doesn't hide behind excuses or pride – he changes his behavior immediately, believing actions are worth infinitely more than apologies, and making sure the same mistake never happens twice because he refuses to become another man who only promises improvement. 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya makes an active effort to learn every version of you, paying attention to how you act when you're happy, anxious, overwhelmed, exhausted, or excited until he knows exactly what kind of comfort you need without forcing you to explain yourself every single time, making you feel understood in ways you didn't realize were possible. 

even during the busiest fashion campaigns and football seasons, he still plans intentional date nights weeks in advance because he refuses to let your relationship become something that only exists between obligations, proving over and over again that romance isn't reserved for special occasions – it deserves to exist in ordinary life, too. 

he somehow remembers every compliment you've ever given him and quietly returns them through actions, so if you once admired how peaceful a certain café looked online, he surprises you with reservations there months later, or if you mentioned wanting to watch a meteor shower together someday, he's already found the perfect location long before the date arrives. 

when you're feeling insecure, he never dismisses your emotions with empty reassurances. instead, he patiently reminds you through consistent affection, thoughtful words, lingering glances, and countless little gestures exactly why he chose you, making your confidence something he nurtures instead of something you have to rebuild alone. 

regardless of how many fans recognize him in public, he never lets you feel invisible standing beside him, instinctively including you in conversations, reaching for your hand without hesitation, introducing you proudly to teammates and colleagues, and making it obvious that the person whose opinion matters most has always been yours. 

iglesias bunny

bunny somehow makes a globe-trotting football career feel astonishingly intimate, sending you postcards from every country he visits even though texting would be faster because he knows you'll tuck the postcards into books, display them on your desk, and reread his messy handwriting whenever you miss him, turning ordinary pieces of paper into tiny reminders that you were never forgotten. 

whenever he finally gets a stretch of time off, he doesn't immediately book luxurious vacations or extravagant getaways – instead, he asks what you've been putting off because you've been too busy, then spends his entire break helping you accomplish those things together, whether that's redecorating your apartment, visiting family, finishing personal projects, or simply sleeping in without alarms for the first time in months. 

he's endlessly curious about your passions, showing up to events he knows absolutely nothing about, asking thoughtful questions, remembering the names of people important to your hobbies or career, and making you feel like everything you love automatically becomes worthy of his attention simply because it's part of your world. 

even with sponsors constantly pulling him in different directions, he fiercely protects your private traditions, making sure birthdays are always celebrated together, anniversaries are never outsourced to expensive gifts, and little rituals – like sunday breakfasts or late-night supermarket walks whenever he's home – remain untouchable no matter how famous he becomes. 

he constantly reminds you through both words and actions that you're a partner rather than an accessory to his career, checking in before making major decisions, asking how certain opportunities would affect your shared future, and making sure every dream he chases leaves room for yours alongside it. 

hugo vivian

hugo has an incredibly demanding career with endless travel, media appearances, and championship pressure, yet he somehow makes consistency look effortless by ensuring that no matter where he is in the world, you never have to question whether you'll hear from him that day because loving you isn't something squeezed between appointments – it's built directly into his routine. 

if you've had an important event he couldn't attend because of a match, he doesn't simply apologize and move on – he recreates the celebration himself as soon as he's home, dressing up, taking you out, bringing flowers, taking photos together, and insisting your accomplishments deserve to be celebrated properly even if he has to do it a week later. 

he quietly studies the little inconveniences in your everyday life and starts eliminating them one by one, arranging transportation when your commute becomes stressful, replacing things before they wear out completely, researching solutions whenever you casually complain about something once, and making your life noticeably lighter without expecting praise for it. 

he's incredibly emotionally available despite the pressure surrounding his career, never making you feel guilty for needing reassurance or wanting more time together, willingly having difficult conversations even after exhausting matches because he'd rather lose sleep than allow misunderstandings to grow into distance. 

perhaps the biggest thing that raises your standards is that he never makes you feel like you're waiting around for him to finally have time to love you – even as one of the world's biggest football stars, he consistently proves that the right person doesn't merely fit you into their schedule – they build their schedule around making sure you always feel chosen. 

"Again, Rin."

He remembered how effortless it had all been back then. Sae would knock the ball toward him, correcting his footing with the patience only Rin had ever seen from him.

"Don't watch me. Watch the ball."

"Like this?"

"Closer."

Rin would nod seriously, trying again until Sae finally gave one small, satisfied nod.

"That's better."

Back then, there hadn't been any pressure. No impossible expectations, no dreams heavy enough to carry. There had only been football. Rin never questioned why he chased after the ball every day...only that Sae was always there waiting for him. They won, they laughed, and somewhere along the way they made a promise to become the two best strikers in the world. To them, it hadn't felt like a dream at all. It had simply felt like the future.

"...Papa?"

The memory slipped away as one of the twins tugged gently on his sleeve.

"I'm thirsty..."

Rin glanced toward the cooler he'd brought and walked over, lifting the lid. He reached inside and pulled out three popsicles, one blue, one red, and one grape. The twins reached for the blue and red without a second thought, leaving the grape in Rin's hand.

"I want blue!"

"I want red!"

"...Here."

They sat together beneath the shade of a tree, little legs swinging as they happily unwrapped their treats. Within seconds, sticky juice had already found its way onto their hands.

"My hand's all sticky..."

"Mine too."

The first twin held out his popsicle.

"Wanna bite?"

His brother took one small bite before handing it right back.

"Thank you."

"'Kay."

They didn't think twice about it. They never kept score or wondered who had gotten the bigger bite. Watching them share so naturally stirred something deep inside Rin.

It reminded him of another summer.

Another blue popsicle.

He and Sae had always picked the same flavor. After football, they'd walk home with blue stained tongues and sticky fingers, and before long, Sae would inevitably steal a bite from Rin's because he'd already finished his own. Rin had grumbled every single time.

Looking back now, he couldn't remember why he'd ever minded.

"Hey."

"One bite."

"You already ate yours."

"I know."

Rin had sighed dramatically before holding it out anyway.

"You're buying me one tomorrow."

Back then, he'd thought those afternoons would last forever.

He had never imagined there would come a day when the person waiting for him on the other side of the pitch no longer would be. After Sae left, football stayed the same, but everything around it changed. The promise they had made together became something Rin carried alone, and with every match, the distance between them only seemed to grow.

Now, watching his sons race after the ball with nothing but laughter between them, he was reminded of what those afternoons had felt like before everything fell apart. Before football became something to chase by himself. Before every step forward meant leaving another piece of the past behind.

Once, football had simply been the place where he could be with the person who mattered most. Somehow, without him realizing it, it had slowly become that again.

"Papa?"

Rin looked down.

One of the twins was holding up the last bite of his blue popsicle.

"Do you want?"

"...For me?"

The little boy nodded.

"You always share with us."

His brother smiled too.

"So we share with Papa."

Rin's gaze lingered on the half melted popsicle in his son's hand. After a brief pause, he leaned down and took the smallest bite.

"...Thanks."

Rin reached over and gave each of them a light flick on the forehead.

"Hey!"

"Papaaa..."

Neither of them sounded upset. If anything, they laughed harder as they stumbled back toward the football, still rubbing the spot dramatically.

"...Brats," Rin muttered, though there wasn't an ounce of annoyance in his voice.

Later on, they were already running again before he could say anything else, abandoning the last bites of their popsicles as the football rolled ahead of them. Their laughter echoed across the park as they chased after it, arguing over whose turn it was to kick the ball while neither of them seemed particularly interested in keeping score.

Rin watched them from afar.

It wasn't until now, watching his sons bicker over a football before breaking into laughter a second later, that Rin realized he'd never truly imagined a life beyond his goal. For years, he'd lived as though everything ended at the finish line.

Beat Sae. Become the best. There had been nothing after that.

As a child, he'd believed the greatest ending imaginable was defeating someone stronger than himself and dying with nothing left to chase. Even as he grew older, that way of thinking had never really left him. He had simply given it a different shape.

Yet somehow, life had continued beyond the future he'd pictured for himself.

Without him ever noticing, it had become afternoons at the park, grass stained knees, forgotten popsicles melting beneath the shade of a tree, and two little boys who reached for his hand as naturally as they reached for each other's.

Football had once been the place where he and Sae spent countless summers together. Later, it became inseparable from the promise that had fallen apart. Yet somehow, through the twins, it had quietly become something simpler again. A reason to spend another afternoon together. A reason to come home with dirt on their shoes and smiles they couldn't quite wipe away.

"Papa!"

Rin's lips curved into the faintest smile.

"...I'm coming."

As he crossed the field toward them, he realized that, for the first time in a long while, he wasn't chasing the future anymore.

He was already living it.

see what i did there? uchiha brothers reference ☆

"But let me feel you tonight…I need a moment where I don't have to think about anything except you, or I'm going to lose my mind before tomorrow comes."

You reached up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing over those familiar scars. “Look at me,” you whispered. “Forget everything else for a little while.” you whispered against his lips, your voice steady despite the way your own pulse was racing. "Just focus on me."

The moment the words left your mouth, the last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands wandered with increasing boldness, tracing the sensitive curve of your spine before sliding down to grip your hips with bruising certainty.

You leaned into his embrace without hesitation, letting yourself be drawn into his warmth, but even as you tried to match his intensity, you quickly realized the futility of it. You weren't built for this level of raw physicality; Bunny was operating on a different plane entirely. His body was a finely tuned engine of muscle and relentless stamina, and tonight, that engine was running hot with a hunger that felt almost dangerous.

He felt needier than you had ever encountered with his every touch urgent, every kiss a demand for reassurance that you were real, that you were his.

As he pulled you flush against his toned chest, you could feel the frantic hammering of his heart against your own. His hands were everywhere at all at once. Until his grip lingered for a moment before slowly relaxing, the tension that had kept him awake finally beginning to fade.

With a sigh, he placed his head heavy against your shoulder, the exhaustion that had been weighing on him all evening finally caught up to him, and before long, his breathing evened out as he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, completely still for the first time that night.

The morning came sooner than either of you would have liked. Because soon enough, the quiet of the apartment was replaced by the deafening roar of a packed stadium.

Ninety minutes of relentless football came down to one final whistle.

Spain had done it!

The whistle had blown, the victory was secured, and Bunny was the hero of the hour. Through the cluttered confetti and screaming fans, you watched him from the sidelines, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of the win. He looked exhilarated, sweat slicked and triumphant, the gold medal already draped around his neck.

As he spotted you near the tunnel, he broke away from his teammates, jogging toward you with that rare, genuine smile breaking across his face.

"We did it," he panted, reaching you and pulling you into a crushing hug. The adrenaline was clearly still coursing through him, making him reckless. "I told you I needed that luck."

In a burst of pure, uncontained triumph, Bunny grabbed the hem of his sweat soaked jersey. “Dios mío... it's too hot in here,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Before you could warn him about the cameras, he yanked the fabric upward, pulling the jersey over his head to cool down.

The breath died in your throat. As he tugged his jersey over his head, your eyes landed on a few unmistakable red marks scattered across his back.

Your face immediately went up in flames.

You whipped your head toward the nearest camera, silently praying every broadcast operator in the stadium had suddenly developed terrible timing.

"...No. No, no, no."

Bunny followed your frantic gaze before glancing over his shoulder. The second he realized what had sent you spiraling, a slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face.

"Cariño," he said, completely unbothered, "you're the only one making this look suspicious."

You shot him a mortified glare, already hiding your face behind your hands. "I'm never standing next to you after a match again."

congratulations to spain again! viva españa!

Even though you did—and quite diligently, at that—something in him still seemed unsatisfied with your performance. You figured that perhaps there wasn’t enough in your mouth?

Hugo, being many steps ahead of you as he always was, let his thumb produce a different angle within your orifice before he plucked it out past your lips. Then he wiped your own salvia across your bottom lip and tutted.

“You enjoyed that, huh?” An observation wrapped in a question, of which he already knew the answer to. When you nod, his eyes narrow. “Say it then,” his finger moved to your chin to tip your head further up, “Tell me how you liked having my finger in your mouth—how you enjoyed sucking on it simply because I told you to.”

Your lips moved to do exactly that, the words were prepared against your tongue—and yet, he interrupted you ever so rudely.

Hugo possesses a lot of qualities that can’t be described as anything else aside from thick. His fingers are no exception, and you’re made acutely aware of it as his index and pointer shove their way into your mouth before you could properly obey him.

He doesn’t smile, but you can still see how pleased his by seeing you like this. Especially as you begin to hum gibberish around his digits.

Can he understand a word you’re saying? Technically no. Does he try to have a conversation with you anyway since he cares little about the concept of silence around you? Well, yes.

“What was that?” His eyebrows lift ever so slightly and you swear he’s fighting the urge to smile at you, “You said you love having my fingers in your mouth, and that listening to me is your favorite thing to do? Aw.”

Your head shakes, and for a moment you debate on nibbling at his fingers. You don’t though, considering how he watches your mouth move to pout and how your eyes glare at him instead.

Hugo nods his head, “I see, I see. So then,” his eyes leave yours and find your mouth again. His cock twitches once he feels your tongue dancing in between his fingers, followed by a wet suck as he drives them in just a bit deeper. “Did you want my fingers elsewhere? Do you-, hah..” His words escape him once your hand grabs at his wrist and you bob your head back and forth a little.

The way your mouth feels enveloping his two fingers, how your tongue slathers all around them, the mixed sensation of wetness and warmth—all of these factors nearly give him the desire to give you what he knows you want. But more than that, he wants the impossible out of you first. He wants to hear you beg for what you want, and he wants to hear it clearly.

All while his fingers are in your mouth.

“Do you need my fingers elsewhere, perhaps?” His eyes narrow further on you and you push yourself forward just so you can gag on his fingers as if to answer him. That’s when he grins, “You do, don’t you? It’s a shame you can’t seem to beg me for it.”

“Mmmh,” a stubborn array of grumbles fly his way, but instead of making things easier for you, he merely thrusts his fingertips further. “Mmph?” the cadence of that hum is most obviously meant to be a please—he knows how you beg far too well.

Even so, he can’t find himself to care that you’re struggling to do what’s asked of you. You look far too cute like this.

“Fuck, was that your best attempt at begging? Can you really not say it any clearer than that? Poor thing.” He hums, pulling his fingers away from your mouth slowly just to watch the way you almost-drunkenly chase after him.

The moment his digits escape your lips, your hold on his wrist gets a little tighter and you pant, “Please?”

Hugo raises a brow and wipes his fingertips across your bottom lip, “Please, what?”

Your mouth opens and he fights the urge to just laugh at you as he interrupts you again. Your grip on his wrist is lost as he finger-fucks your throat properly this time around—watching the mess he makes of you whilst drool leaks out from the corner of your lips.

Then you make the stupid mistake of trying to pull your head away from him so you can ask for what you want, and he scoffs as if annoyed before using that free hand of his to bring it up to your throat.

“A couple fingers in your mouth makes you do really dumb things, huh. I’ll give you what you want when I feel like it,” Hugo breathes out, cock swelling between his legs, “You understand that much, yes?”

You nod, but words couldn’t describe how much he adored it when you tried to act like a brat with him. He loved putting you in your place more than anything. And that glossy look of need in your eyes… fuck, he had half a mind to quit teasing you and splay you out against the nearest surface available.

“All you have for me is a nod?” Hugo scoffs, “Am I annoying you, chérie?”

You can’t help but whine this time—there was no way of winning him over when he got like this. He’d drag out this teasing until you physically couldn’t take it anymore if you’d let him.

Even so, the whine from you prompts him to look down at the way you’re squeezing your legs together, and he lets out a sigh. One could say he might even feel bad for you considering he knows you’ve likely soaked through your panties by this point.

“Fine, fine,” His fingers leave your mouth but the hand at your throat remains as he gives it a light squeeze. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today. Strip.”

taking karasu’s knot while he’s in rut typically doesn’t satiate the primal need (it never has been enough for either of your preferred tastes). that part is not the unusual bit for this encounter. nor is the way he keens and shouts in ecstasy when you press along his entrance with your tongue. karasu riding the waves of his own pleasure while you lick and suck along his cock while your fingers stretch him open is nothing new. the rumble of satisfaction and want that spills from deep in his throat as you add another finger to thrust in him is music to your ears; a tune you know well. 

beyond the scent change, there is a feeling. something that is warming your own chest when you look down at your alpha. karasu’s cheeks flush with the hungry stare that you give him, his body. yours. you relish the way his hips jerk forward, desperate to close the space between you. 

one of tabito’s wrists are bound to the bed frame. same with the opposite ankle. it’s years into this particular dance, the finale for his rut where you mount and claim every part of tabito, and his alpha rut still isn’t a fan of receiving, submitting like this, but you’ve come a long way from the blindfolds, muzzle, and fullly shackled restraints you had to use for his first rut with you where he begged (yes, begged) you to fuck him. 

this position isn’t foreign to either of you, and yet—

and yet, you find yourself changing things up. something compels you to kiss him first. before tabito feels the initial pressure of you filling him up. that doesn’t normally happen. the traditional routine involves you fucking him first, rough and fast, then kiss and hold him later; just how the both of you like it. your craving of control and power would be fulfilled first while karasu’s wordless desire to be treated and used and needed and praised would be achieved in this order.

but this time…there is first a kiss paired with your hand moving on its own accord to clasp his, the one chained to the bed, which sets off a trembling within karasu. a tremble that leads to dry sobs when your mouth parts from his just to settle along the skin of his free ankle that now sits in the air near your shoulder. you kiss and inhale and kiss some more with your eyes open, watching. observing him. seeing the way your mate looks at you with unshed tears and a plea for more. 

more of you, more of the slow, deep strokes of your cock that has begun to stretch him open. karasu sighs at the same moment you watch his own cock twitch and leak as your tip manages to rub against your alpha's sweet spot again and again and again. still at a steady, passionate pace that has him simpering and squeezing your hand that still has a hold of his own.

you love everything about your alpha. the seemingly larger than life, rippling and well defined muscles that could pin you down in seconds. the sharp, elongated canines you know are aching to feel something more than the saliva that drips down them right now. the ethereal glow of his irises that scream “POWER”. all of these dominating traits your alpha has, and he willingly gives it all up for you in this moment. he allows you to be the one to take and claim. yeah, you love him.

you love tabito karasu, and you love the alpha he is, and you love being the one in control of his rut, in control of this moment. 

you, the one with the heats and the smaller, softer build and the sweeter scent, are The Taker. you are the mate in this duo that gets to pin down and demand he feed your base urges and fuck karasu’s brains out till he’s floating on the wave of endorphins that assure him you are his, and he is yours.

after a good while of fucking your mate with hard, solid thrusts, admiring the view before you of such a large man coming undone twice because of you, and those sapphire eyes never once leaving your form, something in you shifts. you lean in closer, stretching tabito even more with his free leg moving with you, knee to his chest, foreheads knocking against one another while you grind into him.

and it is at this level of closeness, you note the pressure of tabito’s hand practically death-gripping yours, nails digging in, begging you to look at him and see. see what he wants, what those deep blue eyes beg from you while you share the same panted breaths and the smell of sex and warmer scents fill the air.

you give half a nod of assurance before closing the gap between your mouths with your lips, kissing him soft and deep while your hips cant to press further in. so you taste every gasp, every sigh of pleasure, every salty sweet tear that slides down your mate’s face as you relish in the feeling of all of him enveloped around you.

you must be drunk on this sensation. you have to be. how else could your mind explain the blooming heat that spreads through your chest and down to your core as you sit up to look at your beloved, and one singular thought consumes all of your senses as those eyes still silently plead with you for more—BREED. tabito’s leg moving to hook around your back and pull you impossibly closer only encourages that improbable thought to get louder. breed. breed your mate. yours. mine. more. LOVE. more. breed. breed. BREED.

the answer you are searching for in tabito’s eyes had already been waiting from the start. the different scent during this rut, the more intimate actions between the both of you, that unspoken request he’s been begging for since you pinned him down. he is an alpha, after all. of course he wants to care for and protect for his family. he wants more of you in the form of a family, and you’d like that too.

not that alphas can get pregnant, nor you be the type to actually knot or breed anyone else. but that rational thought is not present as you grip your alpha’s waist tight and groan at the sensation of filling him deep with your seed and watching how prettily tabito weeps and flutters around you, cumming at the same time, spilling all over himself. both love drunk on the pheromones and fantasy of starting something more with him in this way. pure love and desire and bliss as you breed your alpha just the way he wants it.

… … …

when the rut hormones have cleared, there is a candid conversation held about actually pursuing that next step with your mate.

talking about the different options available for an alpha and an omega with the dynamic that you have. maybe speaking with an omega or beta surrogate, maybe waiting for a lull in the upcoming soccer season to register for fostering that would lead to (hopefully) adoption, maybe stopping your birth control before your next heat, maybe.

maybe the universe has a lighthearted sense of humor with the way it decides things.

six weeks later, and there is the comical timing of professional athlete tabito karasu landing the final goal of the match, suddenly stopping in the middle of his victory lap to pass out on the field. he’s rushed to the hospital with his frantic mate (you) by his side for unexplained overheating/possible dehydration. except it isn’t that. blood tests are done to reveal something unexpected. you are actually an enigma, and tabito karasu is pregnant.

itoshi rin

rin had spent the entire week refusing interviews because every single reporter kept asking the exact same insulting question: "do you really believe japan can beat them?" as if belief alone would somehow compensate for the mountain they were climbing, and after the tenth variation of that question, he simply stared into the camera and replied, "you'll see." 

twitter spends days making fun of him. they stop laughing very quickly. 

the officiating becomes so blatantly one-sided that even commentators from completely neutral countries begin awkwardly questioning decisions live on television, and rin... genuinely seems happier because every unfair call just gives him another reason to destroy somebody. 

with seconds remaining, he absolutely cooks the defender everyone had been calling "the greatest defender in the world." not once. not twice. but THREE consecutive feints so disrespectful that the poor man literally falls to one knee trying to recover before rin calmly slots the ball across the goal for the winner. 

he doesn't even celebrate. he just turns around, looks directly at the opposing bench, and shrugs. then walks away while his teammates are losing their minds behind him. 

fans immediately compare it to someone dropping the hardest diss track imaginable before leaving the studio without waiting for a response. 

his post-match interview somehow becomes even more disrespectful. 

the interviewer asks, "did winning feel satisfying?" 

"no.” 

"why not?” 

"they weren't as difficult as people said." 

the internet combusts. 

rival fans call him arrogant. everyone else calls him correct. he earns more respect than ever because of this night. 

itoshi sae

sae spends the entire tournament looking almost... amused. 

every headline insists the final is already decided because "football politics" have spoken, and while everyone else gets angry, sae simply keeps training exactly the same way he always does because he has never cared about public opinion. if anything, he looks almost bored by the constant media narrative, like he's waiting for reality to catch up to what he already knows. 

99% of midfielders would've forced something spectacular during the final attack. sae doesn't. he understands that the most humiliating thing you can do to a team convinced they're destined to win is dismantle them with perfect football. 

in the final minute, every defender expects him to shoot. he doesn't. 

instead, he threads the single greatest assist of the tournament between four defenders with a pass so absurdly precise that replays make people question whether the ball curved around legs on purpose. 

isagi finishes it. japan wins. 

commentators actually start laughing during the replay because nobody watching can believe the pass was real. 

after lifting the trophy, a reporter nervously asks whether the difficult officiating affected the team. 

sae glances toward the other side. "apparently not." 

that's it. he plays professional and refrains from rants, complaints, and accusations. 

football edits pair that quote with tuff audios for YEARS. 

nagi seishiro

nagi had looked almost sleepy throughout the tournament, which only fueled endless criticism online about how "lazy" he looked compared to the passionate players around him, with entire podcasts questioning whether he even cared enough to play in a world cup final. 

reo, meanwhile, knows exactly what that expression means. it means nagi has already seen the answer. 

in additional time, the ball gets launched toward him from nearly 40 meters away. everyone expects him to bring it down. instead… first touch. second touch. and bicycle kick GOAL. 

genuinely one of the greatest goals ever scored in football history. 

nobody celebrates right away because the entire stadium needs three full seconds to process what just happened. then absolute pandemonium. 

the clip reaches 100 million views before the medal ceremony even begins. 

when reporters ask him afterward whether he planned the goal… he scratches his neck. 

"eh... kinda looked fun. so i went for it.” 

football fans worldwide simultaneously develop hypertension. every comment section is identical: "HE DID WHAT BECAUSE IT LOOKED FUN???" 

that goal becomes the default answer anytime somebody asks, "what's the greatest world cup goal ever?" 

mikage reo

reo takes the entire tournament personally because he can see exactly how manipulated the narrative has become, watching television panels practically handing the trophy to the other team before the final is even played, and every smug prediction only hardens his resolve to prove that no amount of money, politics, or favoritism can manufacture the chemistry blue lock forged through years of clawing their way to the top. 

throughout the match, he's absolutely everywhere, recovering loose balls that looked impossible to save, tracking back until his lungs burn, throwing himself into challenges without hesitation, refusing to let unfair decisions become excuses, because if they're going to steal something from japan, they'll have to pry it from his hands first. 

the winning play begins with him. he wins possession against two players. shrugs off another challenge. escapes relentless pressure with a sequence of touches so smooth it looks rehearsed. then fires the perfect forward pass that slices open the defense and starts the move that wins japan the world cup. 

everyone praises the goal. players praise reo. analysts spend weeks pointing out that without his interception, none of it happens. 

after the trophy ceremony, cameras catch the opposing players arguing with officials while japan celebrates together in the background. 

reo notices, smiles, then says just loudly enough for nearby microphones to catch: "guess shortcuts don't teach you how to win finals." 

the quote trends in every language imaginable. 

every sports edit ends the same way: the scoreboard frozen on the screen, japan lifting the world cup, and one caption fading in – "you can rig the road. you can't rig greatness." 

bachira meguru

bachira had been smiling through the entire tournament, which somehow annoyed rival fans even more because while everyone else was busy arguing about the officiating, conspiracy theories, and suspicious brackets, he just kept saying things like, "it's okay! we'll just score more!" with the biggest grin imaginable, earning thousands of quote tweets calling him naive... only for that optimism to age like the finest wine known to mankind. 

the final becomes unbelievably physical because the opposing team realizes they can't keep up with japan's technical ability, so they start hacking people down every chance they get, and bachira ends up getting fouled over and over again with barely any whistles. every time he gets shoved to the ground, he simply dusts himself off, giggles, and says, "again?" like he's inviting them to try harder. 

in the dying moments of additional time, he receives the ball surrounded by four defenders, and the entire stadium assumes the attack is dead until he starts dancing through them with the kind of street football that makes grown professionals look like traffic cones, leaving one defender spinning in the wrong direction before slipping the most disrespectfully perfect assist across the box for japan's winning goal. 

he immediately starts laughing before the ball even crosses the line because he already knows it's over. 

after the match, a reporter asks if he ever doubted japan could win. 

"huh? why would i?" he blinks innocently. "they're just people." 

football twitter collectively screams because he accidentally reduced the most hyped-up national team on earth to "just people." 

edits of him skipping away from four defeated defenders get paired with circus music, samba music, dramatic orchestra – everything. no matter the soundtrack, it somehow works. 

shidou ryusei

every single sports analyst spends the week before the final saying the same thing: "shidou's temper will cost japan the world cup." because surely, against a team getting every favorable call imaginable, he'd lose his head. 

instead… he smiles the entire match. and that scares everyone even more. 

the opposing defenders spend 120 minutes trying to provoke him, talking trash in three different languages, yanking his shirt, stepping on his heels, celebrating every questionable decision directly in his face… and shidou just keeps grinning. 

"c'mon. keep going. make the winning goal feel hotter." 

additional time. cross into the box. shidou launches himself into the air so violently that it genuinely looks like gravity gave up trying to stop him. 

BOOM. the header nearly tears through the net. 

there’s absolute silence at first. then the loudest roar in world cup history. 

rather than celebrating immediately, shidou walks toward the defender who'd spent the entire game talking trash, pats him on the shoulder, and says, "aw... that's all?" 

that clip gets 17 million likes in under 24 hours. 

interviewers desperately try getting him to criticize the officiating afterward. 

"i have nothing." 

"really?" 

"if they're gonna cheat..." he breaks into a wide grin. "they should've cheated harder." 

the internet declares psychological warfare has reached previously undiscovered levels. 

karasu tabito

karasu had been quietly collecting receipts all tournament long. every prediction, every disrespectful headline, every clip of pundits saying japan only reached the final "by luck." he has them all saved. because if there's one thing karasu loves… it's talking after he already proved himself right. 

during the match, he becomes an absolute menace in midfield, constantly stealing possession from the opposing team's biggest stars before sarcastically thanking them. 

"’preciate it." 

"thanks again.” 

"that's mine now." 

by additional time, their midfield is mentally exhausted because every time they think they've escaped him, karasu somehow appears again like an unpaid tax collector. 

the winning sequence starts because he strips the opposing captain of possession so cleanly that commentators initially think the captain simply misplaced the ball. replay says otherwise. karasu absolutely robbed him. 

after the trophy ceremony, he posts exactly one tweet: "thought y'all said we weren't makin’ it past the quarterfinals?" 

attached underneath? 27 different screenshots of old predictions. the ratio is biblical. 

football fans begin calling him "the CEO of keeping receipts." 

kaiser michael

kaiser had spent the week before the final listening to the nonstop praise for the opposing team with the most unimpressed expression imaginable, occasionally glancing at the television before muttering, "they're celebrating before winning?" as if he genuinely couldn't understand why everyone was acting like the trophy had already been awarded. 

by kickoff, the atmosphere is almost theatrical. every camera seems determined to capture the other team's coronation, every graphic is centered around their stars, and even neutral broadcasts spend more time discussing how history will remember them than acknowledging the eleven players wearing germany's colors. 

kaiser absolutely despises that. in his mind, football has one universal rule: earn it. 

the match becomes uglier with every passing minute. questionable fouls. suspicious stoppage time. decisions that somehow always seem to favor the same side. 

kaiser never argues. he just plays colder. 

then with the final attack unfolding, three defenders collapse toward ness, completely forgetting that leaving michael kaiser alone is essentially signing your own obituary. 

he makes the most devastating off-ball run imaginable, dragging half the defensive line out of position before casually flicking the ball back with the outside of his boot. 

goal. world cup won. 

commentators spend the next week replaying that run because without it, the goal never happens. 

after lifting the trophy, a journalist asks whether justice had been served. 

kaiser tilts his head. "justice? i simply dislike poorly written endings." 

every football edit immediately uses that quote over trending audios. 

rival fans hate admitting it. but they admit it anyway: “that's the hardest thing anyone's ever said after winning a world cup." 

ness alexis

nobody expects ness to become one of the tournament's biggest heroes because every headline is focused on the goalscorers, the captains, and the superstars, but anyone actually watching football can see he's quietly putting on an absolute midfield masterclass, covering impossible amounts of ground, breaking passing lanes before attacks even develop, and refusing to let the chaos of the officiating distract him from doing the dirty work that rarely makes highlight reels. 

the opposing team underestimates him all match long, assuming he's merely there to support everyone else. huge mistake. 

in the 119th minute, they attempt one final counterattack that would've almost certainly won them the world cup. ness reads it before anyone else. 

he flies across the pitch, intercepts the pass with a perfectly timed tackle that somehow wins the ball so cleanly the referee can't invent a foul, immediately gets back to his feet, and launches the counterattack that ends with germany scoring the winner less than 20 seconds later. 

social media goes absolutely feral over the replay because his interception is the reason the winning goal even exists. people start calling it "the tackle that saved football." 

during the celebrations, cameras catch him laughing so hard he nearly drops his medal because he can hear the opposing bench still arguing with officials while germany is literally dancing with the trophy. 

afterward, someone asks him what was going through his mind before making that tackle. 

"hm… well… if nobody else was going to stop them… i figured i should." 

it's such an unexpectedly simple answer that even rival supporters can't bring themselves to dislike him. 

within hours, edits begin circulating that alternate between his last-ditch tackle and the final whistle, ending with one caption across the screen: "you can't buy destiny. you have to defend it." 

chigiri hyoma

by the time japan reaches the world cup final, every scouting report has the exact same sentence highlighted in bold: "do not let chigiri run in behind." easier said than done. the opposing team spends the entire match double-marking him, occasionally even triple-marking him, and whenever they can't catch him legally... they simply drag him down because they know there's a decent chance the referee won't call it anyway. 

every foul only makes the crowd angrier because even casual viewers can tell what they're doing. clips of defenders grabbing fistfuls of his jersey start circulating before halftime with captions like, "bro is competing in the 100-meter hurdles against people who forgot they're playing football." 

then comes the final attack – additional time. everyone is exhausted. except chigiri. no one knows how, after 120 minutes, he still has another gear. 

the moment reo wins possession, chigiri is already gone. one explosive touch. another. the defenders panic because they've been warned about this all week, but tired legs don't listen to scouting reports. 

he leaves the entire backline chasing shadows before cutting the ball perfectly across the box for the winning goal. 

the replay from the overhead camera becomes legendary because it genuinely looks like someone fast-forwarded only him while everyone else stayed at normal speed. 

afterward, a reporter asks whether he felt sorry for the defenders. 

he responds with: "they looked tired. but i wasn't." 

every sprint comparison video for the next decade uses that run as the benchmark. 

barou shoei

the media absolutely adores the opposing team's captain before the final, constantly calling him "the king of world football," "the inevitable champion," and every other dramatic title imaginable. 

barou hears all of it. barou takes it personally. because as far as he's concerned… there’s only one king. 

the match turns into a battlefield, with defenders throwing everything they have at him, practically wrestling him every time he enters the penalty area because they know they can't beat him physically. he just keeps bulldozing through them. 

70 minutes in. 85. 100. he's still charging straight at them like a freight train. 

then in the dying seconds, japan launches one last attack. the opposing center-back steps up confidently. 

barou simply shoulders him out of the way so cleanly that the defender looks like he bounced off a brick wall. he doesn't even glance back. he receives the pass and smashes the ball into the roof of the net with enough force that photographers behind the goal visibly flinch. 

he celebrates by walking directly toward the section filled with opposing fans. folds his arms. raises one eyebrow. says absolutely nothing. the silence is somehow louder than japan’s screaming. 

post-match interview? "they called him king… but they crowned the wrong one." 

football edits with that quote become legally classified as weapons. 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya spends the entire tournament playing with a smile that almost looks too calm for the occasion, even as every questionable call goes against japan and every television graphic keeps insisting the other team is "fated" to lift the trophy. 

people mistake that calmness for passiveness. they learn very quickly that confidence doesn't always have to be loud. 

throughout the final, he keeps attacking the opposing fullback over and over again, patiently studying every tiny movement until he understands exactly how they defend under pressure. 

additional time arrives, meaning one chance. one duel. 

yukimiya sizes him up… then absolutely ruins the poor man's evening. step-over. body feint. elastico. ouuu shiii cut inside. 

the defender commits to the wrong direction so hard he nearly slides into his own teammate. social media instantly begins calling it "the ankle collection." 

yukimiya calmly slips the ball into the middle, where japan finishes the winner. 

instead of running around wildly, he simply closes his eyes for a second, exhales, and smiles toward the sky like he's savoring the moment after years of fighting for it. 

afterward, reporters ask him if he ever felt overwhelmed by the pressure. 

"pressure?" yukimiya smiles. "that's what makes moments beautiful." 

fans immediately start making aesthetic edits with that quote over slow-motion clips of his dribble. 

kiyora jin

nobody outside of blue lock really understands kiyora before the tournament. commentators describe him as "unpredictable," analysts struggle to define his playstyle, and opposing defenders confidently assume they'll figure him out after a few minutes. 

they don't. why? trying to predict kiyora is like trying to predict which direction a freestyle dancer is about to spin. 

his balance is unreal. his footwork somehow looks choreographed and completely improvised at the same time. 

by the final, defenders are visibly hesitant to step toward him because every challenge ends with them facing the wrong direction. 

additional time. tied match. kiyora receives the ball near the corner with three defenders collapsing on him. commentators immediately assume he's going to recycle possession and wait for support. 

instead… he starts moving. one spin. quick heel drag. reverse roulette. another pivot. his hips fake one direction while the ball disappears the other way. 

one defender literally stumbles into his own teammate. another plants his foot so awkwardly trying to recover that he nearly falls over. 

the crowd starts screaming before the pass even happens because they know they've just witnessed something ridiculous. 

kiyora glides past the last defender, casually rolls the ball into open space, and japan buries the winner. 

the clip becomes known online as "the world cup ankle massacre." 

hashtags like #justicefortheiracl and #kiyorafoundtheweakbutton trend for days because every replay somehow makes the defenders look even more lost than the previous one. 

when a reporter asks if he meant to embarrass so many players on one move, kiyora just blinks. "they kept standing where i wanted to go. so i made them move." 

football twitter immediately declares that the man breakdanced his way to a world cup. 

from then on, every time a defender gets sent the wrong way anywhere in professional football, the replies are flooded with the exact same phrase: "bro got kiyora'd." 

loki julian

from the very beginning of the tournament, france keeps getting asked the most ridiculous questions imaginable because every journalist seems far more interested in discussing the other team's "destiny" than the actual football being played. every press conference becomes some variation of, "how do you prepare for a team that's clearly meant to win?" and loki just sits there wondering why everyone is acting like the world cup trophy has already been engraved. 

the semifinal finally arrives, and every french player immediately realizes they're not just playing 11 men – no, they're playing against an entire narrative. obvious fouls go uncalled, perfectly clean tackles somehow become yellow cards, and every marginal offside seems to magically favor the opposition. even the commentators begin nervously saying things like, "well... that's certainly a decision." 

by extra time, the score is still tied because france simply refuses to die. 

then the final attack begins. one defender overcommits. loki is gone. there is genuinely no catching him. 

he accelerates so violently that slow-motion replays somehow still can't capture how quickly he separates from the backline, collects the through ball without breaking stride, rounds the keeper with one effortless touch, and buries the winner into an empty net. 

the stadium goes dead silent. every television graphic prepared to celebrate the "inevitable champions" suddenly becomes useless. 

loki doesn't sprint toward the corner flag. he turns around, looks straight at the referee for half a second, and then points at the scoreboard. 

"that one counted." 

the clip becomes one of the coldest world cup moments ever because everyone knows exactly what he means without him having to say another word. 

iglesias bunny

spain spends the entire knockout stage listening to people explain why the heavily favored team is supposedly "simply on another level," despite half the football world already questioning how many fortunate decisions they've received to even reach this point. bunny gets especially irritated because every time someone points out the officiating, they're immediately dismissed as "coping." 

his response? "then we'll give them something they can't whistle away." 

90 minutes of football later, bunny has been kicked, shoved, and dragged to the ground more times than anyone can count, and somehow he's the one receiving lectures from the referee. 

by the 119th minute, everyone assumes penalties are inevitable. bunny has other plans tho. 

he receives the ball near the touchline with two defenders closing him down. one step-over. another. a sudden drag-back. 

the first defender slips. the second bites on the fake so hard he nearly collides with his own captain. 

bunny cuts inside and curls an absolutely disgusting shot into the top corner from outside the box. no keeper on earth is saving it. absolute bedlam. 

during the celebration, he runs toward the cameras, cups one hand behind his ear, and grins. 

"still the better team?" 

football twitter immediately starts calling it "the most expensive receipt ever collected.” 

after lifting the trophy, reporters ask whether all the controversial decisions frustrated him. 

"a little." 

"so you answered with that goal?" 

"it's louder." 

every edit of the goal ends with that quote. 

hugo vivian

hugo is smiling before kickoff. the man loves impossible matches. if the entire world already thinks france is supposed to lose... good. it makes proving everyone wrong even more fun. 

unfortunately, the match quickly becomes exactly what everyone feared. every shoulder-to-shoulder challenge somehow goes against france, obvious dives earn free kicks, and every time the favored side complains, the whistle somehow follows. 

hugo spends half the game throwing his hands into the air in frustration. yet, he still manages to laugh through it because if he doesn't laugh, he'll lose his mind. 

120th minute. france wins possession. hugo charges forward. defenders close him down. 

instead of forcing a shot, he straight up embarrasses the nearest defender with a string of ridiculously quick feints that leave the poor guy spinning the wrong direction. 

"whoop. zip. see ya." 

he slips the perfect pass across the goal. loki finishes it. france wins the world cup. 

hugo doesn't even realize the broadcast microphones are still following him as he sprints across the pitch screaming, "BOOM!” "THAT'S FOOTBALL, BABY!" "PACK IT UUUUP!" 

the celebration instantly becomes a meme because every replay perfectly syncs his sound effects with the winning sequence. 

post-match, a reporter cautiously asks whether he thought the officiating made the victory sweeter. 

hugo grins so hard his medal nearly falls off. "they had the whistles. we had the football… boom." 

from then on, french fans start replying "boom." under every match-winning goal like it's a national tradition now. 

Tabito Karasu.

.........٢٥.........

You bought figures, pins and even stickers just because you liked, no, LOVED him. And one thing in particular is a plushie of him, you carried it everywhere with you. You slept with it, brought it on trips, hell you even brought it to work with you whenever you were feeling stressed.

Your co-workers thought it was childish of you to be running around the place with a plushie resting in between your arm as you submitted the last of your papers. Sure it was childish but you couldn’t care less since you adored that plushie so much!

By now, you already considered this plushie as your friend due to how much time you spent with it already, hell you even cried with it in your arms whenever a specific movie scene came up and even hugged and kissed it whenever your emotions got the best of you.

!

You were invited to celebrate a corporate party from the company you work for and immediately accepted their invitation without a thought, you got up from bed and hit the shower, already preparing for the party so you can arrive on time without having to worry about anything else.

.........٢٥.........

A few hours later, you came back drunk. You immediately went to bed without taking off your dress nor washing off the makeup, you landed onto the mattress with a soft thud and turned your head to press a kiss onto the plushie beside you, smearing some of your lipstick on its cheek before turning to your side and drifting off to sleep.

You felt someone shift behind you but paid no attention to it since you were too sleepy, so instead of feeling alarmed or worried that someone had managed to crawl into your bed without making a sound—you simply turned around and wrapped your arms around the intruder, pressing him further into the soft mattress as you drifted off to sleep once more.

The following morning, you found yourself awake and on top of some random dude that somehow looked and dressed like Karasu. Your eyes widened in shock as you pulled away from him and started moving towards the edge of the bed, you were fumbling too much that you almost fell off the bed but someone grabbed you just in time.

“Easy there angel, you almost fell.” A voice came from behind which made your head turn to look at him.

“Don’t call me that weirdo!” You snapped at him. A small chuckle escaped Karasu as he released your shirt, causing you to fall and land on the floor with a thud. “Calling me weirdo now are we? I’m hurt.”

“Uff..” You cursed him under your breath as you got up from the floor, gently rubbing your ass from the land as you turned to look at him. Your eyes widened once more due to shock and surprise as you noticed the smeared lipstick on his cheek, It looked like the kiss mark you left on your plushie last night.

Meanwhile, Karasu watched you with a grin, his eyes scanning you from head to toe before settling down on your eyes. “Finally putting two and two together princess? I’m glad.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed lightly before making your way towards the bathroom hastily and locking the door behind you, once you were sure it was locked. You made your way over to the sink and placed your hands onto the counter while your eyes trailed towards the door then on the mirror.

You stared at yourself for a moment before moving one hand to turn the sink on, and soon enough warm water came running down. You put your hands together and curled it slightly to collect some water before splashing it on your face, a relieved sigh escaping your lips as you did it again and again.. and again.

“Hah!” You suddenly shouted as you turned off the sink. “Maybe it was only a dream and Karasu’s not actually lying on my bed!” You reassured yourself, now feeling confident that it was all just a dream… maybe.

You turned the lock and unlocked the door with a soft click before gently swinging it open, only to be greeted with that stupid crow and his goofy ass smirk. “Hope ya didn’t miss me while you were in there, it took you a while.”

His sudden appearance made you jerk backwards, your hands coming up to clutch at your beating heart before letting out a sigh. “Whatever, this is just a dream anyways so I might as well indulge in it.” Your sudden confidence caught Karasu off guard but his smirk only widened once he repeated your words in his head.

“Ya sure this is a dream princess?”

“Oh I’m sure.”

Karasu just nodded and stepped aside to let you out before suddenly grabbing you by the waist and carrying you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“What the!? hey! put me down!” Karasu just grinned at you before letting out a laugh, his grip on you tightening for a moment before loosening once more. “No can do princess.”

.........٢٥.........

Perhaps it wasn’t a dream at all…