𝘼𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙈.

like most couples in the public eye you’ve had your fair share of jealous fangirls and vicious fanboys, but you’ve long since passed the stage of teary eyes and the threat of breakups looming over your heads. the blue lock PR team is insanely good at moderation, surprisingly, and you like to think the bond you share with their diamond player is strong enough to withstand whatever test is thrown your way. only sometimes do you feel that nagging vulnerability at the back of your mind, when someone gets a little too close to your all-star player and looks up at him with dreamy eyes as if to hope and pray he’ll look at them differently. look at them the way he looks at you. 

your boyfriend has never been one to stray, he’s as loyal as a dog and perhaps has an meaner streak than you when it comes to being possessive – he has an appetite for destruction when others attempt to get close to you, maybe even so much as glance at you and will turn into that vicious egoist not just you, but the entire world, loves. yet sometimes, your territorialism over isagi outshines his over you, sometimes you go to the extreme to prove that you’re the only one meant to be with him.  

this is one of those times.

whilst champagne flows and music thumps through your body due to the heavy bass, your mind wonders away from the party thrown in honour of the blue lock eleven’s latest victory against an overseas team in the football league. winning four to one with most scores and assists resulting from your boyfriend’s chemical reactions on the pitch — you should have been sneaking off somewhere to give him an even better prize than a silly gold cup. instead, you dance around the outskirts of the gathering, darting between the familiar faces of his teammates and their loved ones with swaying designer skirts whilst attempting to spy on isagi as he chatters away innocently with her.

her being a recent hire on the blue lock sports team is entirely too infatuated with your yoichi for your liking — as the new assistant physiotherapist for the eleven rowdy players, it was natural that this brand new and shiny ‘hana’ girl would be spending more time alongside the boys. alongside your boy. you don’t blame her, to be fair, it’s easy to be starstruck by yoichi. he’s the best player in japan, he’s gorgeous too — golden skin that glistens during matches and beautiful blue eyes holding the depths of the ocean’s secrets. his charm transcends anything anyone’s ever seen in a player of his ferocity, isagi can be kind and humble, attentive and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he’s with you. 

you truly cannot blame her for the obvious little crush she has on him, one that must have bubbled and brewed during therapy sessions in between games and practices. 

that doesn’t mean she doesn’t bother you.  

your boyfriend, ever the angel, is too sweet to take note of her subtle advances and gazes filled with yearning. he doesn’t know that she’s attempting to flirt when her hand slides a little lower than considered professional during pre-game warm-ups and massages. he can’t tell that she’s pining after him like a high-schooler with a love note tucked behind her back when she makes sure that he has his water bottle and extra electrolytes first whenever isagi has training. nor does he notice that she clings to his sweaty towels for a little too long after he’s handed them off to her. 

isagi is so nice, so oblivious — just like when you met. just like when you made moves on him back then. he doesn’t know what a simple tilt of his head during conversation does to a girl — the type where he’s trying to listen in and seem attentive. he’s unfamiliar with his own game and charm, oblivious to his gravitational pull and ability to make people fall for him the way you did, hard and fast without even realising you were about to hit the ground. all because yoichi was there the catch you, free-falling with you through the love in the air.

it’s possible that hana doesn’t know about you and isagi — he’s a show off, always touching you subtly, searching for your eyes across the way, throwing you secretive smiles during interviews… but you’ve been together so long that you’ve begun to hide the precious parts of your relationships away from the public. aside from passing social media posts and the odd rumour about your togetherness… only the people most important to you know that you’re still a couple now. so maybe she doesn’t know. maybe she has no clue. 

maybe that’s why she cuddles up to him before the snack table, pulls that typical move by pretending to have one too many sips of high-end alcohol so she has an excuse to sway on her feet and steady herself against your partner’s sturdy frame.

you let her bask in the interaction for now, because while you know in your head and by your own logic that isagi would never betray you for someone else — your heart rears it’s ugly head, the blood in your veins turning a nasty shade of green as it courses through your body. it makes you question whether you should be mad at her or mad at him, who will be on the receiving end of the plot being spun in your mind like a spider forming its web.

a cruel, twisted smirk tugs on the corners of your perfectly glossed lips before you knock back the last of the golden liquid swirling around in your champagne flute. from across the room, hazy ocean eyes slink away from the girl who is no more than a coworker to their owner in order to meet yours. midnight blue flickers to life with love, drinks in the dress that matches them and wraps around your perfect body. isagi’s lips quirk up into a subtle smirk, one that hides his layers of want for you. one that tells you that you’re still the only one on his mind no matter who he’s with. 

and you know then, that yoichi isagi will be your victim tonight. 

set to receive a curious mix of both punishment and reward that he’s sure to enjoy after such a hard day’s work, of being the best in every sense of the word.

isagi always looks most handsome when he’s concentrating. 

during a game, something switches within him. he becomes a beast of untapped talent and potential that shines across the field like a polished diamond. his eyes are often wild, set ablaze with a cool fire that burns his enemies alive. when the pro player is focused, no matter what it’s on, his expression will often send a pang of heat straight through you — the way his tongue often pokes into his cheek, causing it to bulge, and brows furrow at the centre of his forehead, azure eyes darkening as they analyse whatever task he’s paying attention to. 

after the party tonight, the two of you headed straight back to your private suite rented out courtesy of ego and anri for the team. isagi would have joined you in the shower, he loves to see you undress and feel your skin against his, but his mind was racing from the match that had been won with his goals. ever the analyst, he has to watch the game through to pick apart the plays from both he and his team. so while washing up, you leave him to concentrate on his replays — trying to scrub away the irrational jealousy wrapping around your brain stem and crawling down your spine.

however, the scorching hot water does nothing to wash the feeling away. when you return to the room and isagi lounging away in the love seat by the balcony, he hardly looks your way — wrapped up in his phone, perfectly toned thighs twitching every time he sees a perfect play, his tie loose around his thick neck and tux half shrugged off. the digitalised final minutes of his match capture every ounce of his attention  and you can’t help but wonder if his mind is elsewhere. aside from the sports. you’re so used to being the centre of his world, the only one he looks at that you worry he could be thinking of her tonight instead of you. reminiscing the way her fingers glided over his biceps to steady herself after her faked drunk stumbling.

it makes you sick to your stomach, how jealous you are when there’s no need to be. you trust yoichi and you know that if the roles were reversed, he would trust you too. padding deeper into the room, you become hyper aware of the carpet beneath your toes that curl into it and the way yoichi’s shirt sticks to your damp body — the fabric growing heavy as a result of the water from your shower that seeps into it. fidgeting before him, you note that your senses are heightened by unpleasant emotions of anxiousness and irritation, and clear your throat to speak. 

this doesn’t grab your boyfriend’s attention either. so you cough louder before you voice your thoughts and feelings. “she likes you, yanno,” you hum, feigning nonchalance as you perch yourself on the arm of isagi’s chair. you throw your legs over the edge of the rest, feet falling into his lap. the star player says nothing but raises a brow in acknowledgment. he’s listening in now, whether he believes you or not. “hana, she’s got a major thing for you.” you go on, frowning with your lips drawn into a pout.

regrettably, this piques isagi’s interest — one hand reaching for his sports drink with a straw as the other holds his phone steady. “no she doesn’t. she’s just being friendly?” confusion curls around his heart as he chews on the paper straw, inevitably turning it to mush between perfect rows of pearly white teeth. a poor attempt at avoiding his plush lips sucking on the straw is made, heating you up under the collar. for a moment, you forget that you’re mad and irritated, too enamoured by how attractive your boyfriend is even while doing the mundane. 

you must be pulling a face, a discontented one, because isagi sets his drink down and smooths his palm over your bare calf to keep you in place — making sure you don’t topple backwards over the edge of the seat. he’s paying attention now – trying to decipher whether or not you’re being bratty or you’re genuinely upset. “she brings you extra protein shakes when you’re not supposed to have them, and schedules you extra physical therapy sessions even though you don’t need them...” you scoff as though your observations are the most obvious thing in the world, playing into yoichi’s concern for you. “haven’t you noticed that? it’s weird…” 

when he shakes his head ‘no’, you petulantly snatch his drink away from the table beside you both and take a sip, the dark haired player’s cerulean eyes trailing to your lips around your straw and the way your adam’s apple faintly bobs in your throat. it clicks for him then, the way you’re subtly teasing him under the guise of being upset – you always know how to keep him on his toes, his precious little menace. 

you’re not really mad. just a little bit jealous… and all you really want is to be spoiled with his attention.

yoichi clicks the power button on his phone, tossing the sleek black device onto the table. he looks at you then, gaze mirthy and amused as the rough palm of his hand slowly makes its way up to your thigh – squeezing the doughy, exposed flesh in his own form of reassurance. “and that’s not being friendly? she does the same for bachira.”

there’s an annoyingly condescending lilt to the tone of isagi’s voice now that his attention is fully on you. you’ve started a dangerous game in an attempt to prove yourself as number one in yoichi isagi’s heart. the ghost of his touch slipping under the shirt that you wear, moving from your thigh to pinch the fat at your hips – it makes saliva pool on your tongue, makes your vision swim, nearly distracting you from your mission to re-stake your claim on the star player.

he cocks his head up at you, squinting to see if your resolve will crumble just like he does with an opponent on the field. 

“that’s only because he pesters her for special treatment too and he’s your best friend,” you squirm as though you’re a creature being inspected under a microscope, turning your nose up at your boyfriend. “do you think i was being friendly with you when i was sneaking into your locker rooms during practices to spend extra time with you?” lifting a hand, you ruffle his hair.

isagi shakes the dark locks of his bangs from his eyes, a deep chuckle rumbling in the depths of his chest and right through you. for a moment, he pretends to think – reminiscing about all of the secret make-out sessions that took place during the early days of your relationship. 

“you weren’t?” 

“i wasn’t, i was flirting with you.” you roll your eyes in response, ignoring the flutter in your heart at the sound.

faux surprise spreads across the slopes of his features like a filter at your reply and he tuts mockingly, as if to scold your scandalous behaviour back then. as if he didn’t thrive in it, adoring how you so boldly went after him. “and look where that got us…” yoichi’s voice drops into a lower octave and maintains a breathiness that drives you insane, brushing over that patch in your brain that controls your lust and acts as the epicentre for your desire. you know that voice, you’ve become so familiar with it over the years – falling under its control under the moonlight and just before the sunrise, tangled up in sheets or pressed against walls. it’s the very voice isagi uses whenever he wants or craves you, matching the energy whenever you want him to.

in one sudden movement, yoichi’s using his grip on your hips to tug you into his widespread lap from the arm of the chair. his chin juts upwards in your direction, practically begging for a kiss once you’re settled – plump pink lips spread into a hungry, lopsided smirk. daring and dangerous, coaxing you to take exactly what you want from the man before you.

you do just that, patience wearing thin as your fingers wrap around his loose black tie – giving you the leverage to tug him into a slow, wet kiss. it’s not like the two of you haven’t ever kissed like this before, but even after all this time – your tummy still fills with a myriad of butterflies whenever your lips meet. they fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. blue lock’s shining star locks lips with you so tenderly that you hardly notice his tongue prying your mouth open, licking over the barrier of your teeth to taste you before he’s squeezing your waist in his lap – anything to get you to gasp and let him in.

the way he touches you, kisses you, sucks on your tongue as soon as he’s able to is intoxicating – casting a dark veil over your brain to trap the static and prevent you from thinking about anything else aside from him. not that you care, not that you mind…because you know isagi is equally as infatuated with you as you are with him. the two of you have always been like this, perfectly balanced in your obsession with one another. saliva is swapped between you, fed to you by isagi as he licks into the hot cavern of your drooly mouth – pouring his increasingly desperate moans into you. you wonder if he tastes the bitter jealousy pooling on the palette of your tongue, if that’s what draws him into you, makes him suck the spit from the writhing pink muscle and press himself impossibly closer – nose nudging yours throughout the eager rhythm of your airless exchange of bruising pecks.

if you try to breathe in between kisses, the only thing you’ll be able to intake is him. his scent, musky and woody, the whisky seeping through his pores. the level of desire you have for him is too much for your body to handle, threatening to burst at the seams as lust brews under the heated surface of your skin – intertwined with red blood cells shooting through your veins, travelling south. you flinch as your sex pulses to life in isagi’s lap, pathetically wet from how good he sounds mewling between slow, carefully placed smooches. you’d feel ashamed, but there’s no time to be when your boyfriend is so intune with your body, quickly catching onto the blazing neediness that sets your insides alight from the way you instinctively buck down on him. he smirks against the swell of your lips, using his hold on your waist to show you that he feels the same – pinning you onto his growing erection, hard and weighty between your damp thighs.

before the two of you can get too carried away, entirely too turned on from making out like two teenagers – you pull back with spit-glazed lips and hazy eyes. “...and look where it’ll get her if she keeps this up...” 

isagi pouts at the separation, unconsciously chasing your mouth – almost letting out a whimper when you purposely hold yourself out of his reach. “f-fuck i… i don’t want to end up anywhere with her. i only have eyes for you. i only like you.” he says firmly, like it’s a promise – grinding up against you in an attempt to get you to give into him.

“just like?” you tease him happily. 

“love. i love you.” he huffs with faux annoyance.

jealous nights will usually end like this. with you surrendering yourself just to end up with isagi ramming you through the mattress, proving the extent of his desire and dedication to you…but this time, you want to be the one to remind him where he and who he belongs to.

at his admission, however, you feel a wave of cuteness aggression inside that twists deliciously with the pleasure beginning to form knots deep within and reach out for him; pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “you’re perfect, yoichi isagi. you’re precious.” 

“i could say the same about you, baby.” isagi groans possessively once he realises your light affections are all he’s getting for now. in a last ditch effort, his slender fingers curl around the nape of your neck – not to choke you, but to remind you of his presence and the sheer control he has over your body – loyal to him and him alone. all he wants is a kiss, to bask in the sweet flavours and reminiscent alcohol dancing on your tongue but you have other plans. 

dipping your head, you latch onto his unsuspecting earlobe – pulling it between your teeth whilst your lashes flutter against the side of his face. you move on, sucking just underneath the same spot and relishing in the way his pulse races beneath your cherry-bitten lips. the unmarred, golden expanse of this throat becomes your next victim, soon to become the perfect canvas for a barrage of purpley-blue hues in the form of love bites. all isagi can do in response is whine and moan salaciously as you mark him up, make him yours. all while rutting his hardness into you, inevitably smearing early evidence of his arousal against the inside of his now-wrinkled suit pants. 

“p-precious, what are you doing?” sex crazed hormones begin to drift into the air, rattling about and colliding with kinetic energy as isagi begins to question you breathlessly. In all actuality, he doesn’t care, surrendering his body to your command and control.

“nothin.” you purr coyly, letting go of his neck with a wet pop.

“doesn’t feel like nothin to me…oh, okay. c-christ, okay.” he tilts his head back, allowing you more room to work our magic on the column of his throat – biting down hard on the sensitive spots you’ve familiarised yourself with over the years. like his favourite, just above his adam’s apple, the one that makes him buck up impulsively and hiss when is pulsating cock brushes against the sticky outline of your clothed folds. he sighs out in content, voice deep and ladened with enough lust to send an electric current of ecstasy right through you. “b-baby,” yoichi pants restlessly, arching away from the back of the chair, willing to receive anything you have to give to him. “y-you know, ego won’t like it if you leave anything that shows…”

and still, neither of you can find it within you to care. not when you’re like this, hung up on each other, barely holding back. “don’t care. b’sides, you like it…” your tongue rolls over the fresh bruises you’ve left on him, soothing their sting as you speak. “hey, ‘ichi?”

he’s too dazed and turned on to form proper words, blue lock’s precious number one falling to pieces drunkardly looking down at you pressed up against his chest. “hmm?” comes his lazy hum.

“lift up your shirt.” 

“wh—“ 

“i know that you see yourself as mine, but let me show everyone else that you’re mine,” isagi fucking adores you. you were always meant to be his and he was always meant to be yours. even on the field, playing his first love, he’s sure hasn’t been anyone quite able to match his ego and freak in the same way that you do. so he can’t say no to you, not when you’re pleading, aching to show him off and make it known that he is the centre of your world. slowly, he relents, undoing the last few buttons of his pressed-cotton dress shirt so that he can take the flailing ends of the material between his teeth. the both of you share a haughty groan as isagi reveals his blistering hot skin to the cool, airconditioned room. washboard abs contract under your greedy hands as you smooth over his lean frame – defined by the hard work he does on the pitch every day.

you inch your way down his body, leaving a trail of wet kisses and sloppily placed hickies in your wake until you’re able to sink onto your knees between his spread thick thighs. the entire time, you keep your eyes locked on his – never shying away or backing down, staring straight into mirthy ocean blue because you know just how much isagi loves it when you keep your eyes on him, when you look at him with those sweet puppy dog eyes. like he’s the only thing that exists in your world.

in all your years together, you’ve come to know that yoichi isagi is much more of a giver than he is a receiver. you learned that very quickly and in the most appetisingly sinful ways possible. he’s always quick to go down on you, to taste you, gets a kick out of being the only one to put his mouth on you and know the best way to make you cum on his tongue. you wonder if he’d like the reverse treatment tonight. since, when you do actually get to give him head, he’s extra sensitive.

your cunt flutters at the idea of what’s to come, but you push down your own selfish wants and needs to focus on the man panting in anticipation above you. “yoichi,” you sigh, licking your lips once your knees are firmly planted on the floor — their wet surface coasting over his toned stomach as it contracts felicitously. “wanna suck you off. i’m going to suck you off.” 

isagi sucks in a breath, slumping back in the seat and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “yeah? you are?” he leers down at you languidly, his eyes darkening virulently — their cobalt shine dimming as though a storm cloud has raged forward to block out all forms of sunlight emitting from your happy-go-lucky boyfriend. his switch has been flipped and you’re the only one to blame. “right now?” 

you pout and nod preciously, resting the chub of your cheek on his twitch thigh before you drag the pinkish tip of your tongue over his perfectly pressed black slacks. “i mean it, yoichi,” he thinks you’re so cute like this, assertive. possessive. a carnal hankering for Japan’s best striker tearing through your body with unspeakable force. “right now.”

“alright, alright,” isagi raises his hands in joking defence, bright laughter brewing from deep within, before he cups your face to capture your gaze — watching you with pride as your mouth accepts the thumb that glides over your bottom lip. “you know, you don’t have to. i don’t want you to think that i need sex to be reminded of how much i love you—” he’s reassuring with his words, because the pro player would never want to make you feel used over some slight jealousy but his concern quickly joins your melting pot of lust fuelled emotions when you suck down on his thumb. hard.

a teaser of what’s to come. 

nestling yourself back on your haunches, you beam up at the soccer player with sweet eyes that occasionally shoot down to his now, very prominent, pulsating erection as he manspreads a little more in place. the sight makes your mouth water and a hungry whine lodge itself in the base of your throat too. “i want to,” you say. “i want you.”

“you want me, huh?” he presses down on your tongue with an air of both fascination and condescension about him, enjoying your struggle as you lightly gargle around the rough pad of his digit and earning a saccharine simper from you. “well… that’s nice to know, precious,” isagi coos to you slyly, the slightest crack in his voice hinting at his slowly crumbling composure. the way he yearns for you, even while playing cool, will never cease to make you melt — at the end of the day he craves your attention in the same way you long for his. it’s a delightful dynamic that never leaves either of you undesired because you know each other down to the dark depths of your souls, only fuelling the passion that buzzes between you and keeps your borderline obsessive relationship alive. “tell me more, let me hear it… let me see it, baby…”

pulling from the addictive, wet cavern of your mouth, isagi drags his saliva slicked thumb over your cupid’s bow — smudging it over the corners of your lips with a satisfied hum. it almost sounds like he’s begging, pleading with you to fan at the flames of debauchery circulating through his bloodstream — setting his body alight with bright white lust. like throwing wood or gasoline on an open fire, he wants you to feed his ego, stroke it until he’s certain that he’s the only one on your mind. the only one you’d die for and heaven knows you’d sing isagi’s praises until your final breath. 

with your entire body bristling with joy and underlying pleasure at his intimate gestures, you keen into his firm thighs and chase the touch of his fingertips like a good girl. “i always do. i want you in every way. want you to know that you’re mine…” you bleat earnestly, as though you’re stating an obvious fact. “and i want other people to know that too…” 

instinctively, your lips part to reveal the thick web of drool that ties the roof of your mouth the your tongue. to see you like this, on your knees with a raging appetite does something insane to isagi’s ego, something of a power trip. it reminds him of how good he must be to get you so riled and fucked up over a girl he hardly cares about. practically salivating with the dire need to selfishly keep him all to yourself. in your heart of hearts you’ll be the only one for him until the day he fades from this earth, but still, you feel an urge to prove that to him. 

maybe it’s a little fucked up and twisted that he enjoys it, maybe it’s a little sinister that he’s basking in the way your eyes form heart shapes while you admire him from below — like he’s some kind of god who’s cock you want to serve and worship.

the foundations of your relationship with isagi might be loving and healthy — the happiest you’ve ever been with a partner in your life…but it's woven together by strong threads of slightly unhealthy, unhinged monomania that neither of you care to get rid of any time soon. especially now that your lover is  hanging over you, starry eyed and rosy cheeked about to fuck your mouth in some lavish hotel room in a foreign country. you love this. you thrive on it.

“come back to me, precious. don’t wander too far,” isagi’s freehand once abandoned on the fabric arms of the chair takes yours, intertwining your fingers and guiding them over the bulge outlined in the dark material of his dress pants, sucking in a sharp breath when you begin to paw at him by your own will. “fuck… that’s what you do to me, baby. that’s all you. no one else,” his admission sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your clit and coaxes you into the dark, inebriating enigma that is isagi yoichi, clouding your mind and expelling any thoughts you may have from your mind. he clicks his fingers before your dilated eyes, voice low and sexy when he speaks. “you’re so pretty when you’re not paying attention, baby. thought you wanted all of mine…c’mere, suck my cock like you said you would. i wanna watch, wanna show you how i only have eyes for you.” 

you feel dizzy, like you’ve fallen under a spell that you never want to wake from. “all me?” your voice is quiet, raspy from the lust that you feel as your dainty hand roughly rubs at his dick print, back and forth, back and forth. god, you might really kill him. isagi. he might die here with you smiling up at him every time he twitches to life underneath your fingertips and he’d die happy. 

and when you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his clothed cock, he thinks he might have seen god. “all you, precious. just you…” blue lock’s diamond in the rough races to finish his sentence, unable to fight his instinct to kiss you. appease you. pacify all of your doubts and worries and jealousy. he relents, giving into you — licking past the seams of your swollen lips, just enough to leave you wanting more, blur the thoughts in your brain and put your mind at ease. isagi dangles himself and his body in front of you like a worshiper offering up a sacrificial lamb to the gods, to keep you wanting him and boosting his ego.

that way, you dance around each other, light on your toes, breathing new life and excitement into your relationship no matter who or what comes your way. it works; not that you’d expect anyone outside of the two of you to understand your functional dysfunctionality. 

palming him harder and faster, you smooth a finger over the outline of your boyfriend’s leaky tip and watch hungrily as precum seeps through material – effectively darkening it, and earning yourself petulant moans and whines from isagi. pretty sounds that just barely escape through perfect gritted teeth. its impossible not to adore the way that the star player, so strong and confident, trembles above you – going as far to pet your pretty head to ground himself ( never to push your head down, he knows you don’t like that). he grows impatient, struggling to breathe, struggling with the idea of not fucking up into your mouth just yet. you’re torturing yoichi and he loves it, following you into the dark depths of hell.

“i love you like this yoichi; only i get you like this,” you moan, evilly, lowly and tauntingly between his legs, knowingly pushing the pro player beyond his limits. “not her, only i can be the one to taste you. that’s why i’m yours and you’re mine.” between each word, you mouth hotly at his sticky, clothed cockhead – the condensed, temperate air seeping through the barriers of fabric that keep you from him.

you want him to admit it. to say that it’s true. you belong to each other.

subsequently, isagi’s head drops forward, a mop of blackened hair falling over his covetously clouded eyes – pupils blown as the sunkissed surface of his bare chest glistens with a light sheet of sweat. “f-fuck,” the soccer star curses quietly, the volume of his voice just high enough for you to hear.  “only you. you’re the only one. p-please precious. c-can i have your mouth on my cock now?”

that’s all you need to hear before you’re leaping forward like a lioness who’s finally chosen her prey. “take it off for me?” whilst you busy yourself with peeling back the final two layers of your boyfriend’s clothes, without much care for their fine craftsmanship – isagi, ever the sweetheart, does some of the work for you and fiddles with the belt cinched around his unfairly slender waist. he makes quick work of it too, hanging onto your every sugary word as the metal buckle clinks in your ears and his hips are set free from their clothed confines.

you leave intentionally placed love bites and hickies against his pelvis as his pants and boxers come down, knowing that they’ll sting with the reminder of you during his next match. then your tongue tangles in the dark curls of his happy trail, honeyed laughter echoing in your throat when isagi’s drippy girth finally comes into view. the entirety of him slaps against his shimmering, rock hard abs once enough of him is revealed to the world, spasming rhythmically as a result of the fresh, air-conditioned atmosphere.

not that you’ve had much to compare it to, but you’re sure that yoichi isagi has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. he’s thicker than he is long, yet the perfect size to keep you satisfied almost daily and plugged full of cum where it counts. contrastingly, his balls are round, plump, full of an ungodly amount of seed reserved only for you and the parts of your body he thinks it’ll look best on. viscous, opaque precum beads at the slit on his tip, ready to be sampled.

and you do just that, leaning forward without using your hands and kitten licking the saltine stream of his essence from his mushroomed cockhead that burns a painful shade of crimson red – completely flushed from your earlier ministrations. it shines sinfully as though its been glossed like your lips. not to mention, the veins that spiral decoratively all the way down isagi’s meaty shaft rival the colour of his azure eyes and pulsate with the lustful blood rush from his brain. you take care with your touch, keeping it tender as you wrap your dainty digits around him, flesh to flesh for the first time that night – circling the pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip, smearing precum through it’s sticky slit sweetly.

“y’so pretty, yoichi…” you say through a pleased shudder, misty bambi eyes flickering from his length in your hands to his handsome face – twisted in ecstatic-like agony. 

god, he smells like heaven, is all you can think as you slap your boyfriend’s thick dick against the palette of your tongue rolling over your bottom lip. a heavy musk mixed with blades of freshly cut grass fills your nose, drifts over your brain like a concentrated fog wafting through a swamp – acting like the fumes of a sleep gas that dampen your ability to control your own consciousness. you become hyperaware of everything, the carpet brushing harshly against your bare knees, the weight of him against your tongue and the same tip of your tongue that writhes against the backs of your teeth, yoichi’s shaking thighs and how he throbs in your grip.

starting nice and slow, you jerk the parts of isagi not resting on your tongue – a series of wrecked and strained sighs catching on the ridges of his throat when you adjust your hold on his dick, your slick palm pressing into prominent forked veins that wrap around his shaft. “yeah, says you,” his breathing falters barely, managing to counter your compliment,  “i’m all yours. do what you want with me…” the air in his lungs grows scarce and thin like he’s been tossed into the depths of space and lost himself to the darkness of his own debauched mind, when you shake your head from side to side – slurping down whatever paints the pink of your strawberry tongue with opaque white.

its nearly too much for isagi, the threat of bursting prematurely into your mouth, looming over him. so he does what any man should do before getting head from their precious girl. before you can move to take him into your mouth fully, just as you have done many times before, warm breath coasting along his chubby cock – the soccer star swoops down once more, capturing your awaiting mouth in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss.

yoichi sucks his own flavour from every inch of your tongue, making you mewl muffledly in surprise. you know his body all to well, you’re familiar with what makes him tick and what has him creaming in a matter of a few measly minutes – but tonight, he wants to hold off, savour the special treatment you give him, giving you the time and attention you need to ( unnecessarily ) prove your position to him. where isagi is number one in japan’s soccer league – you are number one in his heart and mind. a fact that he is proud to know.

you giggle against puffy lips that smack lewdly against yours, choosing to palm him instead of giving him head for time time being. his dick jumps to life at the gentle movement, spewing milky white against your knuckles while you form a closed fist around him. “gonna make you cum, ‘ichi. that’s what i’m gonna do with you,” you state like its obvious, or at least try to, between selfish kisses and the lubricous sounds your hand makes as it glides up and down your boyfriend’s cock – wet from where you’ve been toying with and licking at him. your movements are also aided by the globes of precum that drip down to his balls from time to time.

“god… that’s all i wanna do. fill that pretty mouth with my cum, watch you swallow it…” isagi rasps with finality before breaking the kiss and pulling back to sit at attention. he stares down at you through unfairly long and dark lashes, obsidian black engulfing the assure in eyes as you drag your smooch swollen over the cream he leaks one last time. “can i do that? please, precious?” 

the begging combined with the baritone register to isagi’s voice makes your skin crawl in the best of ways — clearing your mind so that all you think about is him. his power over you despite his dick being at the mercy of your wet lips and gentle touch is something to be studied. instead of verbally responding, you let the physicality of your actions speak for themselves — leaning forward, you take your boyfriend down your throat with practised ease, sinking down on him until his bulbous cockhead just barely grazes the back of your throat and your nose is tickled by his faint happy trail.

a symphony of soggy whimpers and lewd gargling noises tangle with the thick smog of lust in the air, isagi’s head collapsing back against the head of the chair — midnight blue locks tousled against the furniture, sitting perfectly out of place. 

your tongue molds against the curve in yoichi’s cock, flexing the pink muscle as it swirls from his chubby base up to his seedy tip. “fuuuck me, baby. always forget how fuckin’ good your mouth feels,” the sensation leaves isagi unable to open his eyes, rendered useless as you lick and suck at him to your heart’s content — he just barely manages to lift a shaky hand, lovingly rubbing over one of your cheeks as it bulges with his girth before moving to pet your head. your gaze flickers up and the all-star soccer player lets out a heaving laugh. “d-don’t worry… ‘m not gonna push you down. i’d never… never do that to you,” it’s too soon, to be this fucked up and high on ecstasy... but you’ve always had that affect on him. that ability to make isagi see stars before the night has even begun. your shiny gaze and chubby cheeks so full of him only amplify his feelings, abs clenching to stave off a premature high. “need to feel you, g-ground myself a little…shit, you’re so perfect.”

at the praise, a gentle hum from you reverberates around isagi’s cock, causing a lightening strike of dopamine to spark in the little space between his brain and his skull — dazing him. “you’re so good t’me, precious. how could i ever look at someone the way i look at you?” he drawls, wiping a trace of drool from the corner of your mouth. “my good girl, on her knees, taking me so well.”  notes of paise are lavishly layered over the whiny lilt to your boyfriend’s voice, only pushing you to work harder — basking in the rewarding feeling of knowing that you’re the only one to have him like this. 

hollowing your cheeks in the way you know he likes, you swallow him down and your throat contracts to tackle his thickness, until his sticky mushroomed tip is just barely brushing over your uvula. you were each other’s firsts, isagi’s never had his cock sucked by anyone else nor anyone as talented as you. he’s so glad to have you, someone who cares to pay attention to what he likes and gets him off the quickest. he could never replace you, not when you’re down on your knees keeping him safe in the warmth of your wet and hungry mouth. 

for a moment or two, you lazily bob your head — eyes fluttering sleepily at the heaviness of yoichi against your saliva soaked tongue. it gives you time to taste him, the saltine precum he oozes, sliding down your throat like a viscous lava flow. his flavour is just as enticing as his scent, you’ll never give that up, never let anyone else take this right away from you.

tilting your head to the side, you let isagi shallowly thrust into the soft epithelium of your cheek — a string of colourful curses spilling from his frenzied mouth into the buzzing, sex tainted air. you give and he gives back, every time you gargle on his aching, pulsating cock he treats you with his own airy, pathetic moan. a never ending sinful cycle between the two of you.

“s-shit. such a dirty little trick, precious,” a dirty laughter rings out into the night, fucked up and full of fondness. isagi throws a burly arm over his flushed face, hiding his blush and the shine on his face. “don’t you need to come up for air?” he’s done for, ruined — evident in the way fat beads of sweat begin to bedazzle yoichi’s hairline, soaking through his dark coloured hair. the collar of his white dress shirt darkens as the liquid seeps through, showcasing how much of a mess you’ve made him despite how amused he attempts to appear.

running your tongue over the veins on the underside of his cock, you smile with your dazzlingly pretty eyes and swallow him down to the base once more. “no? didn’t think so… you’re so cock hungry and desperate to prove a point you wouldn’t waste a second without mine in your mouth,” resolve weakened by your tantalising tongue and  gaze, blue lock’s all star player lets his filthy mouth run. every dirty, nasty, sick and twisted thought that comes to mind slips through your ears like treacle in the form of poorly structured sentences. acting just like he would be during a match. the sight and sound of yoichi isagi makes your cunt throb, that familiar feeling beginning to stem in the pit of your stomach. “look so happy with me in your mouth, should… let you suck me off more often,” 

you’d agree if you didn’t have your mouth full, spit and precum running down your chin — glazing your lips like an expensive gloss that can’t go to waste. what you wouldn’t give to be able to worship isagi like this more often… because giving him pleasure, is receiving it too. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t extremely turned on right now, juices basting the seat of your underwear; clit throbbing so ruthlessly that you have no choice but to grind your hips down against the floor to alleviate its ache. one word and isagi would do anything to take care of you, drag you onto his lap and pound up into you. perhaps flip you over in the chair and fuck you until you received noise complaints from the entire floor, not just his team. you’d love that, you both would… but tonight was all about him. 

all about telling him, showing him how he’s the only one that runs through your twisted mind. like a one track horse. and how you should be the only thing that runs through his mind.

even if your lungs burn with the dire need for oxygen, even if your head spins from the lack of air and even if your jaw locks from how long you’ve been deepthroating the soccer star — you won't stop. you can’t stop. not until he’s begging you for mercy and pleading with you to blow his load against your talented tongue or pretty face. everything makes it all worth it, to bring an egoist down a notch, humbling him and reminding him who it is that gives him that boost. isagi is worth it, those striking cobalt eyes fluttering and the pinkish blush blooming across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. all of it. 

especially when his expression worsens, morphs into agonised bliss. when you draw back, plush lips wrapped around his tip, tauntingly squeeze his cock between slippery fingers and dance down to give the same treatment to his weighty balls — plump and full of cum yet to be unleashed on you. dancing that fine line between pain and pleasure. 

eventually, though, the ache in your chest becomes too much to bare and you pull from isagi’s dripping dick with a lewd pop — panting for air. “you taste so good, yoichi,” you rasp, throat a little sore from blowing him off for so long. “are you gettin’ close?” the innocent cadence to your voice sorely contradicts the iniquitous way that your palm replaces your mouth — stroking yoichi at a strikingly rapid pace. the centre of your hand becomes doused with each movement, covered in a layer of opaque precum that practically pours down your wrist and over your knuckles. 

“so close, baby. you’re gettin’ me so close,” one thing that’s certain, is that isagi will miss this once it’s all over. once the dam breaks and the passionate jealousy cools, he’ll miss the view and your soft hands barely fitting around him. your cute little mouth sucking on him for all he’s worth. “my girl— knows just what to do to get me off. ‘m so lucky, so fucking lucky…” he slurs avidly, chest heaving, throat running dry. yoichi throws his head back, desperately trying to delay his inevitable high so that he can selfishly stay in the moment with you.

but the pleasure mounts like the well cemented bricks of a sturdy house deep within his gut — his insides twist deliciously, epinephrine and pure excitement shooting through his veins addictively. he knows this feeling all too well, that prickling sensation that creeps up on him during a match as well as the puzzle pieces that come into view. it’s the taste of victory, the taste of triumph and euphoria. the soccer star only ever gets this way when he’s on the pitch or when he’s at the mercy of his perfect girlfriend. 

you.

all he needs is a little push to get over the edge, you know that. you can tell by the way he twitches in your soft grip while you continue to jerk him off lovingly. the soccer star instinctively starts to buck into the small fist you make around him — syncing his movements with the flick of your wrist. almost like the perfect play. “so… let go for me, baby. please, let me have you,” you giggle temptingly, regaining your breath. you hardly waste any time, increasing your speed until isagi is reduced to nothing but a puddle between your fingers. it doesn’t make you any better, you’re pawing at his spit slicked cock like it’s your full-time job. 

midnight blue locks fly out of place whilst isagi shakes his head no, adam’s apple bobbing furiously in an attempt to force down beefy cries and greedy gripes. “n-no, not yet. can’t cum yet,” he swears he’s not ready, that he needs to last longer but instantly contradicts himself. taut hips lose control; fucking your hand as though it were your cunt. “don’t stop, precious. don’t you dare fucking stop—!” the tail end of his words die in the night air, twisting into a high pitched wail as you spit down onto the head of his girth. “o-oh god!”

the frothy mix clings to the obvious veins decorating isagi’s chubby dick, oozing down to his balls and base. sliding slowly and then, isagi’s quite literally putty in your hands. milky and heavy when you dip your head, swiping your tongue through his tip, on the verge of making out with it. lapping at whatever he gives you happily. 

encompassing isagi’s shaft in the wetness of your mouth, you work even harder to earn his high. nursing his tip, sensually massaging what doesn’t fit, moaning around him so that the vibrations shoot through him – rattle around the inside of his skull so the only thing he hears and feels is you. by god, does it work, yoichi isagi’s mind is as clear as day – devoid of any and all rational thought except for the puzzle pieces, fragments that piece you together entirely. 

like he would during a soccer match, the fight of his life, he looks for what’s missing – what makes the perfect play and allows him to survive on the field a little longer. chasing that elusive goal and flash bang of adrenaline accompanying the heartbeat in his chest. except this isn’t a match or a friendly football game, this is the dance of strong willed desire that keeps him on his toes. this is the only relationship he’ll ever want and have. you are the key to isagi’s survival, the missing part of his formula to life. 

without you, there is no yoichi isagi. you make up more than half of him. 

and so, as you consume his thoughts, fuck him good and make him see constellations made up by lust-blown stars — the dark haired soccer player realises he won’t ever let you doubt how precious you are to him and he won’t ever let you think that a random girl could ever take your place… because there’s no one else for him in this world aside from you. to him, you’re nothing short of perfection — having your puffy lips wrapped around his sloppy, spit slicked shaft is just an added bonus. 

“gonna make me… lose it, precious,” he gasps between high-pitched moans, sweat dripping down his throat — a single bead running over his adam’s apple like a raindrop on a pane of glass. a theil courses through his system, jolting isagi in place as pick up speed around him — jerking your head up and down, faster and faster. you add your delicate touch back into play, the combination of your flexible and drooling tongue with the way intermittently squeeze his length teases all of your boyfriend’s senses. he can taste how close his orgasm is, feel that pressure build and tingle in all four of his limbs, see the way your cheeks and chin glisten with spit and precum. he’s right on the edge, and if he closes his eyes even for a second — he might miss how quick it all comes crashing down. “ohmygod… i’m close. r-right there… sweet jesus. baby…!”

you know the signs all too well, the tautness to his abs and stomach, fidgeting thighs and the practically sobbed out, laboured breaths that make isagi sound like he’s drowning — locking eyes with you, angsty swirls of ocean blue boring into your soul, he knows that you know he’s about to burst. because your innocent eyes flicker with mirth and well you pull off his bright red cock to speak, never letting up on the relentless flick of his wrist — your pouty lips quirk upwards into a cruel, calculated smirk. “cum in my mouth,” you demand, no room for questioning. “give it to me ‘ichi. make a mess. give me your cum.” he’s rendered incoherent from the pressure, any retort he had planned dissolved into a haze of need while yoichi frantical nods his head in agreement though he knows he wants to cum elsewhere.

in a battle of heart vs mind (or dick versus mind), what be wants you up there with him, kiss him, coaxing him through it — instead he revels in the feeling of his sensitive tip slapping his dick on the flat surface of your tongue. you’re almost ashamed of how wet the connection sounds as the pink muscle writes in place, aching to swallow down all of his cum, pleasuring isagi with all that you can. his face scrunches again, a haughty moan ripping through the tense atmosphere when you experiment with your grip, alternating between gentler touches and a firm hold on the meat of him. his eyes screw shut while he fights little whimpers and moans. isagi always sounds so sexy when he's about to cum — you can hardly get enough. 

a surge of power courses through you as you tear the great egoist to pieces between your teeth and hands working him to the high heavens. your strokes become more insistent, matching the fastness to his uneven breathing. yoichi’s cock throbs rhythmically, forked veins pulsing as happy hormones dart from his brain, down his spine and to his balls aching for release. he’s almost there, walking the tightrope, dancing on a fine line — isagi’s body tightness, muscles stiffening and that’s when his eyes suddenly snap open wildly.  

that’s the final straw for yoichi. the nasty squelch that echoes from your slobbery mouth when his hips instinctively jump up to feed you his cock — “no… no i—” the soccer star stammers, pupils blown until they eclipse the midnight sky trapped in his eyes. his voice is strained, husky, as the world around him threatens to fall away. “fuuuck, that’s it…‘m cummin’… shit. didn’t wanna—” he punctuates his words with sharp, accidental thrusts and the first spurts of viscous and hot seed hit the back of your throat — nearly taking you by surprise. 

you can’t even bring yourself to stop, worshiping isagi’s dick like it’s god’s gift to mankind — peering up at him with blissful hearts dazzling in your eyes because you need him to need you, to love you enough that he’ll keep filling your mouth with his cum. he’s salty, creamy, everything you could ever want and it feels so good to make him tremble and shake above you. you press a hand against his tummy, feeling it tighten under your palm. your mouth is too wet, too hot, too perfect and far too much for him to handle and he crumbles like a tonne of bricks back down to earth. 

just like that, the striker’s orgasm continues to rip through him, painting your mouth a shade of white as his release copiously spurts from his ravaged cockhead. “you gotta… you gotta stop, precious,” isagi heaves your name gently, because he’s still going and he’s far from done. at first, you feel scorned, cheeks and chest burning with embarrassment — did you go too far? is this too much? does he not… want you anymore? but your boyfriend is quick to reassure you, trembling hands lifting from the arms of the chair to cup your shiny, arousal soaked face tenderly. his own painted with a pained and pleading expression. “please come up here baby, need you. still cumming, got me so fucked up.”

letting go of his milky tip, you both greet each other with coy smiles. yoichi holds your face and you keep hold of his hard cock as you carefully crawl into his lap. he instantly guides you into a sloppy open mouthed kiss, simpering against your cum-soaked tongue in release as he sucks his own release off of it. the taste of himself is enough to keep isagi turned on, ploughing roughly into the ‘o’ shape your soft fist forms around him — using your hand like his own personal fleshlight. 

memorised by him, your lips chase after his, your eyes while you pump him through the rest of his plentiful orgasm — little mewls of his name escaping into each warm breath you take between languid lip locks. they’re lazy and dazed, entirely  uncoordinated yet so completely addictive. all you want to do is taste him and all he wants to do is swallow you whole until you’re apart of him — swapping spit, swapping the thickness of his cum that still remains on your tongue.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… can’t get enough of you. treat me so fuckin’ good…” yoichi trips and stumbles over his words, losing control of his taught hips that wildly grind and thrust into your sloppy palm. thick white oozes over the edge of your knuckles, an endless trail of it seemingly starting at the slit on his bright red tip. everything is a mess —  his body is drenched in sweat, his pants and your bare thighs soaked and stained with cum whilst his eyes borderline shine with tears. and despite it all, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

yoichi isagi is beautiful and he’s all yours.

squeezing the base of your boyfriend’s shaft as if to milk the very last drop of his orgasm out of him, you nudge your nose along the side of his own and press encouraging kisses over his cupid’s bow and swollen lips. you’ve broken him in, made sure he’ll never so much as look at or have the desire to fuck someone else ever. “mmph… yoichi. keep on cummin’ for me, whatever you have to give. i want it,” the size of him doubles as a second load builds up in his balls, dwarfing your hand that works him up in slow, silky strokes. 

“i love you. fuck, i love you — god!” isagi becomes ravenous for his release and with one final guttural groan he paints your hand and your supple thighs with another round of heavy, white hot cum. his entire body shudders with the force of it, white nose crackling in his ears like static from an old fashioned TV. he feels like he might die, like he can’t breathe because of how much he’s cum by now… but you’re right there with him, foreheads pressed against each other and your lips a breath’s width away from swallowing down exhausted-sounding curse words. 

his head falls to the crook of your neck, ragged breath fanning over your damp skin as yoichi mumbles the syllables of your name like a well rehearsed mantra — spilling seed over your intertwined bodies, tucked into his cramped chair. 

the temperature of the room begins to cool, silence now replacing the buzzing particles of lust that once filled the air. the egoist is still holding you tight, hiccuping incoherent thoughts and broken phrases against your flesh whilst he calms down. eventually, you break the quiet by smooching him softly on the side of his head, the two of you sharing a hushed giggle. “you okay?” you ask attentively, stroking back the mussed sweaty locks of his dark hair.

“mhm…more than; think i got a little carried away,” comes yoichi’s lazy reply before he cautiously leans back, flinching only when you release his sensitive sodden cock from your hold. glistening azure eyes sweep over your face and crinkle at the corner with a bashful smile. your egoist has faded away and your sweetheart boyfriend reappears for the final act. “sorry for pulling you off earlier i just, really really, wanted to kiss you.” 

shaking your head reassuringly, you lift your soiled hand to suck his cream from your fingers — laughing when isagi leans up to lick the reminders of his release from the corner of your mouth dirtily. “i liked it, i think it’s hot how you always wanna taste yourself.” 

“what can i say? it tastes even better when it’s coming from you…” he groans lowly at the sight of you cleaning your hand up, fighting the urge to pull you in for another round. “how’s your jaw, and your knees?” 

“all good,” your cleaner hand scales the length of isagi’s tired body, tracing over patterns of berry purples and midnight blues that have taken the shape of love bites across every inch of his golden skin. evidence of your promise to each other. “hope these aren’t too sore tomorrow…” you add quietly, grinning at your work.

pride washes over him as you draw invisible lines between each bruise, connecting them like constellations. “i like my pleasure with a bit of pain. so, i think they’re perfect,” yoichi states before he takes your wrist in his large hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your pulse point. another silent promise, once that commits his heart to yours for as kind as you’ll have him. “you know how i feel about belonging to you. i am yours as much as you are mine — even if we get a little crazy about it,” there’s hidden meaning in his words, a reference to hana and the jealously that sparked tonight’s raunchy rendezvous. “i love when you show me off, i love when you get like this. i love you all the time. i love you and no one else.” 

even though he’d just spent the better half of an hour moaning, crying and groaning your name — isagi takes the time to address the worries that had led to the events of the evening. he loves you, and will only ever love you. no doe eyed, brand new and sparkly co-worker can change that. you’ve been by his side since the very beginning, he’d be a fool to give up someone as perfect for him as you.

in other words, hana has nothing on you. 

“i love you too,” the butterflies return to your tummy as a bashful heat tingles just beneath the surface of your skin — you distract yourself by closing your eyes and snuggling against yoichi, hiding your face in his bitten and bruised chest. “think she’ll get the memo, though?” you ask, biting back another round of sleepy laughter.

“oh, i think she absolutely will.” isagi chuckles as his own eyes drift shut, resting his chin atop your head affectionately. 

damn right she will. 

BONUS:

you can’t get down to the pitch fast enough, and of course, hana beats you to it. 

in the second half of what’s supposed to be a friendly warm-up match before the next game, isagi is practically bulldozed over by a member of the opposing team. tensions are high, a perfectly calculated goal swiped from right between his feet fades into nothingness and your precious boyfriend is writhing in pain between freshly trimmed blades of grass and asphalt. as if acting on pure instinct, your legs move before your mind does and you’re darting from your seat in the stalls with other blue lock girlfriends and family members to be by the egoist’s side without even realising.

the tip of your toe just barely makes it onto the grass by the time hana is cosying up to yoichi, his head in her lap, beautiful face contorted with discomfort while she innocently inspects his body for any signs of injury. of course she gets to him first. this is practically the better half of her job but even after your night with isagi, that doesn’t mean you’ve learned to trust her too.

and so, you end up trotting behind the pair and the medical team as they manoeuvre your boyfriend off the pitch. you visibly cringe when hana insists that she ‘handle him from here’ as they go. some of the boys laugh at that, you think. 

“that was quite the fall you took there, yoichi, do you… mind if i take a look?” she asks him in a sickly sweet tone, the kind that gives you a toothache or makes your stomach twist like you’ve had too much sugar. she’s dying to give him a pat down, you think, entirely too close to him now that they’re settled in the medical bay. “it’ll only take a second.”

yoichi shrugs, twitching to get back out there and into the game. back out there to show off for you, make you proud. “sure.”

a little frown tugs on hana’s lips whilst she stands before him, he’s colder than usual but continues her work — tipping and tapping at the parts of the star player she thinks are injured. “any pain in your ankle?” 

“nope.” 

“knee?”

“nah.” 

“shoulder?”

“feels good…” the blue eyed striker interjects, patience wearing slightly thin. “are we almost done here?” 

isagi rolls his shoulder experimentally to double check his own pain levels but just as he lifts his arm, hana presses down on his ribcage — nodding to herself once the pro player hisses uncomfortably. “ribs,” her hand slips dangerously low. “hips too. take off your shirt, we might need to put some muscle gel on there if we want to get you back out there!” 

it could all be in his head, the slight bite of excitement nestled deep within her high pitched, candied voice. she’s just doing her job. she’s just being nice… but after all that you and isagi discussed ( or at least attempted to, with his dick in your mouth for most of the evening ), he can’t help but let his suspicions grow. even still; yoichi does as he’s told, slowly rolling up two layers of polyester and spandex ( from his football jersey and compression shirt )  to reveal his perfectly carved, marbled body to underlyingly hungry eyes. 

a gasp rips through the quietness of the medical bay, not the reaction both isagi nor hana were looking for. where blue lock’s number one was expecting actual medical advice, she was expecting injured but otherwise golden delicious skin, her greedy gaze meet’s yoichi’s bruised and bitten flesh, a trail of slightly swollen love bites extend from his neck and collar bones, over his chest and between plush pecs, all the way down to his pelvis and probably beyond…

hana’s cheeks immediately flush, her gaze averting isagi’s bright ocean eyes and hands immediately pulling away from his body. “o-oh my god… i-isagi where did you get all of those bruises?” she feigns surprise. they both know she’s not stupid. anyone with an active sex life and enough common sense can tell that yoichi isagi is covered in hickies.

what she means to ask is… who did this to you? 

a personal question with an answer she doesn’t really want to know — one that’ll shatter her heart and whatever fantasy she had of herself and pro player in her head. a stupid crush squashed before her very own eyes. 

an awkward silence fills the room, only broken by the light humming of the artificial white lights hanging up above. yoichi grins sheepishly, at least that’s what it seems like to hana, rubbing the back of his neck as if to soothe an embarrassed heat that blossoms there. “oh well… my girlfriend gave them to me...” he laughs lightly, crinkles forming happily at the corners of mirthy blue eyes. what she doesn’t know is how intentional isagi can be. how he likes to see an opponent squirm like an insect under a microscope during a challenge. you see, he’s realised it now, put the pieces together. if it hadn’t been for you staking your claim on him, hana probably would have made a move. too bad he’s only got tunnel vision for you. “we must have gotten carried away, she loves to see me play, yanno?” he adds with another bout of sweet laughter. “she was in the stands earlier, wearing my number. she’s the cutest thing.” 

recognition sparks across hana’s face. the last piece of the puzzle falling into place a little too late. she knows who you are, of course. you’ve always been around. always clinging onto isagi. she just never… her entire body writhes in place, tense and humiliated — doing her best to chuckle along with the soccer star seated before her. 

yoichi knows that he’s being a little mean, doing all this. putting on a show. subtly declaring his love for you. but he’s setting a boundary that should have been put in place a long time ago and by the way you look at him as you slip silently into the room — eyes so full of love and appreciation, he can tell he’s doing a good job. he’s reaffirmed his love for you in the most meaningful way and that’s all that matters to him.

he doesn’t care for hana, not in the way he does for you and he probably never will. that should have been made clear from the very start.

“i’m sure… i’m sure the two of you make a great couple a-and i bet you look great together!” hana stutters, finally looking isagi in the eye as she sweeps her jealously under the rug. “she’s lucky to have found you…” she mutters the last part under her breath, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

but isagi isn’t looking at her and he does notice, instead choosing to stay focused on the point over her shoulder where you stand — ocean eyes and stormy gaze lasered in on you and only you. he notes the relief that washes over your worried body language once you know that he’s truly okay. not to mention the subtle quirk in your lips as you give him an angelic smile. he can’t help but mirror it, truly enamoured by you, amused at himself and how he gets tunnel vision just by looking at you. 

“i know we do and i’m the lucky one, she loves unconditionally,” isagi states like his word is fact, because to him, it is. you’re the only thing that matters in this world, his biggest blessing to date.  “i will only ever have eyes for her.”

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

he huffs out when you sob into his lips, a gravelly noise torn from the bottom of his chest as he continues grinding into you with a brutal force that left you gasping, half-sobbing against his strong chest, "i'll ruin every inch," and you can't tell if he's actually shaking from restraint or insane hunger for you.

every greedy shove of hips against your cunt carved a deeper wound inside you, raw, passionate and the friction unbearable, your thighs slick and weak from the hefty fullness he's forced upon your hole, your hands sliding uselessly against his arms— clinging one moment and slipping the next, your body too wrung out to do anything but take him.

slick and semen spill out around where he bullies himself deeper, a vulgar, sticky testament to how little control he has left— how little you have left, all you can do is tremble and arch into him, as well as clutch at him with your numb fingers grazing at his biceps while he groans into your throat like he'll die if he doesn't break you open a little more.

his hands were splayed at your hips like he's holding together something broken, but it's not you— it's him, something's fracturing, something sharp and cavernous and when blade finally presses in once more, pistoling his cock through everything you've given him, the filthy mixture of your arousal and his cum covering the insides of your thighs as blade groans— a raw, strangled thing that sounded like a force of life had crushed through him.

well, there you see it, he was showing it, already wanting to be ready for another round, correct?

because blade's not done, oh no don't be silly now— he'll never be done, his cock was already glazed in the evidence of your last few rounds and still he shoves it back in like he's punishing you for how wet and how soft and how tight you were for him.

"you'll keep squeezing me like that, i'll fill you again, i swear—" his voice catches, one uncoordinated thrust of through your hole and he moans, hips twitching with mild overstimulation, "fuck, i'll keep doing it until you can't walk" as the tremble in his hands betrayed how close he truly was, how the tight, wet clench of your walls sucking him in was unraveling him thread by desperate thread. 

⚝ — WELT

"this is all i was asking for," welt purrs at you, his voice resembling poisoned silk as he dragged two fingers through your soaked mess, his lips curled up in a smirk, "you're leaking already for me, how shameful."

the man doesn't hide how hard he got seeing the way your body reacted to his faint touches— how he readjusted his boxers when your slick gathered so easily on his fingers, the way it glistened when he held it to the light like a chemist examining his prized specimen.

welt tastes it instantly, although slow, his tongue curling around the evidence as he groans at your taste infiltrating his taste buds, "i'll fuck you until you cry for mercy and beg me not to stop, i want to see it all— your spit, your cum, me, dripping from every hole, every inch of you marked," there, listen close, welt was laughing again.

not mockery, but devotion— fanged and fevered, unwell and you're beneath him and he's already soaked you again, cock smacking against your folds with disgustingly wet slaps of slick and spit glazing your thighs as welt just hums like a man given purpose.

"you think i'm stopping?" he whispers against your temple, tongue dragging hot over the shell of your ear, "after I just made you cum on my cock like that?" as you're still twitching from the aftermath, overstimmed to the brim, your cunt a mess and full, fuck, and he just shifts back slightly to admire the sight, what a man gone mad.

welt couldn't stop looking at how your hole pulses and spasms like it's begging for more, reaching for him, greedy and flushed and leaking cum, "look at that, so empty, so needy," he smears his fingers through the mess he's left inside you, presses the slick digits to your lips, "taste that, that's mine," and when he fucks back in, he abruptly spits on your tongue.

"don't swallow it yet, let it stay there. let me see it— dripping down your chin like the perfect little thing you are."

⚝ — ANAXA

anaxa doesn't wait, in fact, ugh, come on now, lets remain honest here— did he ever strike you as somebody who'd kindly wait for you to settle onto the bed when you don't even need to blink before he's shoving you onto the bed like gravity has betrayed you all by himself?

like he owns the air in your lungs and intends to squeeze every last moan out with his hands, his hips, his cock.

"witness yourself," anaxa breathes out, a low, menacing murmur, gloved fingers prying you apart with slow, clinical cruelty, like he's cataloging something rare and precious in his mind, only to later defile it with his slender hands, "already soaked for me? already out of breath too? and i've barely even laid claim on you, ah, how do you expect to survive me, little one?"

he leans in to be face level with your glistening pussy, his breath fanning against your folds as he spits, repeatedly— once slow, twice again— right over your swollen folds. it trickles down in a glistening line and he watches with a hollow, consuming hunger, like a scholar before a ritual.

"even better now," his voice cuts low, scraping through the thick air as you whine out his name, your nipples hard and erected from how anaxa has been handling you, "so prettily aching for me, huh? you want to be ruined, don't you? stretched wide, stuffed full, yeah, so full it spills out of you, again and again and you'll still beg for more."

"I just know you will," as he pushes himself in with a groan, the large and shuddering stretch on your pussy stinging instantly before you felt a familiar heat greet your walls— the split alone folds you in half, has your toes curling and your nails scrambling for anything to hold onto as anaxa carefully pinned down your wrists, dragging your hands up above your head, beginning to fuck you.

"you're mine now," he breathes, lips brushing your ear, "every drop you spill— mine, every tear you cry from getting fucked so hard you forget your name— it belongs to me."

he thrusts harder, chasing the sound of your body squelching beneath him as you clench tight and cry out, making him lose his fucking mind. one hand leaves your wrists to force your jaw open, his spit falling directly onto your tongue before he leans in to kiss it deeper into your throat.

"i'll ruin you so many times, you won't know which mess came first, mine or yours," and when he does, inch by inch, a high pitched moan shatters over your cries as you wince out his name when his cock massaged over your walls repeatedly well, his skilled fingers rubbing your tits ever so tenderly.

if only he wasn't so damn messy— your thighs slick with everything he's spilled inside you, rubbing the head of his cock through the cum-slick mess between your legs just to spread it over yourself more, fuck, anaxa really cannot stop.

⚝ — PHAINON

an impassioned and heavy stillness seemed to press down the air on itself, and in that darkened room you've found yourself splayed out right underneath phainon's towering frame, trembling under the cool, hefty weight of him.

"sweetheart, you're clenching," he says, quite fascinated, as he pushes into you with a low, shaky moan, "gripping me so tight— do you want to milk every drop out of me?"

he's obsessed with it, the mess, the physical evidence of what you're doing to him as he leans down, biting your shoulder, thrusting deeper just to hear the wet, obscene squelches of his warm cum inside you, "again," he whispers, voice cracking, "i need to see more, more of it leaking out, down your thighs, on my cock, fuck, fuck, on your stomach too, fuck— i need to paint you with it."

you're both drenched, tangled in sweat and spit and endless release, his hands greedily spreading your folds to admire the way you glisten with all he's spilled inside you, "you'll remember me by the way you drip," he breathes, "every time you move, it'll remind you who ruined you."

phainon has already fucked you twice and still looks like he's starving.

his hair was stuck to his forehead as sweat dripped down his chest, yet his hands haven't stopped shaking since the moment you moaned out his name and pulled him in the first time.

you're dazed, truly, raw and full of warm cum and yet he's still staring between your legs like you're an unanswered prayer, "can't help it," he murmurs, almost apologetic— almost, "when i see it like that."

his voice trails off as he drags his fingers through your wrecked cunt with cum dripping out of you instantly, coating his fingers in strings that glisten under the low light, "fuck— fuck," phainon moans before immediately shoving his fingers into your mouth, "taste it, baby come on, tell me it's not perfect."

you filthily whimper around his fingers, suckling on them and rolling your tongue over his knuckles as his cock twitches, "no, no— don't close your legs now," as he pulls them open again, wider this time and groans at the sight of his cum leaking out in slow, wet rivulets, "keep them open, yeah? i want to see it, all of it, i need to see how many times i can fill you before your body can't hold it anymore."

phainon leans in, whispers hot against your throat as he presses his cum-stricken fingers against your tongue, "you'll let me try, won't you?"