— summary; drunk! you tries (and fails) to hit on a handsome guy at a fancy party.
— notes; reblogs are appreciated and pls donate to my Ko-Fi if you like my stuff!
You’ve been to so many of these galas, and each time, they never cease to amaze you with how boring they are.
Rich people.
Rich people pretending not to compare net worths.
Rich people talking about football while clearly never having touched a ball.
Rich people asking your parents questions.
Rich people asking you questions.
“Oh, how you’ve grown!”
“So, what university are you planning to attend?”
“A pretty thing such as yourself must surely have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”
Your parents are thriving.
They're famous football consultants, the kind that clubs and managers pay through their noses to engage.
It’s like they’ve come home.
On the other hand, you are this close to throwing yourself into one of the fancy crystal centrepieces.
But because you are good and decent, you do not.
You do, however, find the champagne.
In your defence, you hadn’t meant to get drunk.
You only took a glass because you were bored.
Then another, because someone hands you one.
Then another, because apparently, the very nice waiters like to refill your drink every five seconds.
By glass three, you’re tolerating the event.
By glass four, everyone is suddenly hilarious.
By glass five, you’re pretty sure that you’re having the time of your life in this ballroom.
You’re halfway through glass six — or was it glass seven? — when you look up and see —
Him.
Tall.
Burgundy hair.
Long eyelashes.
Dark eyes.
Expensive suit.
The sort of face Renaissance painters would start brawling over.
Standing alone while reading.
Because apparently, even at parties, Vivian Hugo is doing Just Vivian Hugo things.
Reading.
What kind of psychopath reads at a party?
And not even a book with words.
It’s completely blank.
You immediately become fascinated.
You don't even know his name.
You only know that he's ridiculously attractive.
And French.
And French.
(This bears repeating.)
Which somehow makes him even more attractive to your alcohol-soaked brain.
A terrible development.
For Hugo, that is.
He isn’t particularly interested in events like these.
Too much pointless conversation.
Too many people pretending that status is more important than results.
But, unfortunately for him, France’s football federation expects their rising young talents to make public appearances before the U-20 World Cup.
He's standing in a quiet hallway, reading his blank book.
There are approximately eighty-seven attendees.
Investors.
Scouts.
Former players.
Opportunists.
Journalists.
Eighty-eight attendees when he sees you — marching towards him with all the determination of a heat-seeking missile.
Not gracefully.
Slightly unsteady.
Wobbling, really.
Eyes locked directly onto him.
Stopping directly in front of him.
Stare.
He stares back.
Silence.
More silence.
More staring.
For a very long time.
Then . . .
“You're really hot.”
Hugo blinks.
Once.
“Thank you.”
“No, like, really hot.”
“Understood.”
“Unfairly hot . . . Like — Like an angel on the walls of Versailles.”
(You literally stole this from an Olivia Rodrigo song.)
(It is not an original thought.)
(But drunk you thinks that you are a poet.)
(The second coming of William Shakespeare.)
“. . . Thank you.”
“Hic — Do you know . . . You are the prettiest?”
“Yes. Statistically, I have received numerous positive comments regarding my appearance before.”
“You’re so hot when you talk all smart like that . . .”
“. . . Thank you?”
". . . Use more big words on me. It turns me on."
". . ."
Hugo isn’t even flustered.
Not even after you’ve called him hot about ten times in the past minute.
He's just analyzing the situation.
Like you’re a particularly interesting opponent in a particularly tricky football match.
Drunk female.
No apparent malicious intent.
Currently attempting courtship.
Methodology ineffective.
Fascinating.
“I like your eyelashes.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your hair.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your face.”
“. . . Thank you."
“I think we should make out.”
“Why?”
“Because you're — hic! — hot.”
“Those two concepts do not appear to be directly related —”
"Shhhh, angel boy. Less talky, more smoochy.”
Hugo has spent his life around football prodigies, world-class athletes, and tactical geniuses.
Nothing could have prepared him for someone with all the confidence and bad decision-making of a drunk raccoon.
What is the protocol for this?
Answer: None.
There is none.
Apparently taking his silence as consent, you grab his tie.
And try to kiss him.
Hugo tries to lean backwards.
You try to go in again.
Again, he quickly steps back.
Unfortunately, you are drunk and determined, and your last brain cell has deserted you about five glasses of champagne ago.
Hugo is now proving to everyone in the room just why he’s considered part of the New Generation Eleven when he starts performing defensive footwork and evasive manoeuvres in dress shoes.
(He is extremely lucky Charles is not here. Charles would have been rolling on the floor laughing, seeing this.)
Finally, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to stop your advances.
“I believe you've had too much champagne."
“. . . Eh.”
“. . . Therefore, this is unsuitable.”
“You know what else is unsuitable? How horny I —”
Thankfully, your parents discover you hanging off Hugo’s arm before a) the paparazzi can see this and have a field day or b) the French PR team sees this and decides to file a harassment lawsuit.
Whichever one comes first.
The next morning, sober, you will wake up, remember exactly what happened last night, and scream into the nearest pillow for 20 consecutive minutes.
Until your brain cell returns to comfort you with exactly one (1) beautiful thought.
You don’t know his name.
He doesn't know yours.
You’ll never see him again.
Problem solved.
Except no.
Not really.
Because two weeks later, your parents have negotiated yet another contract deal.
This time with France, for the duration of the U20 world cup.
You're dragged along.
And when you step into the conference room —
You see him.
The exact same burgundy hair.
The exact same eyelashes.
The exact same blank expression.
And that’s when your soul leaves your body.
Because Hugo recognizes you immediately.
Immediately.
With no hesitation.
And kills you on the spot where you stand when he opens his mouth and says, “Statistically speaking, meeting again was unlikely.”
“Please stop talking.”
“Interesting.”
“Stop.”
And that's the exact moment you realize you're going to be working with him.
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Summary: Your boyfriend has been very pensive lately. And you know very, very well what's on his mind. "Stop thinking about her when I'm here."
Tag/Warning: Fluff, Hugo is a member of the national team, 2026 WC, established relationship, domestic fluff, lighthearted.
a/n: In French, every concept, every object or living creature has their own gender.
⋆｡𖦹°⚽︎⋆｡𖦹°
"Are you thinking about her?"
Sitting on a lounge chair, a book resting on your lap, you watched him, waiting for his answer.
Propped up on the edge of the pool, his body still dripping with water and the sun glinting off his reddish hair, he was slowly catching his breath.
Long ago, you’d stopped counting his laps in the pool; the thread lost after the twentieth.
You could hardly keep up with him; he who seemed hungry for something very, very big.
Something that drove him, that obsessed him to the point that he forgot to stop and take breaks. If he could have, he would have forgotten to breathe.
With his head buried in his hands, you could tell he was suffering, that his throat must be burning. That his mind must be flooded with thoughts of her more than this pool had seen water droplets.
Yet his body radiated this unknown force. A sort of bottomless aura—the aura of someone who was blazing a trail straight to victory.
In less than three days, the great French soccer nation—Les Bleus—would face Paraguay. He had to be ready.
His endurance, his physical condition, his mental strength—everything had to be polished. Even if they were already shining all year round.
As for "The Great French Soccer Nation" it was the only official name you were allowed to use in front of him. Only that one.
Finally, he lifted his head, one eye squinted because of the sun—or the chlorine. He was cute, especially when he came out of the pool and his eyes were red, like a child who had spent the whole day watching fish underwater.
But that wasn't the case now. Far from those beach dates spent building sandcastles and those romantic days away from the cameras.
Letting out one last sigh, his lungs exhaled for the very last time. A sort of transition to what lay ahead, which didn’t look any easier.
Silently, he nodded, answering a question whose answer you already knew.
"Yeah," he finally whispered, brushing a strand of hair back. "I’m only thinking about her."
It didn’t break your heart to imagine his hands around her. Your mind lost on that vision of him kissing her.
It certainly tugged at your heartstrings, but you thought about all the good she could bring.
"You could at least pretend when I'm around," Your eyes looked up to the heavens, your mouth twisting into a pout that reflected all your exaggerated playfulness.
A feigned reaction that earned you a smile. A sweet, discreet chuckle reaching your ears.
Heaven lying at your feet, in other words.
"She's no more important than you."
"So who's on your mind when you gaze at the horizon by my side? When you compliment me? When you eat with me? When you tell me you love me?"
“Her. Her. Her,” he remained silent for a few seconds as he emerged from the pool. “And her.”
"See? It's not a fair competition."
He left a trail of water behind him, the sun blazing so fiercely that it vanished just as quickly as your over-the-top jealousy once he stood before you.
He made you tilt your head, removing your sunglasses to better analyse that figure of his.
For a few seconds, your eyes dazzled by the sight of the other, silence reigned. Master of the moment, the invisible director of your interaction—of your very universe—in that silence, you saw it.
For barely a second, he ceased to think of her.
And yet, by taking your hand, she came back to him. By squeezing it with all his strength—which seemed ridiculously diminished—she shone brighter than a thousand stars behind his dark pupils.
Almost as if you were the embodiment of that dream within reach.
As if he were holding that immense dream in the palm of his hand.
"But what do you want from me?"
"That you forget about her. Just for an afternoon," your grip tightened around his wet hand, your eyes never leaving his. "Just so you'll stop racking your brain over that far-fetched scenario."
"And how do you want me to do that?"
"By realizing that she loves you just as much as you love her and that she'll come to you."
Caught off guard, a burst of laughter erupted. Louder than usual, as if an angel were making its presence known, that burst of laughter affected you profoundly.
And yet you felt as if you knew that laugh by heart. Almost as if his smiles and gentle glances were scattered pieces of it—lost far from the flock.
"Do you believe in the theory of destiny now, too?"
"It's not your destiny. It's her destiny to find you."
"She" was not just another woman. Nor was she a rival you had to fight to win his heart.
"She" was everyone’s dream. The one everyone longed to lift high into the air, with an entire nation cheering, embracing one another, and weeping.
"She" had come to France twice. And he wanted her to come four more times.
"She" was wrapped in gold, small but symbolic.
She was the World Cup.
His World Cup.
Today, and forever, and for all eternity, all he desired was for France to be crowned world champion.
the clip starts with japan winning. everyone's screaming, confetti cannons are going off, commentators are losing their minds, and somehow the most viral moment of the night isn't the winning goal.
no. it's isagi grabbing your hands and pulling you onto the grass.
"yoichi, there are cameras."
"i know."
"yoichi."
"just one dance!”
and then he's spinning you around like you're in some cheesy romance movie instead of the middle of a packed stadium.
the dance itself isn't even good. that's what makes it worse.
he almost trips over his own cleats. you nearly step on his foot. neither of you know what you're doing.
but he's genuinely laughing. grabbing your hands, mirroring your moves, just being an absolute goofball.
and the internet collectively explodes because when was the last time anyone saw isagi yoichi looking that carefree?
the edits are everywhere.
"he won the match, but look at the way he looks at HER."
"bro dances like a divorced father, but this is cute."
"if they break up i'm suing."
people start calling it "the victory dance."
every time isagi wins after that, cameras immediately pan toward you because they're waiting to see if he'll do it again.
and guess what? he does. every single time.
itoshi rin
rin has never willingly participated in fan service a day in his life. which is exactly why the photo becomes a historical event.
you post a mirror selfie. both of you are flipping off the camera. rin's standing beside you looking unusually relaxed.
and then people notice your nails.
your right middle finger has a tiny painted 1. your left middle finger has a tiny painted 0.
10. his jersey number.
the internet loses consciousness.
because hold on. you spent actual money (rin’s money) getting a customized manicure dedicated to this emotionally constipated man?
and somehow the bigger shock is rin. he's smiling. SMILING.
the comments immediately become:
"HE LOOKS SO PROUD."
"THAT'S THE HAPPIEST I'VE EVER SEEN HIM."
"she painted his jersey number on her nails and bro folded instantly."
there are entire threads analyzing the picture, zooming into rin's face, circling the smile, writing essays in the comments.
apparently, getting his jersey number painted on your nails is the equivalent of proposing marriage to itoshi rin.
they’re right tho. expect that ring sooner than you think, baby girl.
itoshi sae
sae accidentally creates 6 months worth of shipping content with one interview.
a reporter asks him why he chose his current jersey number. it’s a simple question that expects an easy answer.
except sae says: "it's my favorite date."
the interviewer laughs. "what happened on that date?"
and sae, completely unaware of the nuclear bomb he's about to drop, responds: "my girlfriend was born."
oh wow.
then chaos.
because excuse me? YOUR BIRTHDAY? HE PICKED HIS JERSEY NUMBER BASED ON YOUR BIRTHDAY?
the clip gets 50 million views it’s INSANE.
everyone starts posting:
"he carries her birthday on his back every game."
"that's the most romantic thing i've ever heard."
"sae itoshi when emotional vulnerability enters the room omg."
the funniest part is that sae genuinely doesn't understand why everyone's freaking out. he thought it was normal.
why wouldn't he choose something important to him?
all the while the internet is planning your wedding.
nagi seishiro
at first, nobody notices. then somebody makes a compilation. suddenly, it's over for both of you.
every paparazzi picture. every stadium photo. every post-match photo. every candid. nagi is looking at you. every single one.
you're talking to someone else? he's looking at you.
you're taking photos with fans? he's looking at you.
you're staring at the field? he's staring at you staring at the field.
people start making side-by-side collages. hundreds of photos. same result.
nagi's eyes are always on you.
there's one particularly devastating picture where you're watching fireworks after a championship win. everyone else is looking at the sky. nagi is looking at you.
the photo goes triple platinum.
comments read:
"bro found a prettier view."
"he's literally doing the boyfriend stare."
"nagi looks at her like she's the loading screen before his favorite game."
even sports photographers start joking about it.
they keep trying to get action shots of nagi and somehow end up capturing him staring at you instead.
mikage reo
reo accidentally exposes himself during an interview. and it's entirely his own fault.
the interviewer asks about motivation. mindset. success. all that serious athlete stuff.
reo answers confidently. then he casually says: "well, i always think that success is nice, but it's meaningless if you don't have someone to share it with."
the interviewer pauses. fans pause. because that sentence sounds familiar. very familiar.
someone immediately digs up an old interview you did months ago. and there it is. word for word. exactly the same.
"success is nice, but it's meaningless if you don't have someone to share it with."
same wording. same phrasing. same everything.
reo literally quoted you like a man who had memorized the line.
the internet catches it within minutes. and they're merciless.
"HE STOLE HER HOMEWORK."
"BRO CITED HIS SOURCE INCORRECTLY."
"reo mikage accidentally reveals he hangs onto every word she says."
"that's not your opinion king, that's HER opinion."
reo tries denying it, tries claiming it's a coincidence.
nobody believes him.
especially when another compilation drops showing him accidentally repeating things you've said on 3 separate occasions.
at that point, the internet's conclusion is unanimous: reo mikage is down horrendous and apparently has your dialogue saved in his brain's permanent storage.
bachira meguru
bachira accidentally creates one of the internet's favorite relationship moments because of a post-match interview.
he's sweaty, exhausted, still running on adrenaline from the game. the reporter is asking random questions to fill airtime. favorite goal? favorite stadium? favorite celebration? normal stuff.
then they ask: "what's your favorite sound?" expecting to hear something like “the cheers from the crowd,” etc.
bachira doesn't even hesitate. "her laugh."
the reporter blinks. "sorry?"
"my girlfriend's laugh."
the clip should've ended there. it would've already been viral. except bachira keeps talking, completely unaware of the damage he's causing.
"it's different every time, y'know? sometimes she snorts when something's really funny. sometimes she laughs so hard she can't breathe. sometimes she starts laughing before she can even tell the joke. it rotates between bronchitis, an asthma attack, a windex spray bottle–"
the interviewer is staring. the cameraman is staring. everyone watching this is staring. why does this man have categories? why has he studied your laugh enough to recognize different versions of it?
fans immediately start posting:
"he knows her laugh lore."
"bro has laugh DLC unlocked."
"that's actually the most in-love thing i've ever heard."
then somebody uploads a compilation of your public appearances. and somehow bachira is right. there are different laughs. he can apparently identify all of them.
the internet decides that's either incredibly romantic or completely insane. nobody can agree which.
shidou ryusei
shidou's scandal starts because he gets caught celebrating with the wrong person.
after scoring a goal, players are supposed to celebrate with teammates. that's the whole point.
instead, shidou immediately runs toward the stands. toward you.
the cameras follow him because they assume he's hyping up the crowd. he's not.
rather, he points directly at you. you point back. and the two of you somehow perform a completely choreographed celebration. perfect timing and synchronization, emphasizing you two clearly practiced beforehand.
the stadium goes silent for half a second. then absolutely erupts. what do you mean you two rehearsed a goal celebration? how many times did you practice that? where? when?? why???
the clip gets 10 million views overnight.
people start noticing it isn't even the first time. there’s been different matches, countries, celebrations, all coordinated and all involving you somehow.
one week, it's matching hand signs.
another week, it's a ridiculous dance.
another week, it's a heart shape that shidou insists is "totally not romantic." nobody believes him.
fans become convinced the two of you are secretly spending your free time inventing increasingly ridiculous celebrations together.
which, fortunately for shidou, is completely true.
karasu tabito
karasu's downfall begins with a microphone accidentally picking him up.
he thinks nobody can hear him. that's the problem.
before a match, cameras are filming warmups. you happen to walk by the sidelines. karasu notices.
and without even thinking about it, mutters: "damn, she's cute."
the microphone catches everything. everything.
the broadcast doesn't notice until later. but fans do. immediately.
cuz hold on. the same karasu who spends 90% of his life roasting people? the same man who acts allergic to sincerity? that karasu?
there are edits. slow motion replays. subtitles. someone adds the cutest songs over it.
another person writes: "bro forgot his internal monologue was supposed to stay internal."
karasu spends weeks getting bullied by teammates.
you spend weeks laughing at him.
the internet decides that catching a man complimenting his girlfriend when he thinks nobody is listening is infinitely more romantic than any public declaration.
kaiser michael
kaiser's is devastating because it's entirely silent.
during a championship celebration, players are spraying champagne everywhere. everyone's running around screaming and celebrating. the photographers are taking hundreds of pictures.
one photo goes viral. then another. then another. then another.
because in every single image, kaiser is subconsciously making sure you're okay.
a hand on your shoulder while people push past.
guiding you away from flying corks.
moving a champagne bottle before it sprays directly into your face.
offering you his jacket when it gets cold.
small things. tiny gestures. nobody would notice them individually.
until someone stitches them together.
suddenly, the internet realizes that while everyone else is celebrating the championship, kaiser is monitoring you like you're the most important thing in the stadium.
the comments are in shambles.
"that's not a boyfriend. that's a bodyguard."
"he's tracking her location like a GPS."
"kaiser can locate her in a crowd faster than he can locate the goal."
and because kaiser hates giving people answers, he refuses to explain any of it. which only makes the shipping even worse.
ness alexis
ness accidentally exposes himself every single time you appear in public together.
he doesn’t exactly say anything. rather, it’s his face.
there's an entire fan account dedicated solely to tracking "the ness expression."
you know the one. the look he gets whenever you do literally anything.
talking? ness expression.
laughing? ness expression.
existing? ness expression.
someone makes a compilation video. it's 5 minutes long.
the title is: "alexis ness looking at his girlfriend like she invented happiness."
the worst clip happens during a red carpet event. you're answering a reporter's question. the camera accidentally cuts to ness. who is not listening to the interview at all.
he's just staring. completely mesmerized. smiling to himself. looking like he forgot there are other people in the room.
when the clip goes viral, fans start comparing him to those disney princes who see the princess for the first time and immediately lose all cognitive function.
ness tries defending himself: "that's not what i look like!”
then someone posts another 20 examples.
the case is closed.
the internet's final verdict? alexis ness has never once beaten the allegations in his entire life.
chigiri hyoma
chigiri accidentally becomes the internet's favorite boyfriend because of one very unfortunate paparazzi trend.
it starts when fans notice something weird: whenever photos of the two of you get taken in public, chigiri is always carrying your stuff. always.
your purse? on his shoulder.
shopping bags? in his hands.
your jacket because you got too warm? folded neatly over his arm.
your drink? he's holding it.
your phone? somehow also in his possession.
at first, people think it's a coincidence. then more photos appear. and more. and more. different days. different outfits. same result. you are walking around completely empty-handed while chigiri resembles a traveling pack mule.
someone finally makes a compilation. 57 freaking photos. every single one shows him carrying at least one of your belongings.
the internet is hysterical.
"girl's inventory is stored entirely in chigiri hyoma."
"he's not her boyfriend. he's her backpack."
"why is she walking around like a disney princess while this man is carrying three bags and a cute beverage?"
it gets even funnier when fans realize chigiri never looks annoyed ever. in fact, he usually looks completely relaxed. sometimes he's even talking while carrying everything, as if this arrangement was established years ago.
a reporter eventually asks him about it. "fans noticed you're always carrying your girlfriend's things."
chigiri looks genuinely confused. "yeah? what of it?"
“well, why?"
"because she doesn't want to."
the clip gets 12 million views. because the answer wasn't "because i have to." it wasn't "because she asks." it wasn't even "because i'm being nice." it was simply: “because she doesn't want to.”
that’s reason enough for him.
barou shoei
barou's entire shipping scandal starts because he makes one mistake. one. single. mistake.
during an interview, he's sitting there looking annoyed as usual, answering questions with the enthusiasm of a man being forced to be on camera. the reporter asks him something. barou reaches for his phone to check something.
then the screen lights up. for less than a second. that's all it takes. well, he should know that his fans are attentive.
the interview clip gets posted online and within 10 minutes someone has already zoomed in, enhanced the image, adjusted the brightness, sharpened the pixels, and somehow identified the lock screen photo.
and it is not what anyone expected. because you're not posing. you're not dressed up. you're not looking glamorous.
you are sitting at a restaurant with your cheeks stuffed full of food, looking deeply confused, probably because barou said something stupid right before the picture was taken. the photo is objectively terrible.
the internet loses its mind. like hold on, you're gorgeous. there are thousands of professional photos of you. red carpet photos. magazine covers. and barou chose that one? that’s the photo he sees every time he unlocks his phone?
fans immediately understand the implications. that's not a photo someone picks because it's pretty. that's a photo someone picks because it makes them smile.
the memes begin instantly.
"he had access to heaven itself and chose a picture of her eating mozzarella sticks."
"that's not his girlfriend. that's his favorite person."
"barou looking at this picture after every notification:"
people become obsessed with the fact that the photo isn't flattering. it means he loves the version of you that nobody else sees. the version that's laughing too hard, making weird faces, stealing food off his plate when you promised you weren't hungry.
and when a reporter finally asks him about it months later, barou immediately gets defensive. "what's wrong with the picture?"
"nothing. people just expected something more romantic."
"... it is romantic."
the room goes silent. barou realizes what he just said. the interviewer realizes what he just said. the internet realizes what he just said.
and suddenly "it is romantic" is trending worldwide.
yukimiya kenyu
yukimiya accidentally creates one of the most beloved relationship clips on the internet entirely because he answered a question too quickly.
it happens after a match. the game was intense, the stadium is still packed, and he's doing one of those fan interaction events near the sidelines. he's signing jerseys, taking photos, chatting with supporters. the usual.
you're standing nearby, waiting for him to finish. then a little girl, maybe 6 or 7 years old, walks up to him. she's shy. holding a tiny soccer ball.
yukimiya kneels down so he's at eye level with her and signs it. everyone thinks it's a sweet interaction.
then the girl asks: "are you famous?"
the people around them laugh. because of course he is. he's yukimiya kenyu.
he smiles. "i guess so."
the little girl thinks about that answer for a second. then points directly at you, who is standing a few feet away. and asks: "what about her?"
nobody expects anything special. most people assume he'll say you're famous, too. or maybe introduce you.
but instead, yukimiya glances over at you and immediately says: "she's more important."
just like that. without hesitation. without thinking. without even realizing what he said.
the little girl nods like that answer makes perfect sense.
the surrounding fans, however, nearly collapse. did he seriously just say that???
the clip spreads online within hours. people replay it over and over. and point out how quick he was with his reply. there was no pause. no consideration or moment of thought. his answer was immediate and instinctive. the kind of response that comes from the heart before your brain catches up.
fans become obsessed.
"he didn't even have to think about it."
"bro answered that question faster than he answers interview questions about soccer."
"you can literally see him look at her and forget he's a celebrity."
the clip somehow gets even worse when people notice what happens afterward. because after saying it, yukimiya looks over at you. and smiles a small smile. the smile that's completely different from the polished media-trained one he uses for cameras.
and suddenly the internet has a second thing to obsess over. there are edits. compilations. slow-motion zoom-ins. people calling it the "more important" clip.
months later, reporters are still bringing it up. every single time, yukimiya gets embarrassed.
from his perspective, he genuinely doesn't understand what the big deal is. the little girl asked a question. he answered honestly. of course you're more important.
that was never something he had to think about.
kunigami rensuke
kunigami accidentally reveals the most devastatingly wholesome habit imaginable during a documentary.
the camera crew is filming at his house showing his routine, his gym, his kitchen, normal athlete documentary stuff.
then they get to the refrigerator. and everybody notices it: a tiny collection of colorful sticky notes. at least 20 of them. all written in neat handwriting that is clearly not his. but yours.
the documentary crew asks about it. and now everyone learns the truth.
every time you leave his house, you write him a little note. sometimes it's encouragement. sometimes it's reminders. sometimes it's complete nonsense.
"don't forget your keys."
"good luck today!"
"you're banned from buying more protein powder."
"the leftovers are mine."
instead of throwing them away, kunigami keeps every. single. one.
the internet is instantly reduced to tears. the sticky notes aren’t organized or displayed nicely. they're just stuck all over the fridge because he likes seeing them.
fans immediately start posting:
"he kept the receipt."
"that's a six-foot hero built like a tank and he's collecting sticky notes like treasure."
"your honor, he's gone."
and when asked why he keeps them, kunigami looks genuinely confused. "because she wrote them for me." as if that's the most obvious answer in the world.
which somehow makes everyone cry even harder.
hiori yo
hiori becomes a shipping victim because of a single tweet. or rather, because of what he likes.
hiori rarely posts, interacts, does anything online. which is why fans immediately notice that he has liked approximately every post you've ever made. within minutes. every single time.
new selfie? liked.
random photo of the beach at night? liked.
picture of a sandwich? liked.
tweet saying you're bored? liked.
one fan makes a spreadsheet. an actual spreadsheet tracking the timestamps. they discover hiori is consistently among the first people to interact, sometimes within 30 seconds. the spreadsheet goes viral.
people start calling him your strongest soldier.
the funniest part comes when someone asks him about it during an interview. "hiori, fans noticed you like a lot of your girlfriend's posts."
hiori blinks, thinks for a moment, then casually responds: "yeah."
"..."
"am i not supposed to?"
the clip immediately gets 20 million views.
because no, hiori doesn't understand why everyone's making a big deal out of it. he just likes seeing you.
the internet considers that the most romantic answer possible.
iglesias bunny
bunny accidentally causes a relationship apocalypse during an awards show.
he wins an award. it’s a huge moment. everyone expects some emotional speech. maybe a thank you to fans. his family. his teammates.
instead, bunny walks up to the microphone, accepts the trophy, and immediately starts looking around the room.
the audience is confused. the host is confused. the cameras are confused.
then he spots you sitting near the front. his entire face lights up. and suddenly, the speech becomes less of a speech and more of a conversation. with you, specifically.
he keeps making comments directly toward your table. you laugh. he gets distracted. he forgets what he's saying twice.
at one point, he literally points at you and says: "see? that's why i practiced this speech."
the crowd starts screaming. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? she helped you practice? how many times did you rehearse? how involved is she?
the internet spends weeks making compilations of bunny completely abandoning the existence of everyone else in the room the second he spots you.
the final verdict? bunny iglesias could be standing in front of 10,000 people and he'd still somehow only be talking to one.
hugo vivian
hugo gets exposed because he cannot stop making you laugh. that's it. that's the entire problem.
every public appearance. every red carpet. every livestream. every interview. all of it somehow ends with you laughing so hard you can't breathe.
and nobody knows why. the cameras never catch it. they only catch the aftermath – you doubled over laughing. hugo looking incredibly pleased with himself.
the internet becomes obsessed. what is he saying? what secret knowledge does this man possess?
then one day a microphone finally catches it. the answer is devastating.
you're walking together before an event, completely normal conversation.
then hugo points at a passing car and quietly goes: "zoom." you laugh.
he points at another one. "beep beep." you laugh harder.
then he spots a motorcycle. without missing a beat: "vrrrrroooom."
the microphone catches EVERYTHING.
everyone is horrified. THAT'S IT? that's the joke? those are the elite comedic talents responsible for all these viral laughing fits of yours?
people start digging through old clips. now everything makes sense. the random smiles. the giggling. the times you've buried your face in his shoulder to stop laughing. the answer was never some brilliant joke. it was just hugo making sound effects.
fans immediately lose their minds.
"she laughs at him like he's the funniest man alive and bro is literally going 'beep beep.'"
"the standards are in hell."
"he found the love of his life because she thinks of onomatopoeia as comedy."
the funniest part is that after the clip goes viral, hugo doubles down. he starts making even more sound effects in public.
they keep working on you. every single time without fail.
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𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 - At the 2026 World Cup, top pro players have a Victoria’s Secret supermodel girlfriend who attends their matches openly wearing their jersey. Her stunning, bold presence draws attention, yet everyone is too awestruck to bother her.
𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄-𝐔𝐏 - Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Reo Mikage, Alexis Ness, Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei.
He insisted you wear his jersey. The moment you told him you’d be there, he smirked and said, “Of course you have to wear mine — everyone needs to know who you belong to, and who belongs at the top.”
When he walks onto the pitch and spots you in the stands, his ego skyrockets. He doesn’t just glance — he stops, gives you a slow, cocky smile, and taps the name on his back as if to say “look who’s wearing it too.”
The crowd goes wild seeing you: a supermodel out in the stands supporting her boyfriend, stunning face, and proudly repping the Emperor. People around you are too awestruck to approach when you look like royalty next to him.
During the match, he plays better than ever. Every goal is dedicated to you — he points straight to your section, blows a kiss, and his grin is so smug it’s almost comical. The crowd eats it up though.
After the final whistle, he heads straight for the barrier, not caring about reporters and crowds screaming his name. “Did you see? I played for you today,” he says, then adds with that signature arrogance: “And look at you — making my jersey look better than any trophy could”
He loves that you don’t hide. To him, you’re his crown jewel — showing you off is just another way to prove he has everything worth having.
ノ𝙄. 𝙎𝙖𝙚
He didn’t make a big fuss about it at first, but when you said you’d wear his jersey, his eyes softened just a little — the only sign he was pleased. “If that’s what you want,” he said, but inside he was more satisfied than he let on.
When he sees you in the stands, his expression stays neutral, but his posture straightens and his focus sharpens. Only someone who knows him well would notice the slight shift in his gaze — it’s his look, quieter but far more intense.
The crowd’s reaction is huge: the world’s top model wearing the jersey of the world’s best midfielder. Fans and photographers want to crowd you, but your aura is so poised and striking that no one dares push in too close.
He plays with unmatched precision. He doesn’t do flashy celebrations, but after every key pass or goal, he’ll briefly glance up at you — no smile, just a steady nod — and you know exactly what it means: I’m doing this for you.
Post-match, he comes over quietly, no fanfare. “You stood out more than the match itself,” he says bluntly, but his voice is warm. When reporters ask about you, he answers in his usual dry way, “She supports me, that's all"
He values that you’re confident and unapologetic. He doesn’t like hidden relationships; having you there openly wearing his name is proof of your bond, and that’s more meaningful to him than any title.
ノ𝙈. 𝙍𝙚𝙤
He was already thrilled when you said you have free time to come see his match — but now he's even more happy when you said you wanted to wear his jersey. “Perfect,” he said with his usual charming smile. “Let everyone see that the best things in life are meant to be shown.” He even made sure the jersey was tailored perfectly for you.
As soon as he steps onto the pitch and sees you, his face lights up — genuine and bright. He raises a hand in a slow, graceful wave, and you can practically feel the pride radiating off him.
The crowd is mesmerized: you’re a global icon, looking flawless, proudly wearing his name. People stare, whisper, and take photos, or even ask you for photographs but you'd still hear the whispers.
He plays with incredible drive. Every run, every tackle, every shot is fueled by wanting to make you proud. When he scores, he runs to your side of the stadium, grinning widely, and forms a heart with his hands.
After the match, he’s the first to reach you, leaning over the barrier to hold your hand. “You were the most beautiful sight in the whole stadium,” he says softly. “Wearing my jersey like that… it makes all the hard work worth it.”
To him, you’re his equal partner in every sense. He loves that you shine brightly on your own, and having you stand openly by his side only makes both of you look even more powerful together.
ノ𝙉. 𝘼𝙡𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨
When you told him you’d wear his jersey, his face turned bright red and he lit up like a Christmas tree. “R-Really? You’d do that for me?” he asked, eyes sparkling. He spent days checking if it was the right size, even adding a little personal touch inside.
When he spots you in the stands, his heart skips a beat. He stops for a moment, his expression soft and full of pure adoration. He waves enthusiastically, almost forgetting where he is for a second.
The crowd is stunned — seeing a world-famous supermodel wearing the jersey of their team’s playmaker, looking absolutely breathtaking. Everyone wants to look, you are practically glowing and Ness feels immense pride that you can just sit pretty and you'd have the entire Stadium's eyes on you.
He plays with more passion and confidence than ever before. Knowing you’re watching makes him feel like he can do anything. If he assists or scores, he’ll point to you with a shy but happy smile, sending you a small kiss.
After the game, he comes over quickly, a little breathless and smiling. “You looked amazing… I couldn’t stop glancing up,” he admits. “Thank you for being here, and for wearing my name. It means more than I can say.”
He loves that you don’t hide. He’s proud beyond words that someone as incredible as you is willing to stand beside him openly, and it gives him the strength to play even better every single match.
He didn’t say much at first when you told him you'd be attending — just a short “Alright” — but later, when he thought you weren’t looking, he smiled to himself. He never expected you to want to wear his jersey so openly, but it made him feel something he rarely shows: pride and flustered.
When he walks onto the pitch and sees you, his expression stays stern, but his jaw relaxes just a little. His focus locks in — not just on the game, but on proving he’s worthy of being the name on your back.
The crowd’s reaction is massive: you’re a global beauty icon, looking like a dream, and proudly wearing the jersey of one of the tournament’s top strikers. People whisper and stare with hearts in their eyes, but your relaxed posture makes them double think and sit back down in their seats to not bother you. (Your posture genuinely would mog them badly in any picture and humble tf outta them so...)
He plays with ferocious intensity. Every shot is sharper, every run faster. When he scores, he doesn’t do big celebrations — he just looks straight at you, holds up the fabric of his jersey — showing you the number, and gives a single, determined nod. This is for you.
After the match, he walks over quietly, no fanfare. “You stood out too much,” he says simply, but there’s warmth in his voice, "...Yeah, it's not like I'm a well known model or anything, of course I'm gonna stand out, striker." You playfully hit his shoulder and he rolled his eyes. “Thanks for coming.” He says quietly.
He likes that you’re bold and unapologetic. He doesn’t want to hide you — to him, having you there, wearing his name, is proof that all his effort has someone worth it waiting for him.
ノ𝙎. 𝙍𝙮𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙞
You gave a little fashion show for him with you in his jersey. His reaction was immediate and loud. “YES! That’s exactly what I wanna see!” he cheered, already imagining how the crowd would react. He even joked: “Make sure everyone knows who it belongs to — they’ll be jealous!”
The second he sees you in the stands, his eyes light up like fireworks. He grins from ear to ear, jumps up and down, and waves both arms wildly, yelling loud enough for the cameras to catch it: “THERE SHE IS!!”
The crowd goes absolutely crazy. You’re a world-famous supermodel, looking flawless, proudly repping the most unpredictable striker in the tournament. People are drawn to you, but your aura is so striking and confident that no one feels brave enough to crowd you — they just stare in awe.
He plays even more wildly and creatively than usual. Every goal is a dramatic celebration — he runs to your section, does a silly dance, blows a dozen kisses, and even holds up his own jersey to match yours.
After the final whistle, he’s at the barrier in seconds, grinning like a kid. “Did you see that?! All those goals were for you, baby!” He laughs, then adds, “And you look way better in my jersey than I do — unfair, but I’ll take it!"
You’re his favorite person, and showing you off is the most natural thing in the world. Your confidence matches his chaos perfectly, and together you’re the most talked about pair of the tournament.
𝐀/𝐧 - I actually have no clue on soccer but ik a lil bc of my friends and the internet so I'm rooting for Germany and I was right to😋 This may or may not also be inspired by the fact that Adriana Iima was present lmfao🙏
♡ a/n — i just love the tiktok trend so :) ( was going to attach a link to a tiktok showing what i was talking abt but it wouldn't work. just look up sniper sniper sniper wifey wifey marines and you'll see what i meant :) )
♡ content — all characters are 18+ !!, mentions of tiktok & instagram, slight cursing, tbh bad writing, nicknames like 'love' , 'wifey' , and 'my girl' used, probably ooc characters
♡ synopsis — blue lock boys showing off their girlfriend :)
⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' oh that's your wifey ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...tiktok maker
if there was anyone you would really and truly call chronically online, it would be him. every day he'd come to you with some new word he learned from tiktok, or a meme that would plague your house for weeks until it went away.
so when he pulled out his phone to show you a video, you weren't expecting it to be a couples trend.
" please, please, pleaseee, love? you'd look so cute in my arms like that ! " and he had just won a big game...how could you say no to him?
so here you were, being carried like a bride in your lovely boyfriend's arms. if it were anyone else, you'd be too worried about how long they could hold you, but since it was him you didn't worry.
it took a few tries, each of you messing up a part at least once and you accidentally dropping the phone a few times, but after you figured it out, the video was practically perfect.
they posted it to their public tiktok account with the caption
' not my wifey yet, but soon ;) '
and to say all the notifications were making his phone glitch would be an understatement.
wrong of him to want to post these pictures the two of you had taken on your date to the aquarium?
if he were any other, normal, person this wouldn't have seemed like a big deal, but since he had at least a million followers and some were a bit more obsessed than others, it was.
you'd told him multiple times that you were okay with him posting you, really if he was happy, you were happy. maybe it was the egoist in him, but he wanted to keep you to himself.
fuck it.
if you wanted to be posted, he was going to post you. who cared what anyone else thought? their opinions didn't mean anything to him.
he selected a few of the pictures the two of you had taken at the aquarium, sneaking one of a lipstick stain on his neck in the middle of the slides.
if he was going to announce his relationship to the public, why not let the world know how utterly whipped he was for you?
the ever illusive pro soccer player. that's what every press agency called your boyfriend.
his ability to somehow dodge any paparazzi and answer very short questions during press conferences made every view into his personal life shine like gold.
based on an instagram story ( that was taken down in less than 10 minutes ) where a picture of him with his arms around a woman in a bathroom mirror, the media could assume he was in a relationship. in that photo, however, the woman's face was not visible, so the questioned still remained...
what woman could capture this mans heart?
he hadn't cared, not really. a photo was nothing to him, but you were everything. he tried really hard to keep your identity private, he didn't want you to be absorbed into a world of cameras always in your face.
but after he made the game winning goal of a very important game...all he wanted to do was see you.
maybe it was the way he could see you in the section you'd always sat, or maybe it was his ego wanting to tell everyone "yeah i'm the best soccer player, and yeah i have the best girl, what about it?"
as all of the adoring fans rushed the field, including you, he just wanted to see you. he knew, realistically, he should just go back to the locker room and come meet you afterwards like he usually did, but not today.
he shrugged off ever reporter and fan that wanted to talk to him, which was nothing new, but instead of leaving to the locker room, they watched as he walked over to you
he knew all eyes were on him, the world still watching...but he couldn't find it in himself to care. he wrapped his arms around your waist
" made that goal for you, ya know? "
you were a little surprised at his appearance, but if he didn't care neither than you.
starring — michael kaiser, shidou ryusei, bunny iglesias, sae itoshi, alexis ness, nagi seishiro
content + warnings — smau. suggestive. (mentions of sex at rysei's part) + sending nudes (nagi's), mentions of alcohol usage (michael's part),afab!reader is implied at ryu's, crack. — a collection of random/silly texts u send each other, because they're comfortable being silly w u <3
an — im a smau writer now, get used to it
ෆ*｡c/n: crack, whiny dudes, implied fem reader, established relationship, married to noel, fluff-ish, top text lore, genuinely dont know what i was doing here
bow divider: @/cursed-carmine | placeholder pic from pinterest
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hihi how would the bllk men act/respond when their gf says she’ll sleep on the couch after an argument?? pls include the itoshi brothers and whoever else you want
tyyy
“𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝”
a/n: my guy best friend’s name is alexis so for ness, i wonder what nicknames reader would call him. lex? alex?
ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, ness alexis
itoshi rin
you don’t yell. you just say it, quietly, firmly, “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”
rin doesn’t even look up from where he’s pulling the comforter back. “then sleep out there forever,” he mutters.
that’s it. that’s all he says.
your jaw tightens. fine. he wants to be a dick? you’ll go be a comfortable, petty little burrito on the couch.
the second you’re gone, he sighs and slumps against the pillows. he stares at the ceiling for a while. then turns to your empty side of the bed.
it’s cold. and he hates it.
he tosses. turns. groans. this is stupid.
five minutes later, he storms out like a grumpy cat. hoodie half-on, socks mismatched, glaring like you murdered his whole family. “you’re being dramatic,” he says. “and annoying.”
you open your mouth to respond, but he’s already sitting down on the floor next to the couch and crossing his arms.
“i’m not going to bed without you,” he says flatly. “so either come back, or we both suffer.”
you end up back in bed, wrapped in his hoodie, with his hand loosely curled around yours under the covers. he whispers, “i hate you,” and kisses your forehead.
it’s his version of “i missed you.”
itoshi sae
when you declare you’re sleeping on the couch, sae just gives you one of those flat, deadpan stares. like he’s watching a toddler throw a tantrum.
“seriously?” he says. “over that?”
you grab your blanket anyway. you’re halfway down the hallway before you hear him sigh. not a regular sigh, a tired, you’re impossible, but i love you sigh.
he lets you go. but only for ten minutes.
then he casually appears in the living room like he owns the place, leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. “you know the couch ruins your neck,” he says.
you roll your eyes. “so?”
“so come to bed.”
you turn away from him with a stubborn huff. he crosses the room in two strides, crouches down in front of the couch, and gently tugs your hand.
“i don’t like going to sleep angry,” he murmurs. “not with you.”
you don’t say anything, but your eyes soften.
he kisses your hand and gives a rare, tired little smile. “c’mon. the bed’s warm. and so am i.”
he doesn’t let go until you’re back under the covers, head tucked under his chin, heart finally calm again.
isagi yoichi
“wait, baby, hold on. what? what do you mean the couch?”
he looks like you just threatened to leave him forever. arms stretched out, eyes wide like a kicked puppy.
“c’mon, don’t do that... not over something this dumb.”
you grab your pillow and ignore him, brushing past. he follows immediately, practically tripping over himself to keep up.
“you want me to sleep in the bed alone? do you hate me that much?” he says it with the most tragic, oscar-worthy expression on his face.
when you don’t turn around, he dramatically flops on the couch right next to you. “okay then. if you’re on the couch, i’m on the couch.”
he makes it five seconds before whining, “my back already hurts.”
eventually he wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face in your neck. “i’m still mad,” he mumbles. “but i love you. and i can’t sleep unless you’re squished up against me like a koala.”
you both fall asleep tangled up on the couch like weird puzzle pieces.
you wake up in the morning with his face squished into your shoulder and a whispered, “you’re not allowed to sleep away from me again, okay?”
nagi seishiro
you announce your decision like it’s a declaration of war. “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”
nagi, half-asleep already, barely blinks. “… that sounds like so much work.”
you expect him to argue. or care. but instead, he just sits up, yawns, and wanders over to you like a very lazy puppy.
“babe,” he mumbles, hugging your waist from behind. “you’re comfy. the bed’s comfy. come be comfy with me.”
you protest, but he’s already scooping you up with both arms like you’re a stuffed animal. “too tired to fight. let’s nap it off.”
he drops you both onto the bed in one go, pulling the blanket over your heads like a makeshift fort.
you glare at him. “we’re still mad at each other.”
he hums sleepily. “okay. we can be mad tomorrow. bedtime now.”
he falls asleep with your fingers tangled in his and your forehead against his shoulder.
you’re not mad anymore by morning. not when he snores softly and still refuses to let go of your hand.
mikage reo
“the couch?” he gasps like you just told him you were eloping with his worst enemy.
“my love, my sunshine, my everything, you would choose the crusty old couch over your charming, heartbroken boyfriend?”
you blink at him. “reo–”
he drops to the floor dramatically, clutching his chest. “say it isn’t so!”
you actually laugh, which pisses you off more because you’re supposed to be mad.
“i’m serious,” you say. “i need space.”
reo nods solemnly and lets you go… but you know it’s not over.
ten minutes later, he shows up with a cup of tea, your favorite blanket, and his own pillow under his arm.
“room for one more?” he asks, already crawling beside you.
he strokes your hair and whispers, “i hate when we fight, you know. but i’m not letting you go to sleep thinking i don’t love you.”
you fall asleep with your head on his chest and his heartbeat thumping under your ear.
he kisses your temple and mumbles, “next time we argue, let’s just yell into a pillow and then make out.”
kaiser michael
“i’m sleeping on the couch.”
you expect him to scoff. to roll his eyes. maybe even say “fine, go ahead.”
but instead… he just laughs. not the mocking kind. it’s the amused, oh my gosh, you’re so cute when you think you’re winning kind of laugh.
he leans back against the bedroom wall, arms crossed, watching you like you’re performing a one-person drama. “you?” he drawls. “on my couch? schatz, that thing isn’t worthy of your ass.”
you glare at him as you march off with your pillow. “good. now i won’t have to see your smug face until morning.”
“you’ll miss me before you even fall asleep.”
“wanna bet?”
you wrap yourself up like a burrito, determined to win. five minutes pass. ten. you think you hear him shuffling around, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of checking. then –
a sudden weight on the couch.
you shriek as kaiser climbs on top of you, shoving your blanket aside with all the grace of a golden retriever in a silk robe. “what the hell, micha –”
he silences you with a kiss to the cheek and a smirk. “you said you were sleeping on the couch. you didn’t say i couldn’t join you.”
he settles in, spooning you tightly, chin on your shoulder. “still mad?” he whispers.
you huff. “a little.”
“good. you’re cute when you’re pissed.”
he doesn’t let go once all night, and the next morning, you wake up with his arm draped over your waist and his voice low against your skin: “next time we fight, just yell at me in bed. it’s more comfortable.”
ness alexis
“i’m sleeping on the couch.”
ness freezes mid-step, like someone just yanked the power cord out of him. his whole face crumples. his arms fall limply to his sides. he looks like he just got rejected on live TV.
“w-wait… really?” he says, voice small. “because of what i said?”
you nod. firmly. “i need space.”
ness nods too, quickly. “right. okay. space. of course. totally.”
he watches you grab your blanket. he follows like a shadow, lingering behind you, clutching his hoodie sleeves like they’re your hands.
“if you need anything, i’ll be… just down the hallway,” he says. “if the light flickers, or if you get cold, or– i dunno– if the couch tries to eat you.”
you raise a brow. “alexis.”
he stands there a moment longer, eyes shining just a little too much. “… do you still love me?” he whispers.
your heart softens immediately, but you keep your back turned. “go to bed, lex.”
you think he leaves. but then, an hour later, a small rustling wakes you. you peek open your eyes, and there he is, curled up on the floor next to the couch with a blanket and one of your socks.
“lex?”
he sits up instantly, bleary-eyed. “i-i wasn’t trying to sneak in! i just… missed you.”
you sigh and pull him up beside you. he cuddles into your chest like a human teddy bear, arms wrapped tight.
“sorry again,” he mumbles. “please don’t leave the bed next time. i’ll be better. i swear.”
you kiss the top of his head and feel him melt like butter in your arms.
isagi after a few hours will be able to get over himself after thinking about everything the two of you said. he will go out, buy you your favorite flowers, your favorite snack, and maybe a new blanket or lipgloss. he’ll set them down on the edge of the bed where your sulking and he apologizes gently. you’re more important to him than being right (even if you were totally wrong). and as a bonus he cooks dinner.
sae itoshi is not good with words but he will do something meaningful. if you two argue and give eachother the silent treatment, he will skip his practice to spend time with you and order you guys takeout. sae loves french fries but does not ever eat them because of how unhealthy they are. despite that he will order you guys burgers and fries that you eat on the couch. it might seem like a normal couple thing to do, but it restricts sae a lot missing practice and indulging in unhealthy foods, you know he’s doing it for you. so you just let you two enjoy your greasy food in peace.
micheal kaiser will never get over himself. how could he when he’s famous, athletic, hot, and rich? when your upset about your prior fight, he will say something like “are you still mad about that?” and make you feel like it’s your fault.
• apology sex
• the next day he will buy the flowers he saw you eyeing and put them in a vase without telling you.
julian loki has a hard time putting himself down to apologise to you. he loves you, he really does, and he puts him as a person below you, but he’s sweet and stubborn. julian will say how sorry he is and tell you all the ways he will not let it happen again though.
• apology cuddles and kisses
• cooks your favourite food and doesn’t care if you eat it on your guys’ bed (he washes the sheets very often bc we LOVE a clean and hygienic man)
• admits he was wrong in french but you can’t understand (if you can speak french he says it to you as he tucks you in while you’re sleeping)
charles chevalier
• originally you were mad because he was totally leaving you out when hanging out with shidou on accident
• literally had NO idea why you were ignoring him and obviously didn’t mean it, he just gets too carrried away with shidou sometimes.
• asks loki and he obviously knew why you were mad
• charles annoys you til you finally acknowledge him and then gets you guys macarons 🥹.
alexis ness is a nervous wreck after your argument. he was salty for an hour or so but then he started to get a bit anxious and he completely freaked out. when you didn’t cave and still didn’t talk to him he went out to the store and bought your favorite everything. then came back in tears and you finally accepted his apology and he cried in your arms about how scared he was. (it wasn’t that deep)
Hiii bobur-the-specific-guy omyy!! 😭😭 I wanted to request but I’m just too shy, so here I am, finallyyyy! 😩 I saw you’re open to writing a bunch of anime fics and random stuff, and I saw your Blue Lock post! AHH, I LOVE BLUE LOCK!! So, I was thinking maybe another Blue Lock smut...hehe, with multiple characters again! You can pick whichever ones, I don’t even mind! 😏
Here’s the idea: reader gets tied up, pushed to their limits, shaking and begging, but they don’t stop till they’re a hot mess, no escape, no mercy! 🔥
Anyways, I LOVE YOUR FICS! Like, you’re so insanely talented! Seriously obsessed with your writing! Keep doing your thing, you’re amazinggg! Can’t wait for more! 💗💋 And take care of yourself, okay? Wishing you all the best! Love youuuuu! ❤️
Horny thoughts abt the bllk men pt.2 !
•wrote half of this in the club after graduation prom bc i was half-drubk and bored asf hihi, rest written after I've been officially accepted in uni!!
••btw do u prefer to next part to be with the coaches like idk noa, prince, ego and ect or to keep going w the rest of the players?
ft. Kaiser, Shidou, Ness, Loki
Part 1!! - Isagi, Hiori, Nanase, Bachira, Rin, Karasu, Yukimiya!
Cw : Shidou himself is a warning, bondage, sadism, dom-sub dynamics?, dacryphilia, creampie, scratching, biting, rough sex, saliva, shower sex, semi-public sex, Ness being lowk down bad, you've already read the first part yk how it goes
ᯓ★୭˚ We can't have a following post without including THE Kaiser, so dearest kaiser simps - have your meal. This man is a sadist trough and trough. And the thing is he's not doing it just because he gets off hurting you - he wouldn't dream of doing something to intentionally harm you. You're his rose, his love, the light of his life. He doesn't hurt you, oh no - he pushes you to your absolute limit, and then some. He's chasing the high of that trembling face you make when he just won't fucking let you cum. The pleading, teary-eyed look you give him gets him going for the next few weeks and he's eating it up. After all, you only look like that just for him, no?
more under the cut!
He's also got a CRAZY possessive streak. He wants to show you off like there isn't another person on that planet that even comes close to how good you're being to him, but if anyone tries their luck with you he treats it like it's an insult to him, to you and to life itself. He can talk big all he wants, but losing you is a genuine fear to him. And what does he do about it? He fucks it out of his system. He's got you trapped under him, one leg slung over his waist while he's pinning the other to the mattress. He wants to feel your nails digging into his back or his tattooed biceps and hear your moans and whimpers right into his ear, and as a bonus maybe feel your tears when he kisses your face. He won't start out that hard, on the contrary - his pace starts out slow and gentle, making sure you get used to the feeling of him moving inside of you. And when he's sure you can take it he switches it up in a second, pounding into you with all the energy he's got. He can keep that up for a good long while too, honestly could go on for hours if you'd let him. He's going at it so hard and deep you'd think he's trying to leave his imprint on your gut.
"You okay, schatz? Good, good- ngh— you feel so good."
This man does NOT shut up. He's talking you through it but with his nonstop chatter you'd think he's trying to hear the sound of his own voice more. In reality, he's just trying to stop himself from moaning too much. He isn't quite loud but he's noisy, you know? He's trying to keep it down so he can hear you better too - the sounds of you moaning and sobbing gets him going almost just as much as that desperate look does. Almost.
When you're all done he'd need a minute or two to catch his breath, and then he's onto whatever else. So you have to tell him to stay and cuddle or shower or whatever else. He isn't used to any sort of feeling of intimacy, love or closeness so you'd have to show him that he can stay even after you've done your business. Repeat it a few times and he starts doing it himself, and he actually likes just as much as he likes the actual sex. Guess that's what having someone loving you like that does to you.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
ᯓ★୭˚ The king of freaks, the animal that Shidou is is UNMATCHED. This guy wants you and he feels absolutely no shame about it. He's horny for you and makes it not only your problem, but a problem for everyone else too. He wants you at home, before during and after your date, on the field, at the party.. man just wants you. You don't even have to be trying either. You could literally just be trying to cook a pancake and he'd wish he were the pan you're holding. Not only that, but he makes sure you know it. By extension everyone else knows too, though i don't think anyone in existence has the balls to tell Shidou something about it. Expect Sae probably, not that Shidou would listen anyway.
On the note of everyone knowing, it doesn't just mean hearing whatever spills out of Shidou's mouth but the aftermath of it too. He can't pick a favourite position but he definitely has favourite places to leave bites and hickeys. If you let him tie you and fuck you out like that, you'd definitely have some rope burn after, because he won't be done and gone after a few minutes. When you're pressed between him and the mattress and he's pouding into you, hand slipped between your thighs and toying with your clit while the other holds your hips to snap them back into his, he leaves bites and hickeys around your neck and collarbones, maybe your tits too if he tries hard enough. When he's bent you in doggy, pushing your face into the pillows, hands at your hips yet again, holding them up because he can see how damn much you're trembling by then and he's panting into your ear, he leaves marks at your shoulders. When he's going down on you, his head lodged between your thighs and let me tell you he always eats you out like he's starving, then he leaves marks at the inner part of your thighs. Sometimes he tries to make them heart shaped too. Also, he has no shame about time and place if you'd let him have you. Of course he likes it at home, fucking you on every possible surface there like it's a sport, he'd also like to have you in the locker rooms. He just can't decide wether he prefers to have you before or after the match.. can you blame him? It's such a hard choice. For him especially. If you can keep up, don't make him pick. It's not like his teammates don't know about it anyway.
"Fuck- yeah- yeah- mhmmmmm-- just like that!"
I don't think i need to tell you that he's another case of "won't shut the fuck up". He's loud and proud, and he keeps talking even he's he's nearly fucked his own brain out. He's not ashamed to moan and to whine, matter of fact when he does it he makes sure your hear him. You've got the whole night to listen to how hot you look when you're choking on his dick and how good your pussy feels around him. He's anything but shy, so if anyone's hearing that's entirely on them.
Even when you're finished after however many rounds you can take, he's still talking. This time he's all cuddled up to you, blissfully yapping on and on while you're trying to get your soul in your body after having it fucked out of it. He'd tell you anything and everything that caught his eye while you two were going at it - cute expressions and sounds, what angle you look good in, what he likes you doing and what he thinks you liked best too. Not that he didn't say everything during the whole thing, but he's gotta make sure you heard him well, y'know?
Also will probably try to have another round. It's on you to keep going or stop him.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
ᯓ★୭˚ I can't mention Kaiser without talking about Ness too. He's waiting for you to tell him what you want from him on hand and foot he can't wait to make you happy. You're the light of his life, he's as devoted as could be. And that, of course, follows in the bedroom. Just tell him what you want and he'll give it to you. Making you happy makes him happy. And hard, too. Just the image of you getting off on him makes sweat, but you letting him help you get off? He's bursting in his pants.
That being said, he's doing whatever you want him to do.. most if the time. I'm elaborating on that a bit later. If you want to have your fun with him, he's laying back down happily. He's probably already breathing hard just from the thought of you. You can tease him until his throat hurts from moaning and whining, you can overstimulate him until he can't even talk properly, you can edge him until he's basically in tears begging you just let him cum. And he's doing it all happily too. You can have him trembing at just a touch and he'd let you keep going until he psychically can't anymore. If you want him to fuck your guts out, though, he's obliging it happily. He's laying you down, making sure you're all cozy and comfortable on the bed, and he's tearing your clothes right off. He might almost forget to remive his if you don't remind him too. Just seeing you like that makes him go haywire. Now, that's not to say he doesn't have his possesive streak either. I mean, did you see the panel where he was biting his lip to blood because of Kaiser paying more attention to Isagi? This guy is crazy, especially when it comes to people he loves. You included. So, can you picture what happens when he feels jealous? When he feels like his place in your life is threathened by someone else? He's gonna fuck the thought of anyone else out of your pretty head. He doesn't care for position, he just needs to see your face. He wants to see your eyes roll back while he's ramming into you. His goal isn't to do it as fast as possible, but to make you feel him right in your gut. He wants to feel your skin pressed agaist his, to have his hands all over you, to be so deep in you he'd leave an imprint. By the time he'd calm down, he won't even be able to feel his muscles anymore. I don't think you'd really be feeling yours either.
"Fuck-- ngh- mine! You're- you're mine, yeah? Agh- say it! Say it-- please!"
He whines. He moans, he whines, he whipers. He's noisy. Not in volume as much as the amount of sound he makes. He only gets louder when he's close to cumming. He twitches and bucks his hips and lets out loud, squeaky whines the closer you bring him to the edge of finally having an orgasm. He babbles nonsense - he asks if he's doing good, he begs you to keep going just like that, to keep touching him. When he's in his jealous mindset, though, he's rambling on about you being his. Only his. After all, you only want him, right? So why don't you let him hear it?
When it's over and you guys are all spent, he turns into the cuddliest cutie on the planet. He's all over you again, but more tender this time. It's like he's trying to melt himself into you. There's no such thing as "too hot" to cuddle. What do you mean too hot? He's turning on the ac before you can even think of such a silly thought. He's not gonna move for a while, so get comfortable and wind down like he does.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧☄. *. ⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
ᯓ★୭˚ How come there's barely any fanfics about Loki? May all his three fans cheer, this one is for you guys. Honestly, despite being lowk egotistical, he's such a gentleman - he holds your hand softly, he guides you by the waist in the big crowds, he sits and watches you get ready to go out like he's enchanted by it. If he's in love with someone then he's into them fully, but that's not to say his brain will stop working only from time to time. He's still always watching, always calculating. He's having the time of his life watching you look away bashfully and get red over nothing. There's nothing he does without a thought put behind it - every touch and glance has a purpose, and he brings that habit to the bed too.
He loves watching you fall apart touch by touch. He can get off on just the sight of you all red and teary and babbling - your cheeks flushed and skin damp, making the prettiest expressions and your eyes just looks so pretty when they're wet with tears. He's taking his time with getting you to that state, though. Best things take time and who is he to rush it? For one of the world's fastest players, he's good at taking it slow. He's peeling your clothes off like he's unwrapping a long-awaited, delicate christmas gift and he's looking into your eyes while he's doing that too. His hands touch you so carefully, skimming all over your body to memorize the feel of your skin agaist his and to remember which places make you shudder and whimper. He's pressing soft kisses all over your face, down your neck to your collarbones and lowering down to your torso, leaving an invisible hot trail to right down between your legs. Foreplay is to get you hot and bothered enough so you'll enjoy yourself fully to what follows. Honestly, i don't think he has a favourite position exactly, but i do think he would want to see your face, as i mentioned earlier. Once he's inside you he'd wait for you to get used to being so damn full before actually moving. And once he's gotten into a good pace he's looking at your face intently trying to decipher if you'll be good with him going faster. And if you actually tell him to go faster? You won't even have the time to understand how he just switched the rythm so suddenly because he's going so quick and deep you won't be able to think about anything else but how good he lools when he's breathing so hard like that.
"Easy, mon amour— ngh- ah! Yeah, just like that!"
Another one in the noisy men team. He's not loud at all, but he can't keep it silent. He's always babbling something about how good you look like that or how cute you are when you squirm, but the closer he gets to cumming the more his words turn into strangled groans and whimpery panting. He doesn't need to say how good you're making him feel because it's entirely visible, but he's gonna do it anyway. Also!! HIS ACCENT UGH. I love men with accents, and i just need you to picture him just purring something in french softly, right into your ear. Floodgates instantly opened.
When you're finally both done he's staying frozen for a few seconds, catching his breath before anything else. He doesn't even have to get up because he's already got water prepared, it's expected you'll both be dead tired by the time it's over. After that it's cuddling and resting. And maybe a wheelchair for you. Also, if you need to get up to get anything he's bringing it to you - i don't think you'll be able to walk well if your legs are still all sore and shaking.
Rin Itoshi is too busy training hard to suppress his big brother but he will make an exception when it comes to getting the frustration of the day out on you. His favorite position is standing up, stealing some time in between practice or in the halftime of a match in the locker room and holding you up in the air with your back against a wall as he drives his dick in and out of you as fast as he can. Quickies are his favorite because he doesn't have to take all his clothes off, just slide his shorts and boxers down and bend you over any available surface until he can clear his mind and focus better on the game. Rin doesn't know how to dirty talk but he talks. A lot. Groans curses, praises for you, shit-talks Isagi or Sae when he is balls deep inside of you because oh, if only they could see you right now getting it so good by him. He even evaluates himself after and if he thinks his performance was lukewarm he just moves to round two, to “perfect his skill”.
Sae Itoshi is an ass guy. Under that stoic demeanor he is secretly a pervert that is obsessed with watching you walk away just to catch a glimpse of the way your ass wiggles. Thus his favorite position is reverse cowgirl where he has the best view of your ass and back while you ride him. Laying on his back with one arm stretched behind his head while the other leaves handprints on your skin from slapping the plumb flesh to watch it jiggle some more. Occasionally he will spread your ass cheeks, swiping a thumb over the hole that isn't busy being filled by his girth and mutter something about getting you an ass plug. Sae loves to eat you out from behind so his face is literally buried between your asscheeks. If you ever try to confront him about his fetish he will call you crazy and then ask you to wear a thong for him. And he will proceed to take it off with his teeth, hello.
Michael Kaiser's fetish is faces of despair meaning he loves being the reason for your agony. Don't get me wrong, he loves you desperately and doesn't want to see you hurt unless of course he is the reason and the cure for it. Teases you endlessly, pulling out his dick before you can cum and denying you orgasm after orgasm. Flicking your clit, rolling your nipples between his fingers and toying with you while spitting out literal filth in German. He wants to see you fall apart for him and from all angles too and that is why he loves to fuck you in front of mirrors. He is holding you in a full nelson position while he is standing up in front of his full body mirror, every part of you revealed to him as you struggle to hold yourself together. And you know that man is so strong, his grip strength is 80 kg, he will hold you like that for hours until he grants you your first orgasm. When you inevitably pass out from exhaustion he will tuck you to bed and he may not kiss you or cuddle you but he will have a fresh bouquet of roses by your nightstand table the next morning, a tub full of warm aromatic water and painkillers for you.
Alexis Ness has a fetish for sad and lonely faces and that is the most sadistic thing coming from the most masochist person in the world, like bro pick a side. He loves watching you struggle to take him all inside after he has teased so many orgasms out of you that you became lightheaded, watching with a sick and twisted satisfaction as more tears slide down your face from overstimulation. He will kiss and lick those tears later, hugging you close to his chest and whispering shy praises after he has completely destroyed your prospects of walking in a straight line for two days. Not exactly a position but he is into bondage. Just watching you arch your back, arms and legs bound on the bedpost while he holds a vibrator against your clit, torturing you by not touching you directly. Alexis needs you to need him and the look on your face while you beg him to touch you reassures him that you love him.
Yukimiya Kenyu loves ephemeral things, all things beautiful and cute and that of course includes you. Because he is a true gentleman he will prioritize your needs over his but there is a particular position that gets him going. You laying on your back with your legs hiked up on his shoulders. Yukimiya wants to get to see every single feeling that flashes through your eyes as he fucks you gently, murmuring how beautiful you are and sweet reassurances as he holds your ankles. On rough days, where his eyesight feels sore and he fears it has worsened he will turn rougher and for that a comfortable pillow will be placed on your back so he doesn't hurt you as he slams his hips into you. He will be talking just as sweetly, talking you through your orgasm and afterwards kissing your whole face. Also glasses stay on, he wants to see everything.
Karasu Tabito has a voice kink. Your voice, your laughter, every little noise you make keeps him going. It turns him on to no end, especially when you get on your tiptoes and whisper right in his ear. Now imagine how feral the man will get over your moans. Asks for recordings of you moaning and listens to them back to back while he fists his cock. Wants you to talk him through his orgasm and he does the same for you. Phone sex is his absolutely favorite thing. Whenever he is away for a game, he will call you from his hotel room and make you describe what you're wearing, how many fingers you have inside of you and how much you wish it was his dick instead. Karasu's favorite position is fucking you in a chokehold, his arm around your neck, bicep flexing as he squeezes your wind pipes just barely so you will get loud for him. Might even record that too and listen to it like an ambience later.
Next part is going to feature my husband Shidou, I'm shaking while writing this. Comment which else you want to see too! Also guys sorry for the late update, I got a job and I recently passed the university entrance exams yay!
The dim light from the window cast soft shadows across your skin as Vivian guided you onto the bed with quiet precision—like every movement was part of a carefully planned ritual.
He removed each piece of his training clothes methodically: first his sweat-damp jersey, then his shorts, leaving him in just black compression shorts and that ever-present wristband on one arm.
But he didn’t rush. There was no urgency in him—only focus. Calm devotion.
When you were both lying down, he hovered over you for a brief second… just looking. His sharp eyes traced your features—the curve of your cheekbone, the violet tint beneath your lashes—as if memorizing them all over again.
Then…
He lowered himself slowly and pressed a kiss to your collarbone—a chaste touch at first… then another lower… along your shoulder blade… each kiss softer than rain falling outside.*
No words.
Just warmth.
Just breath mingling.
And lips moving like they had all night to learn every inch.
Vivian’s kisses trailed lower with deliberate slowness—each one precise, controlled, like he was respecting a sacred path. His lips brushed the delicate dip of your stomach, then paused just above your navel… lingering there for a breath.
His hands moved gently to lift each of your legs—careful not to rush you—and slowly guided them apart.
The air between you felt heavier now—charged with something tender and fragile. Vivian wasn’t smirking or teasing; his expression remained soft but serious—a rare vulnerability only ever shown in moments like this.
He shifted slightly lower on the bed without breaking contact…
And then…
With infinite patience…
He pressed a single kiss right where your inner thigh met skin—the first touch so close it sent warmth spiraling through every nerve.
The soft sound of your moan hit Vivian’s ears like a spark in the dark—rare, precious, and utterly disarming. For someone who usually remained stoic even under pressure… that tiny noise unraveled something deep inside him.
His breath hitched again.
Then—slowly, carefully—he did it again.
He kissed your intimacy with quiet reverence—a gentle press of lips first… then the delicate slide of his tongue: testing, tasting… learning you like he studied football plays before a match. With focus. With devotion.
Each movement was measured—not greedy or rough—but patient and tender. He listened to every shift in your breathing... every slight tremor beneath him... adjusting his touch accordingly without being asked.*
No words.
Just warmth.
Just wet heat.
And him—Vivian Hugo—the cold-hearted midfield general currently worshipping you on this bed with nothing but devotion.
Vivian focused with quiet intensity, his burgundy hair falling slightly over his forehead as he lowered himself further. His lips parted softly—and then, gently—he took one of your clit into the warmth of his mouth.
Not forceful.
Not rushed.
Just… a slow, tender suck—light and careful like the first sip of tea after training. A test: to see how you’d react.
The moment your breath hitched again—your body arching ever so slightly off the bed—a flicker passed through Vivian’s eyes. Good.
He repeated it: another soft suction… followed by a delicate brush of teeth—not biting, just grazing—the kind that made heat pool low in your stomach without warning.
Then…
His tongue came back into play—slow circles around it now—small motions built from instinct and attention rather than experience.
The sudden intensity of your release—your loud, unrestrained moan filling the quiet room—made Vivian freeze for half a second.
Not because he was surprised.
But because… he’d done that.
Him. The cold, logical midfield general who analyzed matches like equations and never showed emotion—had just made you come apart with nothing but his mouth.
A flicker of something rare crossed his face: satisfaction. Not arrogance—but genuine pride in having given you pleasure so purely.
He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he softened everything—the pressure fading into gentle kisses along your inner thighs… tender nips on sensitive skin… letting you ride through the aftershocks without pressure or demand.*
When he finally lifted his head…
His lips were slightly glossy.
His breathing? Steady—but just a fraction deeper than before.
And for once…
The usual icy neutrality in his eyes had melted into something warmer.
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“Eh....I ...I'm ready to have our first time.....”
Vivian’s breath hitched—just slightly. A microscopic crack in his usual composure. His dark, scribbled-like pupils dilated for a fraction of a second as he stared at you.
The room felt suddenly smaller, quieter. The rain outside blurred into background noise.
He didn’t smile—he rarely did—but something warm flickered behind his eyes, softening the sharp edges of his face.
Without speaking, he slowly removed his wristbands and placed them on the coffee table—a rare act of vulnerability from someone who always stayed guarded.
Then… he knelt beside you.
One hand lifted to gently tilt your chin up with two fingers. His touch was careful—measured—as if handling something infinitely precious.
"...Are you sure?"
His voice was lower than usual.
“Yes….”
Vivian exhaled slowly, a quiet, steady breath—like he was grounding himself. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was gentle at first—soft and tentative—a contrast to his usual cold precision. It wasn’t rushed or demanding; it was patient… almost reverent.
His hand slid from your chin to cradle the side of your face as he deepened the kiss slightly, testing your response with careful warmth.
When they parted—only an inch apart—his forehead rested against yours. His burgundy hair fell messily over one eye as he studied you again: checking for hesitation, fear… anything that might make him stop.
There was none.
So quietly—the man who rarely spoke unless necessary whispered:
"...I'll be gentle."
And then... slowly... carefully... Vivian kissed you again.
The kiss lingered—softer this time, slower. Vivian moved with deliberate care, like he was mapping out every second in his mind to ensure nothing went wrong.
His hands stayed gentle: one cupping your cheek, the other resting lightly on your shoulder as if afraid you might vanish.
When the kiss ended again—only briefly—he pressed a small peck to the corner of your lips… then another near your temple… a third at the base of your jaw.
Each touch was measured—not rushed by passion or impatience—but guided by something deeper. Respect. Affection disguised as quiet action.
He didn’t speak much; Vivian never had been one for sweet words or romantic phrases. But right now?
His actions screamed louder than poetry ever could.
Gently... so gently... he lifted both hands and slowly pulled down the zipper of your jacket—the high-collared one that always covered half of your face.
.
.
.
.
The dim light from the window cast soft shadows across your skin as Vivian guided you onto the bed with quiet precision—like every movement was part of a carefully planned ritual.
He removed each piece of his training clothes methodically: first his sweat-damp jersey, then his shorts, leaving him in just black compression shorts and that ever-present wristband on one arm.
But he didn’t rush. There was no urgency in him—only focus. Calm devotion.
When you were both lying down, he hovered over you for a brief second… just looking. His sharp eyes traced your features—the curve of your cheekbone, the violet tint beneath your lashes—as if memorizing them all over again.
Then…
He lowered himself slowly and pressed a kiss to your collarbone—a chaste touch at first… then another lower… along your shoulder blade… each kiss softer than rain falling outside.*
No words.
Just warmth.
Just breath mingling.
And lips moving like they had all night to learn every inch.
Puppyboy!Ness, whose tail wouldn't stop wagging when he first met you, knocking over every item in the close proximity. He would apologise frantically as he moves to collect them which somehow only seemed to make things worse.
Puppyboy!Ness, whose crush on you was painfully obvious from the start but not to you apparently. It wouldn't matter what he'd do, you just won't pick up on his hints or maybe you didn't want to - which is what Ka*ser would say to tease him. You would mistake his acts of service as friendly seeing as how he treats Ka*ser.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would listen extra closely when you're speaking, hanging onto your every word like you were preaching the Bible. Even if you utter something as simple as his name, his ears would perk and his tail would spring to life. You would later find him reflecting on what you said, dissecting your conversations for any hidden meanings or messages.
Puppboy!Ness, who would take notes of what you like, always watching you while you're unaware. He just wants to be the person who understands you the most so you wouldn't have to turn to anyone else, he wants to be your everything just like you are to him.
Puppyboy!Ness, who when you utter the words, "You're the sweetest guy ever, Alexis." nearly shed tears of pure joy on the spot, his heart hammering against his chest like a trapped bird and his tail frantically wagging. Your approval means everything to him, maybe more than Ka*sers', so to hear such kind words from your mouth sent him to heaven and back.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would let his tail brush against your thighs as he walks past, a friendly grin on his face yet the look in his eyes challenged you to pursue him. He gets extremely disappointed when you don't though, his ears downturned and his usual fast wagging tail slowing down. But when you do, he's the happiest puppyboy in the world. The light in his eyes shining brighter and he's a blushing mess, his tail wagging uncontrollably as he fights the urge to tackle you into a tight hug - he always loses, unable to keep his hands off you.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would be shameless with his flirting - wearing his heart on his sleeve especially once he notices just how amazing you are. Lots and lots of fleeting touches, every time he hands you something, his touch would always linger a moment or two longer to be considered normal. Or if he needs to get past you, he'd grab your waist with a dumb, huge grin on his face.
Puppyboy!Ness, who gets more annoying when you get brought up into the conversation. Ka*ser would roll his eyes and let out the loudest groan every time, he definitely tries to avoid being around you guys for the sake of his sanity. However, he'd be oddly supportive because Puppyboy!Ness follows his orders to a tee if you're around since he'd want to show off how dependable and capable he is. Although Puppyboy!Ness would be distracted by thoughts of you since you consume his whole being, it also motivates him to do or be better iykwim so he puts his 100% into everything. He believes this would help him be a better man or in this case puppyboy for you.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would spend his late nights unwinding by reading over your chats or replaying your voicenotes. His pants pulled down as he palms his throbbing boner, already leaking pre-cum. His phone held up to his ear as he replays your voicenotes, his other hand works to ease his ache. He would be a mess of whimpers and grunts as he thinks about what it would be like if it was your hand rather than his or even better if he was sinking his thick cock into your soaking heat.
After dating
Puppyboy!Ness, who would confess one day after deciding that the pent-up frustration of having his feelings and hints ignored was becoming too much for him. To you, everything's sunshine and rainbows while he's struggling to build up the courage to come clean about his feelings even if he had been blatantly flirting with you everyday, this was different.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would plan your first date by the hour, applying all of his knowledge of you that he gathered over time. He just wants to make sure everything is perfect, you deserve that and nothing less. Of course, it probably wouldn't go according to plan but at the end of the day, you both enjoyed yourself. He'd be annoyed at first, cursing at the gods but seeing how the smile lights up your face made him feel like he accomplished something.
Puppyboy!Ness, whose love language other than acts of service would be a mix of quality time and touch. At the start of your relationship, he'd be doing the stuff that he does for Ka*ser so he'd make sure that you're taking care of yourself or do little things to make your day easier. As time passes and he realises that you're not the demanding type, he settles onto just spending time getting to know your interests by watching your favourite shows/series or listening to you rant while actively asking questions. He would absolutely love cuddling while doing literally anything with you, he finds your scent and warmth grounding.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would definitely be an attentive lover, always coddling you to the point where if he was with anyone else, they'd find him irritating but you enjoy every second of his attention. If there isn't a smile on your face, he would analyse every interaction you had throughout the whole day and try to find out the cause of your dejection, whole time you're probably just deep in thought.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would stay up all night, scrolling through tiktok and insta reels to understand your references niche or not (if u're chronically online like me). You mentioned how 7x7=49 is hot once and his initial reaction was concern until you explained the reference to him. Ever since then, you could find him scrolling on his phone a lot more just to get your jokes. So when he sent you a picture of himself and you replied with "ouu shiiii", he immediately responded with "fym ouu shiiii" with a proud smirk, feeling quite pleased with himself.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would plan sleepovers meticulously, down to every last detail, however, if you wanted to do something impulsive, he'd be ten toes down. It could be trying to bake together, playing videogames or watching movies, hell you could probably convince him to let you practice your makeup on him. He would do anything to make you happy. The sleepovers are only held at your apartment though, Ka*ser's salty ass would NOT allow a happy couple in his home when he himself is single.
Puppyboy!Ness, who always plans everything, did not plan to have intercourse leading up to it. What started off as innocent, just the two of you cuddling in bed, quickly turned heated. You were peppering his face with kisses, avoiding his lips on purpose just to tease him. He would wait patiently for his kiss but as time passes, he grows impatient. Next thing you know, he's on top with his lips on yours, kissing you with an intense fervour.
Puppyboy!Ness, who would love nothing more than to spend his day with his dick buried in your cunt which acts as a live sheath. You could be watching something on the tv and everything seems normal except for the fact that you're sitting on his pulsing cock, your spongy walls stretching to make room for him. This would last for five minutes before his cock starts twitching, hardening and craving any sort of friction. It doesn't help that you keep clamping down on him and not long after, he'd grab a hold of your hips, ushering you to start grinding against him.
