divider credits: @/cursed-carmine

the pressure was agonizing, mentally tormenting rin. his clear, intent goal to score was blurred because of all the high levels of energy and loud comments bubbling around him.

"tch," he muttered under his breath. "annoying."

sweating and staring anxiously at him ahead was the other team's goalkeeper. all rin had to ensure was the ball under his feet would swerve past the goalkeeper and make it into the net.

you stood in the vip area, hands nervously clenching around the cool, metal railing. the stadium was deafening, people screaming rin's name. at this moment, he was the only one who mattered in the world.

you blinked for only a split second and when you opened your eyes, cameras flashed so brightly the soccer field below was painted white.

rin scored.

the whistle blew, indicating the end of the match. his team won, with a score of 3-2.

reporters pushed against the barricades trying to reach him first after the game-winning goal. fans screamed so loudly, it'd be a surprise if your ears weren't bleeding.

rin shoved past teammates calling for him, ignored the microphones being shoved into his face, and sprinted straight toward the stands. his eyes searched the crowd with frightening precision until they landed on you.

"mr. rin, please one comment―"

rin ignored the reporters, climbing over the barrier. fans reached for him and security chased after him, but he didn't stop once.

once he reached you, rin cupped your cheeks.

"you were watching, right?" he asked breathlessly, teal eyes darting all across your face. his tone was desperate despite the stoic exterior he always forced onto himself.

you giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. "everyone was watching, rin."

"so?" rin scoffed. he pressed his forehead against yours. "i only care if you were watching."

behind rin, the stadium kept roaring, voices praising him. yet rin only listened to yours.

𝄞𝄢 itoshi sae.

sae grew up with fame. he was used to the loud crowds, flashing cameras, and pressurizing reporters relentlessly begging him for even a single word.

so after the final long whistle from the referee, sae handled the immediate swarm of reporters wanting to discuss his flawless performance with his usual detached demeanor.

"sae, what did you think of the final play?"

"do you think this victory secures re al a―"

sae locked eyes with you near the tunnel entrance ― where he knew you were waiting for him the entire time ― and his composure cracked.

his steps got quicker and the reporters scrambled behind him, confused but still determined to get him to answer their questions.

"aren't you supposed to be doing those interviews?" you asked as sae approached you. looking behind him, you winced at all the desperate reporters looking at him as if he was food and water.

"they can wait."

sae stopped right in front of you, eyes softer than they ever were on the field.

"let's go out. my treat."

"but you won." you playfully raised an eyebrow. "shouldn't i be the one treating you?"

"no," sae muttered, leaving no room for argument. without caring about the cameras pointed directly at you two, he took your hand and intertwined your fingers together. "let's get out of here."

the reporters' jaws dropped at the juicy sight unfolding (and disappearing) right in front of their eyes. they couldn't talk to sae directly, but at least there would be new headlines about him by tonight.

𝄞𝄢 micheal kaiser.

"kaiser over here! notice me!!!"

"kaiser can i get one photo!"

"can we get a statement about your goal?"

everyone in the stadium was worshipping kaiser, even fans from the opposing team. his talented performance from the match earlier ― resulting in an expected win ― left everyone admiring him.

kaiser loved the attention―he lived for the attention.

but he was only craving one person's attention right now, even if it was just a glance. he could care less about everyone else surrounding him.

the second kaiser caught you standing near the edge of the field, his entire expression brightened.

"found you, liebe."

kaiser jogged right past the reporters, grinning while the media erupted behind him. you barely had time to react before he dramatically dropped to his knees right in front of you.

"did my goals impress you liebling?"

you rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile.

"i guess."

"i guess???" kaiser furrowed his eyebrows, clutching his chest theatrically. "you are so cruel! those goals were specifically for you."

behind you two, the reporters and kaiser's teammates laughed. the cameras captured everything, displaying the interaction between you two on the big screens in the stadium.

"you always say that every match!" you scoffed.

kaiser stood up, wrapped an arm around your waist possessively, and flashed the cameras a smirk.

"and i mean it every time."

𝄞𝄢 kunigami rensuke. (post wc)

the reporters whispered amongst themselves, unsure of whether or not to approach the infamous kunigami.

he had just scored the winning goal of the match earlier, securing his soccer club the famous championship everyone loved worldwide.

but because of his interesting reputation, the reporters were hesitant to approach him.

as he walked by them, sweat clung to his skin, chest rising heavily. his exhaustion was evident.

"let's just talk to him," a reporter hushed to their co-worker.

the reporters began crowding around him, hands tugging him towards interviews.

he ignored them, pushing their hands off his body. he already had a person to talk to in mind.

you were patiently waiting in the front row of the bleachers, watching kunigami as he slowly approached you. his auburn eyes were on you too, gaze sharp and indifferent as usual.

"you waited the entire match," kunigami uttered as soon as he reached you.

"obviously!"

his shoulders relaxed at your voice, tension melting from his body little by little.

"you were amazing, ren," you whispered, placing a hand on his bicep.

as the words slowly processed in his mind, kunigami stared at you. his expression was slightly conflicted, as if he was trying to understand whether those words that came out of your mouth were real or just his imagination playing tricks on him.

after a couple of seconds, it clocked to kunigami that you actually spoke and that your words were genuine, spoken truly from your heart.

kunigami's lips broke into a smile—small, rare, and sincere.

𝄞𝄢 barou shoei.

barou smirked arrogantly as reporters chased after him.

just a while ago, the king scored three goals, helping his team win yet another match. of course his ego was incredibly boosted and the stadium chanting his name only fed his ego further.

the moment barou spotted you in the crowd, something in his tyrannical behavior changed direction instantly.

barou shoved a microphone away with an irritated click of his tongue.

"move."

"barou-san! one interview please—"

"i said move."

people parted instinctively as he strode toward you with the same overwhelming presence he carried practically anywhere and everywhere.

you crossed your arms teasingly. "ignoring your fans i see," you called out as he approached.

"i'm focusing on what's more important right now."

he stopped directly in front of you, towering over you slightly before firmly grabbing your chin.

"you saw who ruled this field, yeah?"

"o'course i did, king."

barou's chest swelled with some unnameable feeling. your attention was far more sufficient enough than admiration from his millions of fans all over the world.

𝄞𝄢 bachira meguru.

"another playful and frisky win executed by none other than barcha's star player, bachira!"

fans screamed his name endlessly while teammates celebrated around him. bachira looked radiant after helping his team win another match.

despite all the attention he was receiving, bachira felt as if something — no, someone — was missing.

he enthusiastically gushed over the match with his teammates, but his eyes were darting all over the place, desperately seeking out someone.

the second bachira spotted you near the railing, his entire face lit up brighter than the stadium lights.

"there you are!"

he immediately bolted towards you, ditching his teammates and ignoring someone attempting to pull him into an interview.

"bachira! media first!"

"nope!"

you barely managed to greet him before he tackled you into a hug, practically knocking the air out of your lungs.

"meguru!" you squealed, wrapping your arms around his frame. he was drenched in sweat, but that didn't matter.

"we won!" he grinned, yellow orbs sparkling. "did you see my pass? did you see my goal? did you see it? did you?"

"i did! i was watching you the whole time. you almost gave me five heart attacks!"

"that means i did good!"

"when are you not doing good in soccer?" you cooed.

bachira giggled—his laughter infectious, warm and carefree. you giggled along with him. he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"it's really fun when you watch me play. i hope you always will."

𝄞𝄢 oliver aiku.

growing up with everyone praising his soccer skills and then landing a career in japan's u-20 team, aiku handled fame naturally.

today was just another day dealing with excessive attention from fans and reporters adamant to hear even a sentence from his mouth.

he performed exceptionally well in another match, leading to a beautiful win that fans and his team were craving.

aiku waved at fans easily, flashed cameras his charismatic smile, and answered endless questions with ease.

he glanced away from a reporter, only to spot you behind a crowd, watching him with a big smile. the second he noticed you, aiku's attention shifted.

"excuse me for a sec," he told the reporters casually. "i'll be back soon."

aiku knew he wouldn't return, not when you were there waiting for him with that pretty smile he loved so dearly.

you laughed as he walked over and pulled you somewhere more secluded.

"are you serious? you're gonna get yelled at later."

"so what?" aiku stepped in front of you, grinning, though his eyes carried something softer underneath. "it's worth it if i can be with you."

"tough game?"

"you have no idea."

aiku pulled you into his arms and buried his face into your hair, inhaling the faint, lingering smell of your shampoo.

"this feels way better than any win," he whispered.

© faeaabi 2026 do NOT: plagiarize, copy, translate, upload my work elsewhere + train ai with my work.

itoshi rin

rin stares and doesn't even pretend not to. zero shame. his eyes just drop straight to your legs and stay there for a genuinely uncomfortable amount of time.

gets weird and quiet and irritable about it. like he's mad at you for looking like that. will scoff and mutter something about you being annoying. classic behavior. he's literally just flustered and projecting.

can't stop touching you once he starts. he's a physical person with you anyway but the thigh highs make him almost obsessive about it, hands always gravitating to that specific band of lace like a magnet.

if you tease him about noticing, he grabs your thigh hard enough to make you squeak and just squeezes, staring you down. "shut up." eloquent as always.

the inner thigh thing kills him specifically. the softness there, the way the stocking ends and bare skin starts. he will put his mouth on that exact spot with zero preamble if given the opportunity.

rin puts you on your back, pushes your skirt up, and gets his mouth on the inside of your thigh right at the lace band without any preamble whatsoever. he just bites down, not gentle and you arch off the mattress. his hands pin your hips flat and he sucks a bruise into the soft flesh just above the stocking top, nose pressed against the lace, jaw working, before he hooks his thumbs into your underwear and drags it down, leaving the stockings exactly in place. he looks up at you from between your thighs with that flat dark expression. "these are stupid," he says before putting his mouth on your cunt, eating you out like he's been thinking about it all day (which he has). tongue relentless on your clit and two fingers curling inside you while the lace edge scratches against his cheek with every movement of his head.

when you come he doesn't stop, works you through it until you're twisting away, and even then he just presses one last biting kiss to the inside of your thigh and sits up. looks at you, completely wrecked, thigh highs still perfectly in place. "annoying," he mutters, and reaches down to undo his belt.

yoichi isagi

isagi does a genuine double take. like actually has to look away and look back. sweet boy is not subtle, his whole face goes red immediately. it's adorable and also a little devastating.

fumbles his words for a solid minute after noticing. trying to have a normal conversation with you and completely losing his train of thought mid sentence because you shifted and the skirt moved a little.

he gets fixated on the lace specifically. keeps glancing at it. he doesn't even know what he wants to do about it yet, he's just… very aware of it. spatially. it takes up a lot of real estate in his brain.

isagi is a please-touch-me-first kind of guy normally but the thigh highs rewire something. he actually reaches out and touches them, like he's asking permission with the gesture, fingers just barely grazing the stocking material. "these are… nice," he manages. ground swallowing him whole.

the response he least expects is how loud his brain gets about the gap of bare skin. he thinks about it later when he's lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

"can i just," isagi starts and doesn't finish, cheeks already pink, hands on your thighs with his thumbs right at the lace edge. you part your legs for him and something in him relaxes and ignites at the same time. he pushes your skirt up slow, watching his own hands like he can't believe he's doing this, and when the bare strip of thigh above the stockings comes into view he exhales this quiet "god." he gets his mouth on that strip of skin and drags it slow and warm, fingers sliding your underwear aside, working you open careful and thorough because isagi when he finally gets going is relentless about making sure you feel good. "you're so," he starts, and stops, and tries again while his fingers curl inside you. "you feel so good, i can't, i"

he keeps the stockings on while he fucks you, both hands gripping that bare strip above the lace like it's the only thing he can think to hold onto, flushed and overwhelmed, forehead dropping to your knee. he thinks about it for weeks.

seishiro nagi

nagi blinks at your legs for a long moment, tilts his head slightly and goes "oh." that's it. that's his whole reaction. except he keeps looking back at your legs every like ninety seconds.

it's not that he's performing indifference, he genuinely processes things slowly. but something about the thigh highs sticks. he brings them up twenty minutes later, totally unprompted, while you're both doing completely different things. "those stockings are nice."

lazy tactile guy. will end up with his head in your lap eventually and will absolutely just… start messing with the lace band while he lies there. picking at it, stretching it, completely absentminded about it. doesn't connect that it's driving you insane.

if you're gaming together he'll pull your leg over his lap and just rest his hand on your thigh. the stocking material is apparently a texture he likes because he keeps rubbing his thumb back and forth over it. very soothing. to him. you are not soothed.

when he gets into it properly he's slow and thorough about it. he wants to leave marks above the stocking band specifically, like his own little detail that exists in that exposed triangle of skin. doesn't explain why. just does it.

nagi sets his controller down and runs his fingers along the top of the stocking band, slow, like he's taking an inventory. when you make a sharp sound at the snap of lace against your skin his eyes come up to your face and something shifts in them. "oh," he says. quieter this time. he gets you lying back, tilts his head, trails his fingers from your knee up to the lace band on one leg then the other like he's checking they match, satisfied and then puts his mouth on the inside of your thigh and starts sucking a bruise into the skin there while his fingers slide your underwear down. he goes down on you the same way he does everything, slow and thorough, tongue working your clit in long flat strokes while one hand stays at the lace band, thumb pressing into the indent it's left in your skin.

after, he looks at the marks he left above the stockings and presses his thumb into one of them, gentle. "soft," he says, satisfied. then he reaches for his controller.

iglesias bunny

bunny's reaction is immediate and dramatic and delightful. lets out a low whistle, grins like he just won something. "okay, hello." fully shameless about it.

he's a comments-about-it openly kind of guy. will tell you your legs look incredible, will gesture vaguely at the whole situation and say "what do you think you're doing to me right now, genuinely." theatrical about it but he means every word.

the gap of skin between the stocking top and your skirt is his enemy and his best friend. he keeps touching it, fingers brushing that edge with this grin like he knows exactly what he's doing.

he'll drop to a crouch in front of you for some reason, like he needs to be at eye level with your legs specifically, and look up at you while his hands rest on your knees. the eye contact from that angle is a menace.

bunny talks during everything but he talks more when he's this visually stimulated. there will be commentary. detailed commentary. you asked for this by wearing them.

"i need you to know," bunny says, grinning up at you from where he's kneeling between your legs, "that i've been thinking about this since the second you walked in." he pushes your skirt up, drags his lips along the inside of your thigh right at the lace edge and then puts his mouth on you without further comment, loud and enthusiastic about it, groaning against your cunt like you're something he's been denied, thumbs pressing into that bare strip of skin above the stocking tops. "this what you wanted, yeah? wanted me on my knees for you?" he glances up, eyes bright, fingers pumping slow. you tell him to shut up but don't stop. "rude," a simple reply. but he obliges, happily, and goes back to work.

when you come he gentles off slow. pressing soft open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh and then to the lace band itself, then sits back and pushes his hair out of his face. "told you," he says, grinning. "been thinking about it all day."

michael kaiser

kaiser's reaction is this slow, appreciative top-to-bottom look that makes you feel like you're being appraised. slight smile. he says "mm" like you've confirmed something he already suspected about himself.

he is absolutely the type to make a whole thing of it. very vocal, very deliberate, will absolutely say something like "well, you're clearly trying to get attention, so here it is." and then give you his full undivided and terrifying focus.

the possessiveness spikes immediately. something about the thigh highs makes him want to mark every visible inch of skin above the band. likes the idea of you being visually perfect in every other way except for the bruises he left on the inside of your thigh.

uses it against you. will let his hand slide up your skirt just to the lace band and stop there, totally calm, watching your face while you squirm. he finds your reactions to his restraint genuinely entertaining.

gets intensely focused during sex when you're wearing them. keeps them on. absolutely keeps them on. something about you otherwise undone and still wearing the thigh highs, that small composed detail against the complete mess of everything else, genuinely does something unhinged to him.

"keep them on," kaiser had said and he meant it. you're on your back, skirt gone, top shoved up, an absolute wreck and the stockings are still perfectly in place because that is clearly the point. he's buried in you to the hilt and not moving yet, just watching your face with that focused terrifying calm while you beg him to move. "not yet, dear," and drags his lips along your throat and keeps his hands on your thighs right above the lace bands, thumbs pressing bruises into the bare skin there. he fucks you slow on purpose when he finally does move, deep grinding rolls that make your legs shake, stilling every time you try to rush him, amused. "you're going to take everything i give you." when he finally lets you come he looks down at where you're joined, at the lace bands still bright against your skin, at the bruises his thumbs have put into the soft flesh above them, and something in his expression goes briefly, uncharacteristically undone. "look at you," he breathes. afterward, once he's collected himself, he presses one kiss to each bruise above the band. "next time," he says, "wear them with nothing else."

oliver aiku

aiku is a grown man who has absolutely been around enough to play it cool and he still can't quite manage it when you show up like this. he does this thing where he grins and looks away briefly, like he needs a second to collect himself. very cute on a man that big.

very complimentary about it, in that warm genuine aiku way. "you look gorgeous, sweetheart" but his eyes are already on your legs when he says it. he means both things simultaneously.

he's handsy at baseline and the thigh highs make it worse, hand always finding your thigh in public, thumb absently tracing the lace band through your skirt like he can feel where it is. possessive without even thinking about it.

size kink is very present here. big hands against the back of your thigh, fingers wrapping around easily, the contrast of his rough palms against the soft stocking material. he's very aware of it.

likes to slide his hand under your skirt and run his fingers along the very top of the stocking while you're doing something completely mundane, just to watch you lose your composure.

aiku gets you up on the kitchen counter and stands between your knees with his big hands running slow from your thighs to your calves and back, just feeling the stockings under his palms, before he pushes your skirt up and puts his mouth on that strip of bare skin between hem and lace and takes his time there, unhurried, laughing warm and low against your leg every time you try to pull him where you actually need him. "patience, sweetheart." when he finally gets his fingers inside you he's good at it, careful and thorough in the way that big men with steady hands tend to be. he fucks you on the counter with the stockings on, hands gripping your thighs right at the lace bands, head dropped to your shoulder, the lace scratching lightly against his hips every time he pushes in deep.

you come with his thumb on your clit and his hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs and he holds you through all of it, steady and warm, murmuring into your hair. after, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh right at the stocking band and looks up at you with that slow grin. "going to need you to wear those again," he says. "like. soon."

an: pt 2?? anyways first time writing aiku (was gonna be hugo but i changed my mind)

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end notes. ꨄ︎ mb to the aiku stans for bullying him twice :p

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