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celabi · 28 days ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎

sae + kaiser + shidou + ness + rin + isagi + nagi + reo x f reader

sae makes the bed before he leaves.

he wakes up early. before the sun, before the world stirs, before even the first of his four alarms has the chance to buzz. he’s built like that, disciplined with every second accounted for. training waits for no one, and sae itoshi doesn’t wait either.

he moves quietly in the mornings, all silent footsteps and half lidded yawns, the kind of stillness that comes from years of knowing exactly what needs to be done. his body remembers before his mind even catches up, coffee, stretches, get dressed.

but you, of course, are the exception to every one of his carefully constructed habits. the small detour in his list.

you’re still sprawled across the bed like a starfish, half wrapped in the duvet, cheek squished into his pillow with your mouth slightly open. your hair’s a mess, your legs are a messier tangle of limbs, and you’re wearing one of his hoodies that he brought three sizes too big.

you look ridiculous. soft and adorable, and sae hates how much it makes his heart ache.

he lets you sleep. he always lets you sleep.

but he also makes the bed every morning. no excuses. no matter what. even with you in it.

“move,” he murmurs, already tugging on one corner of the blanket, patting your hip with a touch that’s way gentler than his tone. “lift up.”

you groan, something inhuman and definitely not a real word. he sighs like this happens every morning. because it does.

“you’re drooling on my pillow. again.”

your hand flops up to smear half across your mouth, shielding your shame while you roll sluggishly to the side. sae takes the opportunity, quickly so you can resume your sleep, to fluff the pillow, tug the sheets flat, and fold a corner of the comforter neatly under your waist like a hotel staffer who somehow fell into domestic life.

“turn this way,” he mutters, nudging your shoulder. “no, the other way. blanket’s uneven.”

he’s all low grumbles and soft touches, moving you around like you’re made of glass. a frown tugs at his lips the whole time, but his hands are gentle, straightening and smoothing over the fabric like it matters more than it should.

when you’re finally cocooned the way he likes, snug, somewhat symmetrical, warm, he leans in and presses a quiet kiss to your temple. “sleep. i’ll be back before lunch.”

your voice is barely a whisper, slurred with sleep, muffled by the pillow. “bring food.”

he scoffs under his breath. “as long as you don’t get crumbs in my bed.”

you always do.

and he always brings your favorite snack anyway.

kaiser brings flowers for the whole family.

it started the first time he came over.

michael kaiser, self proclaimed egoist, golden boy of the field, the kind of guy who walked like the world owed him something and smiled like he already had it all, showed up at your front door with three bouquets in hand.

not one. not two. three.

he stood there like it was the most casual thing ever, shoulder leaned against the frame, grin a little too cocky, hair perfectly messy like he’d spent forever making it look like he didn’t try.

the first bouquet was for you, obviously. he handed it over with a dramatic little bow and a wink, the arrangement bold and romantic, soft pink peonies nestled between full, velvety red roses, tied together with a satin ribbon. classic. a little flashy, sure, but unmistakably him. he watched your expression like it was a match he was trying to win, waiting for your eyes to light up. and they did.

but then he straightened up and pulled out the second bouquet. a softer one, lavender, baby’s breath, white tulips. no over the top color this time, and handed it, with an almost sheepish smirk, to your mom.

“figured it’d be rude to only bring flowers for the prettiest girl here,” he said smoothly, voice dipped in charm. “so i brought some for the queen, too.”

your mom had blinked, surprised, and then laughed, soft and flustered while taking them from him and running off to find a vase.

and the third? that one was the smallest. the wrapping paper was cartoon themed, covered in stars and hearts. inside was tiny pops of bright color, mini sunflowers, marigolds, something dyed blue that probably wasn’t natural but was meant to be fun.

he crouched in front of your little sister to hand it to her directly, grinning that crooked, boyish grin that made him look five years younger.

“for the cutest princess i’ve ever seen.” he told her like it was a secret just for her. and when she covered her face and squealed, he only laughed and ruffled her hair, gentle and playful.

after that, it became routine.

evey time he came over, three beautiful bouquets.

he never made a show of it. didn’t brag, didn’t explain. he just slipped inside like he belonged there, bouquets in one hand, the other reaching for yours, eyes glinting with that same effortless confidence. like it was normal to charm your entire household on the way to your heart.

you’d tease him sometimes, grinning as you passed him in the hallway, whispering under your breath, “trying to win the whole family, michael?”

and he’d kiss your forehead, hands curling around your waist as he leaned in close enough that only you could hear him say,

“i already won yours. just making sure the rest of the kingdom approves.”

shidou paints your nails.

well, he demands to paint your nails. bursts into your room with a giant tote bag slung over his shoulder, overflowing with nail polish bottles, rhinestones in tiny plastic cases, glitter, mini uv lamps, and like, five different top coats he doesn’t even need. he’s grinning like he just looted a beauty supply store and got away with it. like you’re his first client of the day and he’s booked out until next year.

“sit,” he commands, plopping onto the floor and patting his lap like it’s your throne. “it’s nail day, baby.”

you eye him warily, climbing down off the bed anyway. it’s shidou, after all, loud, explosive, a walking red flag with more red cards than you can count. chaos is in his blood. if anyone was going to spill nail polish on the carpet or glue rhinestones to your elbow by accident, it’d be him.

but the second you settle in his lap, legs across his, hands offered out in front of you like an offering, he changes.

his voice quiets. his grin softens.

he picks out a color, sometimes asking, sometimes deciding for you, and his brows pull together in focus as he opens the bottle. he holds your fingers delicately, like they’re something fragile, his thumb resting beneath yours while his other hand starts to paint.

and he’s good. surprisingly good. sure, his hands still twitch sometimes, years of high speed tackles and clenched fists leaving their mark, but his grip is steady when it counts. the polish goes on smooth, not a single smudge. and when you move, even just a little, maybe to breathe, maybe to say something, he immediately clicks his tongue.

“stop moving,” he mumbles, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. “i’m trying to make you pretty.”

you lift a brow at him. “i’m already pretty.”

he snorts, but doesn’t look up. “duh. i’m just making you even more pretty.”

every time, he makes sure your nails match his, down to the last detail.

once it was matte black with silver tips. another time, pastel pink with little hearts he painstakingly dotted on with a toothpick. one week it was neon green flames and he called it your “power couple arc,” posing dramatically in front of your mirror like the two of you were about to drop a mixtape.

when he finishes, he always holds your hands up like they’re sacred. like he’s unveiling a work of art. his art.

“damn, we look good,” he says, eyes shining as he admires your matching sets. “wanna go push people over at the skating rink?”

you laugh. because how could you not?

and then he kisses your fingers, soft, almost gently, like the same mouth hasn’t yelled at a ref for twenty minutes or talked shit to half his team.

because yeah, shidou is a menace. reckless and violent and so unpredictable.

but when it’s just you and him, tangled up on the floor with glitter all over his sweatpants and your nails drying in the lamplight, he’s just a boy who likes painting your nails.

ness is always touching you.

dating him means you’re never really alone. not even for a second.

he doesn’t like space. not when it comes to you. even in silence, even when there’s no conversation to fill the gaps, his hands always find their way back to you, like they’re on autopilot, like his body’s forgotten how to exist without yours tethered to it.

you could be lying on the couch, half asleep, curled up on his chest while something plays on the tv that neither of you are really watching. the light flickers, scenes change, but his attention isn’t on the screen. it’s on the way your breathing evens out, the soft weight of your body against his, the warmth that seeps into his skin just from having you close.

and without hesitation, without even thinking, his hand slips beneath your shirt, not for anything suggestive. no teasing, no games. just to feel you. to trace slow, sleepy little circles against your spine with the pads of his fingers, like memorizing the shape of you helps him stay sane.

he always hums when he does it, something low and almost tuneless, head resting against yours, his eyes falling shut like he could fall asleep right then and there. because in that moment, you’re his. his anchor. his whole world slowed down into something soft and manageable.

out in public, he’s no different.

you’re standing in the middle of the freezer aisle at the store, trying to compare the price of two different brands of fish fingers, and ness is behind you, pressed flush against your back like he belongs there. both arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and then, as if that’s not close enough, he slides his hands into the pockets of your coat, lacing his fingers with yours even through the fabric.

“it’s cold…” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear, breath warm against your skin. but you know better. he’s not cold. he just missed touching you. he always does.

you barely flinch. you don’t even look up. because this? this is just ness being ness.

he gets twitchy when he can’t touch you.

not in a dramatic way, he doesn’t whine or throw a tantrum, but he fidgets. tugs gently at your sleeve, loops a finger through your belt, reaches for the hem of your hoodie and walks behind you with his hand curled in the fabric like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep that small connection.

he doesn’t say it, but you feel it. in every little squeeze. every tug. every time he absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, over and over and over.

and yeah, it’s cute. mostly.

a little clingy. a little possessive. maybe even too much, depending on who you ask.

you’ve caught him glaring at strangers before. people who bump into you too hard, who stare too long, who so much as brush against your shoulder in a crowd. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a scene, but the way his jaw tightens, the way his grip on your hand gets firmer, it’s all there.

but then you look up at him and you smile. and all that tension melts.

because for him, nothing else matters when you’re smiling.

sometimes, completely out of nowhere, when his hand is resting on your hip or just under the hem of your shirt, he’ll whisper, “don’t pull away.”

his voice is soft, almost pleading.

“just let me hold you. please.”

and there’s something in it, something unspoken. like he really believes you’ll vanish if he lets go. like the world spins too fast and you’re the only thing that keeps him steady.

but you don’t mind.

because every circle he draws on your back with his fingertip, every hand slipped into your coat pocket, every gentle touch when no one’s looking, it’s his way of saying he loves you.

over and over again.

rin always buys you snacks.

his shopping cart always looks like a weird battle between someone who takes their training dead seriously and someone who eats like they’ve been left unattended in a convenience store.

he knows what he needs to buy as be steers through the aisles. he just grabs what he needs, checks the labels for protein content and sugar, and tosses it into the cart without checking the pricing.

protein powder that smells like chemicals but costs as much as three cartons of eggs. those energy drinks with ridiculous names like “focus rage” or “max charge” or “ultra zero venom”, like they’re going to give him superpowers. packs of plain grilled chicken. greek yogurt with zero fat, zero sugar, zero fun. rows of protein bars with chalky textures and flavor names that sound like lies.

he doesn’t even blink at the bland tastes. he just stocks up like a soldier prepping for war.

and then, every time, like it’s muscle memory, right before he heads to the checkout, he stops. just for a second.

his hand is on the cart handle, foot already starting to turn, but he doesn’t move. his eyes flick sideways toward the snack aisle.

he doesn’t sigh, doesn’t make much of a show of it. just slowly veers the cart over like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just change course because something reminded him of you, and he’ll know you’ll get that craving at 2am when he’s trying to sleep.

and without a word, he reaches out and grabs the loudest, most obnoxiously colored bag of corn chips he can find. your favorite kind. the ones that leave orange dust on your fingers and taste like plastic and artificial flavouring. not baked, definitely not healthy, not even pretending to be good for you.

he doesn’t check the label, doesn’t pretend he might share them. he just tosses them into the cart along with all his high performance, peak athlete fuel like they belong there.

when back at his apartment, he unloads everything with his usual stiffness. lines up the cold stuff in the fridge like a little army, all color coded, and pushes the pantry door closed with his foot.

and then he sets the bag of chips on your side of the table. doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at you. just leaves them there, half buried under a bag of rice and a carton of eggs.

you always smile. sometimes say “thanks.” sometimes kiss his cheek. he always shrugs like it’s nothing.

“you forget to buy them,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “so i remembered.”

his face stays neutral, but his ears go a little pink.

and that’s it. that’s all he says.

because he won’t admit it, not out loud. not yet. but he notices what you like. he pays attention, even when it looks like he’s not. and he remembers, every single time.

isagi dresses up nice for you.

he had always been a “throw on whatever’s clean” kind of guy. oversized hoodies, plain t shirts, soccer pants with grass stains, and the same pair of sneakers he wore everywhere, rain or shine. it wasn’t that he didn’t care about how he looked, he just never thought it mattered all that much. clothes were just… clothes. something to cover him up so he could get to practice, or the store, or wherever he needed to be without getting cold.

but that changed after he started dating you.

he still remembers one of your first dates. he showed up in his usual chill outfit, gray hoodie, joggers, no real thought behind it, and then he saw you. standing there waiting for him, looking like something out of a movie. skin glowing in the late afternoon light, your clothes were cute and put together, your scent soft and sweet as you leaned in for a hug.

and in that moment, isagi felt… underdressed. painfully so. like a side character in someone else’s story. like he didn’t belong next to you.

you didn’t say anything about it. you were warm and kind, smiling like nothing was wrong, but his mind kept spinning. you were beautiful, and he wanted to match you. not because you ever asked him to, not because you cared about status or outfits or brands, but because he wanted to show you that you mattered. that being with you made him want to try. to be better. to be the kind of guy you could look at and think, yeah, he’s mine.

so, he started putting in effort.

slowly, at first. a nicer shirt. jeans that actually fit right. sneakers that weren’t torn up. he started googling “casual date outfits” at midnight and watching tutorials on how to style his hair. he’d stand in front of the mirror, fiddling with a comb for twenty minutes, trying to get it to lay just right.

when he overheard you telling someone that clear lip gloss looked cute on guys, he went out and bought one, hiding it in his drawer like it was some deep secret. he dabbed on a little cologne, just enough to smell good if you got close, but not too strong. he didn’t want to overdo it, he just wanted you to notice.

and the first time he showed up like that, button down shirt, clean black slacks, his hair actually styled, you blinked at him in surprise. your eyes lit up, and then you smiled, all warm and soft and proud.

“you look good.” you said, reaching out to straighten his collar.

he ducked his head immediately, ears turning pink, mumbling something like “it’s nothing,” but inside, his heart was pounding. your smile made all the fuss worth it. suddenly, all those minutes in front of the mirror didn’t feel stupid at all.

now, every time you two go out, he shows up looking polished. still isagi, but cleaned up in a way that’s intentional. for you. always for you. he pretends it’s no big deal, says things like “i just threw this on,” but you always catch him peeking at your face when you first see him, like he’s searching for that spark in your eyes. that little smile. that approval.

did you notice? did you think he looked good?

because for you, he wants to be someone you can be proud of. someone who fits beside you in every way.

someone who shows, even in the smallest things, just how much he cares.

nagi has you on his lap while he games.

he’s never really been the type to share. not his snacks, especially not the good ones he stashed behind the cereal boxes. not his phone charger, unless you pried it out of his hands. and definitely not his gaming setup, which he treated with the kind of care usually reserved for sacred artifacts. it was his zone. . his quiet, comfy little world where he didn’t have to talk too much or try too hard.

but you? you were the one exception to every rule he ever made.

the first time it happened, you thought he was messing around. he was already slouched in his chair, headset tilted halfway off his head, finger idly clicking through a loading screen when he looked up and said, “c’mere,” voice low and lazy, like he couldn’t be bothered to speak louder. he pat his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world, and when you hesitated, he just gave a soft, drawn out sigh, tugged you gently down into his arms like you were made to be there.

your legs fit across his, his arm curling loosely around your waist. he didn’t pause his game, didn’t adjust anything, just held you, controller still in one hand like it was second nature now, like you were part of the setup.

after that, it became a routine. when he booted up his system, he’d automatically tilt the mic so it could catch both your voices. if his teammates were being annoying, talking too much, playing like idiots, he’d lean close and murmur, “angel, tell them they suck.” like he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself.

and you would. all smiles and giggles. “yo, you guys are actual trash. maybe click the uninstall button?”

he’d laugh every time, breathy and slow, and mute the mic just long enough to nuzzle into your shoulder and mumble, “so cute…” like he was falling asleep mid sentence, voice warm and soft, laced with affection only you got to hear.

when it came to crate openings, he always passed you the mouse. didn’t matter if it was a rare drop, or some ultra limited skin he’d been saving up for. didn’t matter if you had terrible luck or if you accidentally clicked the wrong tier. he didn’t even blink. he’d just lean back, cheek pressed against your shoulder, arms still draped around your waist, and say something like, “your hands are lucky… or maybe i just like watching you click stuff… dunno.”

sometimes he’d half doze like that, head tilted against you while the screen lit up with explosions and loot animations, his breathing slow and silent, but if you shifted too far or started to get up, he’d whine just a little, pulling you back down with cold fingers.

“…don’t go. you’re comfy.. stay.”

and even in the middle of intense matches, when he was wide awake and locked in, his touch never left you. one hand still on the controller, the other resting under your shirt, palm flat against the warmth of your skin. not in a dirty way, just there. soft and real.

“kinda makes me play better when you’re here,” he mumbled once, voice soft and muffled against your shoulder, like he was confessing a secret he didn’t know how to say out loud. he’s never been good with words. “feels easier. like… mm, dunno. just nicer.”

he was lazy, slow, always halfasleep, like the world was asking too much of him.

but when you were in his lap, calling out his kills and opening his crates, he didn’t mind putting in the effort. not for the game.

for you. always for you.

reo makes you give him a fashion show.

his favorite tradition, one he swears he’ll never get tired of, is the post shopping fashion show.

it happens every time. you come back from a shopping trip (usually with him), arms weighed down by sleek black bags with gold embossed logos, the kind of bags that make people stare. reo always takes them from you, grinning like a kid on christmas morning, but the second you’re inside his apartment, his spacious, sunlit, and stupidly expensive apartment, he flops onto the couch like he just ran a marathon.

he spreads out like a king. one arm slung over the back of the couch, legs wide, designer hoodie riding up just a little at his waist. he’s already got his phone out, camera app open, thumb hovering over the screen. his purple eyes are lazy but lit up, amusement curling at his lips.

“alright, babe,” he says, voice smooth and teasing, like he’s about to be spoiled. “impress me.”

and god, you always do.

you step out of his room wearing the first outfit, tags still on, fabric clinging in all the right places. before you can even say anything, the camera shutter starts going off, reo already leaning forward, angling his phone, snapping pictures like he’s backstage at fashion week.

“yeahhh,” he breathes, grinning, “that’s the one. wear that next week when i take you to dinner.”

you try to act nonchalant, rolling your eyes, adjusting a cuffs, but he catches the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. because he’s not playing around, not at all. he hypes you up with that soft, easy charm of his. not loud, not fake. just warm, like he genuinely believes you’re the most beautiful thing in the world and wants to make sure you know it too.

sometimes he puts his phone down. doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you. his cheek resting on his knuckles, that dreamy, love struck look stealing over his face. the one he never bothers to hide.

“you look good in literally everything,” he says quietly, eyes dragging down your body and back up again. “like unfair good. how’d i get so lucky?”

you laugh, try to brush it off, but he’s already grabbing the phone again.

“wait, turn around,” he says, gesturing. “let me see the back. yeah, there, hold that pose.”

he takes photos of every look. seriously. all of them. he saves them in a locked album on his phone, titles it something stupid like “my baby’s runway”, and scrolls through it when you’re not around. sometimes he’ll set one as his lockscreen and just smile every time it lights up. doesn’t even try to hide it.

“i’m gonna frame this one,” he tells you one night, holding up a blurry pic of you mid spin, laughing in one of his designer jackets. “i’m serious. right next to my diplomas.”

you roll your eyes, but he just shrugs, like it makes perfect sense.

“fashion week could never,” he says, stretching out again, watching you disappear into the bedroom for your next change. “this is your week. every week is your week.”

he’s cocky, yeah. always has been. rich, too, old money, trust funds, family estate and all that. but with you, none of it’s about flexing. it’s not about showing off what he has. it’s about showing off you. because he’s proud. because he loves you. because you’re his favorite view in the world, no matter what you’re wearing.

but he’s not complaining when it’s a little tight, a little short, a little dangerous.

he just grins, leans back, and says, “how am i supposed to let you leave the house dressed like that?”

spoiler, he doesn’t.

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celabi · 28 days ago

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we've actually left the scummy scara era i cant believe it

FUCK THAT TWINK 😈😈😈😈

i still love him (errrrrrrrrr ????) but i got priorities 😹

anyways solivan brugmansia > scummy scara

#🍃 — chatting ☆彡

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celabi · 28 days ago

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I STOPPED BREATHING FOR A MOMENT OMG ITS CELABIWYWJGEJE

HEYYYYYYY 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

#🍃 — chatting ☆彡

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celabi · 29 days ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✰

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒 | 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 f

shidou + sae + kaiser + ness + nagi + isagi + reo + rin

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎, nb

sae + kaiser + shidou + ness + rin + isagi + nagi + reo

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎, nb

sae + kaiser + shidou + ness + aiku + ego

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒, f

otoya + shidou + kaiser + sae + ness + ego

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 | 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔 | 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐒

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈, f

5k words pwsp, face riding/sitting, pussy eating, subby/bottom sae. basically he’s down bad for ur kitty and is obsessed w/you, nsfw obviously.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑, f

5k words pwsp, fingering, thigh humping, semi public (fitting room), he’s obsessed, down bad/subby kaiser, yandereish?? nsfw obviously.

#ignore this #masterlist

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celabi · 29 days ago

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𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 / 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈

5k words pwsp, face riding/sitting, pussy eating, subby/bottom sae. errr basically he’s down bad for ur kitty and is obsessed w/you.

sae itoshi isn't the type to do grand gestures. he doesn't believe in clichés or over the top romance. but today, he walks with you in silence, hands in his pockets, that same bored expression on his face, though his steps are slower, like he's trying to match your lazy pace.

you don't question it when he pulls open the door to a sleek, minimalistic jewelry store. the kind with glass cases, soft lighting, and prices no one talks about out loud.

"what are we doing here?" you ask, glancing around.

"looking." he says, short and vague, like always. but you can see the way his eyes dart across the displays, landing on one case in particular.

he doesn't ask for help. just walks straight over and stares down at a ring. simple. gold. nothing flashy. just elegant enough to catch the light. and when you peer over his shoulder from behind, curiosity bubbled in your chest. "for your mom or something?"

he doesn't answer. instead, he nods curtly towards the attendant, and just says, "that one."

the woman behind the counter lifts it carefully and asks if he would like to have it gift wrapped, but all he does is casts you a quick side glance, his expression unreadable.

"no," he says. "she'll be wearing it out."

your head snaps up as you blink. "what?"

sae finally turns to look at you, and that's when you see that flicker of something behind those icey blue eyes of his. something unspoken. he takes the ring before gently reaching out for your hand. his touch is soft as he lightly traces your knuckles.

"just wear it," he mutters, sliding it onto your ring finger. "you don't have to say anything."

it fits perfectly, and you really don't know what to say as you trail behind him when he approaches the register, the soft click of his shoes echoing through the otherwise quiet boutique. he pulls out his black card like it's nothing, like it doesn't scream power and wealth and a life far removed from the normal lifestyle.

the cashier takes it with two inviting hands, overly polite, overly cautious. she also flutters her long eyelashes and bites her plump lip, but you don't care enough to comment on her overly flirtatious attitude, and neither does he. you say nothing, instead just standing there, staring at the expensive ring now on your finger.

he doesn't look at you while he signs the receipt, he just accepts the small bag she hands him with the box inside, the one the ring would've come in, then tosses it to you without looking.

"keep it." he says, and you catch it clumsily, the bag crinkling in your hand.

outside, he doesn't wait. just walks ahead with that slow, bored saunter of his, like he didn't just do something incredibly intimate in the most casual way possible.

"you always this quiet after buying a girl a ¥300,000 ring?" you ask, jogging to catch up.

he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. "don't need to buy anyone anything."

"so why me?"

he shrugs. "because you're mine."

you go quiet, hating how your heart beats faster in your chest. stupid sae...

"you gonna run now?" he asks, voice low.

you look down at the ring. turn it once, then twice, examining the shine of the jewel.

"...no." you reply after a small pause.

he doesn't smile out right, but you catch the twitch of his lip. just the barest hint, and for someone like sae, that's practically a confession in itself.

the walk back to his car is quiet, but it's not all that uncomfortable. his fingers brush yours a few times, like he's debating whether or not to hold your hand. he doesn't though. typical sae. always wanting, never asking.

you sit in the passenger seat of his sleek, black mercedes benz, the city lights sliding over his delicate face like soft curtains as he navigates through the streets. you catch him glancing at you a few times as he drives, nothing too obvious, just that subtle, sidelong look he thinks you won't notice.

you finally decide to speak up after some awkward silence when he pulls into the parking lot of his apartment, "you didn't even ask if i liked it."

he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes on the gate as it's slowly being opened by the security. "didn't need to."

"what if i didn't?"

"you did... you do."

you scoff under your breath, but you don't take the ring off. you haven't stopped turning it on your finger since he put it there. when he pulls into the parking garage under his building, neither of you move for a second. the car engine ticks as it cools down, the quietness becomes heavy between you.

"so," you say, voice light. "what now? am i supposed to move in or something? cook you dinner, massage your shoulders?"

he looks at you, almost like he's trying to see something beneath your skin.

"...preferably, but you can do whatever you want," he says, leaning back in his seat. "except taking the ring off."

"is that a rule?"

"it's a warning."

you raise a brow. "so you're threatening me now?"

"no." his voice drops a little. "just... don't want to lose you."

the walk through the garage is quick, and the elevator ride feels like a blur, the soft hum of the machinery barely audible between the tension thickening the air. sae stands just a bit too close, his shoulder grazing yours as he presses the button for the floor. he doesn't need to say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like he's measuring you, trying to see if you'll pull away or stay in his space.

when the elevator dings, the doors open to reveal his apartment, and it's exactly what you expect, luxurious, pristine, almost unnervingly perfect. the marble floors gleam under the soft lighting, casting a glow that makes the place look like something out of a movie. everything is so clean, so meticulously placed.

even the air smells expensive, it's almost intoxicating, a sharp contrast to your own home scent which is filled with laundry detergent and fresh food, but it's not entirely unwelcoming. it just feels like the kind of space where you're meant to be admired.

he holds the door open for you, just a small gesture, but there's an undeniable possessiveness in it. like he's claiming the space and now he's claiming you too. you step inside, taking in the layout with a curious gaze.

everything is in its place. the living room is sleek, with low leather sofas and a wall of glass that overlooks the city below. a few paintings hang in carefully chosen spots, but none of them draw your attention as much as the emptiness of the room. he's a minimalist. or maybe just hasn't had the time to go furniture shopping after returning from spain.

sae closes and locks the door behind him, stepping into the apartment like it's nothing new, but you can see the way his body tenses. it's almost like he's waiting for your approval, waiting to see what you think of his space.

"make yourself at home." he says, it sounding more like a command than an offer.

you nod, taking a seat on the couch, not exactly sure what to do with yourself in this perfectly curated world of his. you trace the edge of the coffee table, running your fingers over the smooth surface. everything about this place screams power and control, but you don't feel like you belong here. not yet, anyway.

sae, however, doesn't sit down. he stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on you.

"you like it?" he asks, voice soft but serious, like he needs the validation from you.

"it's nice," you say casually, glancing around. "a little... sterile."

he chuckles under his breath, walking over to the bar and grabbing himself a drink. sae was more accustomed to pouring himself a glass of whiskey than to catering to the needs of guests. "i... don't like clutter."

you watch him move and the easy confidence with which he handles himself. but there's a tension in the way he stands. like there's something he's trying to keep under control, something he's not showing you just yet.

"you don't like a lot of things." you sigh, trying to break the ice, even if it's just a little.

he looks at you over his shoulder, a faint smile curling on his lips. "you'd be surprised."

for a moment, you almost want to ask what exactly he's trying to hide, what's underneath all the wealth, the luxury, the polished exterior. but instead, you just lean back against the couch and let the silence settle between you. something tells you that he'll show you eventually.

he moves over and sits beside on you couch like he doesn't know what to do with himself, elbows on his knees, leaning slightly forward, eyes flickering toward you every few seconds before darting away again. for once, itoshi sae doesn't look like the calculated prodigy everyone sees on the field. he looks... awkward, and... lame.

his fingers brush against your side, ghosting over the hem of your shirt. not enough to grab, just enough for you to feel the contact. and he keeps doing it, like he's testing the waters, seeing how far he can go before you pull away. he's not cocky now. not smug. he's quiet. careful. and when his knuckles bump against your hip, he finally wraps his fingers around the fabric, not tightly, but like he needs something to hold onto.

you glance at him, and his eyes meet yours for a split second before he looks away again, jaw tense. he's trying so hard to keep his cool, but his foot is bouncing ever so slightly against the floor, and his grip on your shirt tightens the longer the silence stretches.

"you're weird tonight." you murmur.

he exhales a soft laugh, barely a breath. "you're in my house."

"so?"

"you've never been here before." his voice is low, almost like it's something he's been thinking about all night. "it feels different."

you raise an eyebrow. "different how?"

he shrugs, still playing with the hem of your shirt. "don't know. just... like you belong here."

you blink, thrown off by the way he said it. so quietly. so honestly, and now he's looking at you again. eyes sharp but unsure, like he wants to say something else but doesn't know how.

you shift a little closer, and he doesn't move away. his hand slides up your waist, like he's waiting for you to stop him. but you don't, so he keeps going, hand resting just at the curve of your side. he's watching your face for a reaction, lips parted like he's about to say something, then decides against it.

"you can do more than just play with my shirt, y'know." you whisper.

his ears go a little red. and then finally, his expression shifts. that familiar spark returns, just a flicker of confidence in his eyes. his hand tightens, and he pulls you a little closer, his voice low and rough.

"don't say that unless you mean it."

he leans in slightly, his breath brushing against your cheek, and for a moment, you think he might pull away again. but he doesn't. his hand slides up your side, fingertips grazing the edge of your shirt before he hesitates, just for a second. the uncertainty is still there, but there's a heat building between you two, like everything he's been holding back is finally getting too much to contain.

you're so close and the tension is almost unbearable. his lips part as if he's about to speak, but the words die in his throat when you move closer, just enough to close the gap. sae's gaze darkens, pupils widening as his breath hitches, the moment stretching like it's going to break any second.

then, before either of you can think twice, he's kissing you. it's rough at first, his hand moving quickly to your neck, pulling you into him like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. his lips are warm and hungry, and it's all a little messy, but it's real. there's a desperation to it, a need you haven't seen much of from him before.

you respond, your own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your fingertips. sae's body presses into yours, as if there's no space between you left to breathe. he deepens the kiss, his fingers griping the back of your neck, tugging you closer as though he can't get enough of you. you feel him shiver against you, like he's struggling to keep his composure, like he wants to be in control, but you're slowly taking that power from him, and he's completely fine with it.

his kiss becomes softer for a moment, more tender, as if he's realizing that this is actually happening. that he's not just imagining it. he pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling with every breath, eyes dark with desire but also... something else. something deeper.

"fuck," he mutters, almost to himself. "you drive me fucking insane."

you hum softly, fingers brushing against the side of his sharp jaw. "mm? kind of embarrassing, honestly..."

he chuckles, that small, familiar arrogance returning to his face, but there's still a hint of vulnerability. "can't help it when it's you."

you're both breathless now, but for the first time in a long time, you don't need to say anything. the silence between you speaks volumes. and in that moment, you realize that whatever this is, whatever he is, it's not just about playing soccer together anymore.

sae breathed softly as he felt your body nestle against his own, your frame fitting perfectly into the hard planes of his lap. he could feel the soft swell of your breasts pressed against his firm chest, and the warmth of your breath mingling with his own as you gazed down at him through your pretty lashes

"god... you're so fucking beautiful..." he murmured, his voice a low whisper. sae couldn't take his eyes off you, his teal gaze drinking in every detail of your face, the arch of your eyebrows, those glossy lips that parted slightly as if inviting him to kiss.

he knew he should slow down, should give you time to adjust to his devotion, but the feel of your body so close to his own was intoxicating, and he found himself powerless to resist the pull he had towards you.

slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned in closer, his breath mixing with yours as he hovered just an inch away from your lips. "tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. "tell me you don't want this, and I will." he searched your eyes, his own gaze intense and demanding. "but if you don't..."

"...if i don't?"

he felt a thrill run through him at your breathless whisper, the way your lips parted slightly as if in anticipation of what he has to offer.

"if you don't..." he murmurs, his voice a low and seductive rumble. "then i'm going to bend you over this couch and—" he sucks in a breath.

instead of finishing, his hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you closer against him. you could feel the hard, muscular tone of his body, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. his other hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a soft caress.

"just... tell me you want it too," sae breathes, his eyes searching yours. "tell me you crave me much as I crave you." he was so close now, his lips a mere whisper away from your own. "let me worship you as you deserve to be worshipped."

with that, he closed the remaining distance between you, his mouth capturing yours in a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of pent up longing and desire, of a hunger that could only be tamed by the taste of your lips. his kiss was demanding and insistent, his tongue delving into the warm cavern of your mouth to claim you fully as his own.

"ah.. s-sae..."

he groaned softly against your mouth as he heard you breathe out his name, the sound sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight to his pants. his hand slid from your spine to hold the back of your head and deepen the kiss. he licked into your mouth, his tongue stroking along yours that left you both breathless and aching.

his other hand slid down to the hem of your top, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to caress the bare skin of your lower back. he could feel the heat of your body radiating against his own, and it made his fucking head spin.

he pulled back slightly, his chest heaving as he gazed up at you with eyes dark and heavy lidded. "get up. now," he growled, his voice rough with need. without waiting for a response, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the hallway that led to what you assume to be his bedroom.

the room was dark, the only light coming from the glowing madrid night skyline visible through the floor to ceiling windows. sae kicked the door shut behind him before carrying you to the large, king sized bed that dominated the entire space. too big for one person.

he set you down gently on the soft mattress, his body covering yours as he settled between your parted thighs. sae hovered over you, his eyes blazing with intensity as he gazed down at your face.

"[name]..." he breathed, his voice a low murmur. his hand slid up your side, his fingers skimming over the curves of your breast before cupping the soft mounds in his large, calloused palm. he could feel your nipple hardening beneath the thin fabric of your top, and it made his crotch tighten in his jeans.

"tell me what you want," he urged softly, his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast. "tell me how to please you, and I will."

"..." you swallow, idly tracing his knuckles with your fingers. "anything you want, sae."

a small, shuddering breath fell from his parted lips at at your quiet murmur, a glint of pure satisfaction in his eyes. "fuck yes..." he pretty much sobbed, and without warning, lunged forward and captured your lips in another kiss. his mouth moved demandingly over yours, his tongue delving deep past your teeth.

his hands slid down to the hem of your top, yanking it up and over your head in one impatient motion. he tossed it carelessly to the floor, his gaze drinking in the sight of your newly exposed skin with a hunger that made your heart pound.

"fuck... you're so perfect." he breathed, his large hands cupping the soft swells of your breasts. he tested their weight, squeezing gently as he leaned down to press open mouthed kisses along the smooth flesh. his tongue flicked out to circle your stiffening nipple, teasing the sensitive peak until it strained towards his touch.

his mouth closed around your nipple, suckling greedily as his hand slid down the plane of your stomach. his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, teasing along the edge of your panties.

he could feel the heat radiating from you, could sense the dampness that had begun to gather at the juncture of your thighs. it made his cock throb in his boxers, his own arousal growing more unbearable by the second.

"fuck, sweetheart, i—" he groaned against your breast, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. "i wanna taste you... please..."

his fingers pushed your panties aside, his thumb finding your clit and circling the sensitive nub, and at the same time, he nipped and sucked at your nipple. so hard it almost made you want to tell him that you couldn't produce milk. lmao

sae's fingers slid lower, brushing against your slit before, without any warning, shoved one deep inside your tight heat, and groaned at the feel of you. so hot and ready for him as he began to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt relentlessly.

your thighs clench around his hand, dropping your head back a small mewl falls from your lips. it... hurts. sae isn't go slow in the slightest, with his knuckles grinding against your clit with each fast thrust of his fingers. thankfully, he's not wearing those rings that he likes to send you photos of on his veiny hands.

"...want to sit on my face?"

your eyes flutter open after having them screwn shut as his fingers stretch open your insides. "h-huh?"

he let out a choked shudder, those gorgeous eyes of his almost glossy. "ride my face. please... i want it so bad— need it."

"..." you swallow, gripping the sheets under your shaking hands. "...yeah? i can?"

his head snapped up at your hesitant question, eyes glistening. "yes," he coos, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. "god, yes, you can."

he urged you up his body, his hands gripping your hips as he lies back against the pillows and guided you to straddle his face, the feel of your crotch hovering so close to his mouth making his head spin, making his dizzy.

"you're going to sit on my face," he shuddered, his breath hot against your folds. "and... and you're gonna ride my tongue until you're all i taste for the next week... please."

sae's hand slid to your thigh, his fingers digging into the soft skin as he spread your legs wider apart, baring you completely to his eyes. he could see the glistening evidence of your arousal, and the way your juices had begun to coat the skin on your inner thighs. "goddd... so fucking wet," he breathed, his voice just a low whisper. "so ready for me, aren't you, baby?"

his fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, a low groan of frustration escaping his lips as he struggled to free himself from the confining denim. his erection was borderline painful, and his aching cock was straining against the zipper and demanding to be released. to be touched. "oh... fuck sake—"

after a small, one sided tussle that he almost lost, he finally manages to yank the button open, freeing his straining hard on from his too tight pants. he shimmies his hips, and with the help of the mattress, is able shove his jeans the rest of the way down his thighs. instantly, his hand is cupping the thick bulge of his cock, squeezing his length through the thin and damp fabric of his calvin klein boxers.

"sit down." he pants, gazing up at you over your pelvis through his glittering lashes, "sit like a chair... don't— don't ask if i can breathe. just sit down."

his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, urging you down, down, until the first swipe of his tongue parted your glistening folds and he groaned long and low against your core.

"fuck, mm— you taste—" he sobs, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your sensitive insides. "i could eat this pretty cunt for, mmfph— h-hours..."

he sealed his mouth over your clit and suckled hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the bundle of nerves. at the same time, he thrust his tongue deep inside your walls, fucking you with the slick appendage as he drank down your juices like a man who had been denied water for months.

sae's free, trembling hand slid around to grip the globe of your ass, urging you to grind harder against his mouth. he could feel your thighs trembling against his face, could hear the breathless little moans and cries that spilled from your lips as his tongue fucked you relentlessly.

he couldn't hold back the guttural moan that tore from his throat when he slipped past the waistline of his underwear and finally freed his aching cock from the pocket of his boxers. the thick and twitching shaft sprang out, slapping against his abdomen and leaving a small smear of pre cum on his skin.

sae groaned around your clit as he felt your body start to tremble above him, your muscles tensing and fluttering. he could sense the way your hips began to undulate, grinding your dripping core against his mouth and nose as if seeking more of his touch.

"mhm— that's it, baby," he squeezes his eyes closed tight, tears pooling on his lash line. "so fffucking good f'me..."

his fingers dug into the cheek of your ass, kneading the muscle as he pulled you harder against his face like he wanted to consume you, to devour you whole, to make you his in every way that was humanly possible.

at the same time, he could feel his own release building, his cock throbbing hard and hot in his grip as he stroked himself in time with the frenzied movements of his tongue. so close, so fucking close, and he knew you were too.

the way your walls began to flutter around his invading muscle, the way he could taste the first gush of your arousal as it flooded his mouth. he whimpered pathetically, his hips bucking up into nothing as his hand erratically pumped up and down his red and angry cock.

"gmmm... gonna cum—" despite his words being muffled by your sex, you hear the pure and animalistic tone in his words. you reach down between your quivering thighs and tangle your fingers in his sweaty hair, tugging on the burgundy strands slightly.

he sobs, eyes fluttering open to gaze up at you hazily through his begging eyes. "p-please, fill up my mouth—" he pleads, nails digging into your skin hard enough to indent some moon shaped crescents into your flesh.

you grip the headboard and stare down at him over the slope of your breasts, biting the inside of your cheek as he begs pathetically for you to orgasm. this... this is japan's prodigy? this boy, humping the air and fucking his hand as he goes to town on the city between your legs? this boy?

"s-sae..." you murmur, slightly embarrassed by the small tremor in your tone. you swallow, lifting your hips off his face slightly. and he looks like he's about to cry as his mouth is forcefully unlatched from your pussy, but he doesn't get the chance to when you wordlessly drop back down and grind your folds against his mouth and nose.

that's all it takes.

a raw and somewhat pitiful sound raptures from his scratchy throat, and with a few more pumps from his hand, sae is cumming. hard.

"fuck— oh fuckkkk—!"

his entire body was coiled tight, every muscle drawing up as he teetered on the rope of ecstasy, he cried out, his hips bucking wildly as his orgasm overtook him. thick ropes of cum erupted from the swollen head of his cock, splattering his chest and abdomen as he rutted his hips against his own hand. some of it even manages to squirt against your back.

tears finally begin to leak from his eyes, gliding down his pale, flawless cheeks and staining the silk pillow underneath his head. his chest heaves under you, his mouth still latched onto your clit.

you stare down at him, eyes slightly narrowing at the sight of his limp and pliant body. "um, e-excuse me...?"

he hums at your quiet words, eyes flickering up, now only lazily flicking his tongue against your salvia coated folds. his hand is still gripping your ass, but much less harshly than before. his fingers are lightly caressing the marks he had given you. "mm, baby? so good, thank you..."

you shake your head, tugging his hair and emitting a small groan from his lips. "w-what...? what'd i do..?" he whispers, only barely audible from under you.

"...it's not what you did..." you scoff. "it's what you didn't do."

there's visible confusion in his hazy eyes, and he lightly taps your hip in a silent question.

"...you haven't made me cum yet."

he blinks. a deeper red hue spreading over his already flushed face. "f— oh..." he gulps, eyes flickering down to your cunt resting on his chin, then back up to your expecting look.

he nods. "y-you're right... m' sorry." he murmurs, releasing his cock, which thuds against his abdomen, still red and leaking, so he can place both hands on your ass. he squeezes the flesh in his palms, kneading it under his calloused fingers.

"sorry, baby..." he repeats, tilting his chin up and pressing his nose back against your dripping core.

"let me... let me fix that."

1K notes · View notes

celabi · 30 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒

shidou + sae + kaiser + ness + nagi + isagi + reo + rin x f reader

throws this at you and runs away giggling

shidou thinks he’s god’s gift to women.

even when he’s standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom in nothing but crusty spiderman boxers with a hole near the waistband, hair an untamed and wild mess, and that signature smug little smirk tugging at his lips.

there you’d be, lying in bed like a goddess in some delicate, sheer lace nightgown, white and silky, barely clinging to your figure, looking like you had just walked out of some teenage boys fantasy. like some playboy magazine cover model come to life.

and him.

he’s standing there like he’s the main fucking event. arms flexed slightly, hip cocked to the side, trying to give you the look, the one where he raises one of his eyebrows and puts on a sexy smoulder he learned when you both watch tangled the other night and won’t stop doing—

“you like what you see, babe?”

he winks, digging his thumb beneath the waistband and drawing back, only to let it slap back against his hip with a loud snap. “it’s your lucky night. spider man’s feelin’ real naughty...”

you blink.

he climbs into bed like he’s about to change your entire life, and the scent of his body spray (which smells suspiciously like the high school gym locker he confessed to you in all those years ago) hits you almost instantly.

you shuffle an inch away, a small grimace on your face which he immediately takes notices of. “what? awe, don’t act shy now, sweetheart,” he purrs, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you back in, those fucking children’s boxers brushing up against your thigh. “you didn’t marry all of this for nothin.”

you sigh, a hand dragging down your face.

yes. you did marry him. you just didn’t know the spiderman boxers would come with the deal.

sae loved stuff like this.

you were practically bouncing with excitement, eyes sparkling as you dragged him through the zoo with the excitement of a small child.

“monkeys first,” you told him, clutching your camera to your chest. “the little ones that look like they’re judging everyone.”

sae gave a tiny smile, the kind he only ever gave you. “mm.”

you made a beeline for the primate exhibit, and he followed, hands in his pockets, steps a little lazy as he stayed behind.

and yeah, the monkeys were indeed adorable. tiny, scruffy, wide eyed little creatures that climbed all over each other and made judgmental little faces when people threw banana’s into the den. you cooed and laughed and snapped like fifty photos while sae leaned on the railing, watching you as if you were the attraction instead of the small animals.

and then, out of nowhere, he softly slips his hand into yours.

“honey, look.” he murmured, pointing behind you somewhere. you turned, expecting maybe a new baby monkey or something cute.

but no.

seagulls.

plain, loud, not even part of the zoo seagulls, strutting around like they owned the place. annoying visitors and making a mess of the trash can.

“…seriously?” you blinked. “the monkeys are right there and you’re watching birds?”

sae just shrugged, totally serious. “they’re smart.”

one of them squawked and stole a french fry from a kid who began to cry, and you swore you saw his eyes light up.

“see?”

you stared at him like he’d lost it. “you brought me to the zoo for cute animals and you’re impressed by street birds?”

he nodded. “they’re intelligent creatures.”

you sighed, but your lips twitched.

and when he took a sneaky photo of you next to a monkey doing the exact same unimpressed face, you let him.

kaiser was thriving.

lights flashing, fans screaming, reporters yelling his name from every direction, but none of it mattered. because you were on his arm, and you looked so fucking good it should’ve been illegal. and maybe it was, on his poor heart.

you, in a dress that made people double take. and him in a designer suit which basically screamed ‘look at me!’ but still refusing to let go of your hand for even a second.

“look this way, kaiser!”

“over here!”

“pose with the ball!”

“kaiser, who’s the woman with—”

“yeah yeah, i know, i’m hot,” he waved dismissively at the cameras, tugging you closer. “but have you seen her? look at her. look. she’s the star. me? i’m just her soccer groupie.”

you barely blinked, and shielding your eyes from the countless flashes. “you dragged me here.”

“because the red carpet needed flavor,” he grinned, nudging you playfully. “and you’re the whole meal. i’m just the bowl you sit in.”

“what does that even mean—”

cue the camera clicks exploding like fireworks.

someone handed him a microphone and instead of answering questions about his match performance, he started bragging about your skincare routine.

“she does this thing with, like, snail goo or whatever? and her face? glowing. radiant. i tried it once and got a rash.”

you quietly nodded beside him, giving the cameras a blank expression like this was just your normal tuesday.

he kept tugging you in for selfies, making sure they got his good side where his jawline was razor sharp, while you stayed poker faced the whole time, slightly turned away by the dozens of desperate faces trying to get some material of michael kaiser and the new woman on his arm.

“god… i love how mysterious you are,” he whispered in your ear over the raving crowd. “like people are gonna think you’re a secret agent.”

“…i’m literally an accountant.”

“mm, yeah, schatz… the hottest accountant i’ve ever seen.”

he didn’t even look at the photographers when they asked for solo shots. just kept gazing at you like you were the only thing worth capturing.

ness had never liked eating out.

not because the food was bad, no, he’d happily devour three servings if you let him, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of other people talking to you. looking at you. breathing near you. especially men.

and today?

you were barely five minutes into your meal when a cheery waiter stopped by your table, leaning just a little too close for ness’s liking.

“would you like some ketchup with that?” the guy asked with a smile.

you didn’t think much of it, just nodded politely and said, “sure, thank you.”

but across from you… ness stiffened.

his fork hovered mid air, his eye twitching, lips pressed into a thin line. he didn’t say anything right away. just… stared down at his plate like it had killed his entire family.

you glanced over when he doesn’t react to your foot softly rubbing against his ankle. normally you’d get a ‘yippie!’, so it was a little concerning.

“lexis…what’s wrong?” you raise an eyebrow.

“…ketchup.” he muttered.

“huh?”

ness turned to you, his voice a dramatic whisper, “so that’s what you’re into now, huh? ketchup guys?”

you blinked. “…what.”

he pointed his fork accusingly. “he asked if you wanted ketchup. and you said yes. to him.”

“…because he asked?”

“but why him?” he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “if i asked, would you have said yes too? or was it his ketchup you wanted?”

you just stared. “alexis, he’s a waiter.”

ness huffed, angrily stabbing at the fries on his plate. “i’m watching you. and your stupid ketchup.”

he sulked the rest of the meal, still feeding you bites of his burger, still playing footsie’s with you under the table, but glaring daggers at the ketchup bottle like it personally insulted him.

and later that night, you found your phone filled with photos of you and ness under an album label “the mustard to my mayo <3”

nagi had a problem.

you had a shiny umbreon. his favorite. it sparkled, it looked cool, and worst of all, you wouldn’t trade it to him, no matter how many shitty common pokémon he tried to offer you for it.

“it’s my favorite. i evolved it at midnight on purpose.”

nagi, who was laying upside down on your couch with his phone resting on his face, mumbles out a small, “i need it though.”

you didn’t budge, and so… phase two began.

nagi turned into the laziest scammer known to man.

he’d send you trades labeled “ultra rare secret glitch ‘mon” with the sketchiest lineups. rattata, rattata, rattata, shiny magikarp (nicknamed ‘definitely umbreon 2.0’).

“you renamed a magikarp and thought i wouldn’t notice?”

he yawned, rolling onto his tummy. “worth a shot…”

he got more elaborate. once wore sunglasses and a fake mustache, made a fake trainer profile called “pokechoki” and messaged you from across the couch like

“hello i am collector of rare pokémon. would like your umbreon. will give 4 bidoof.”

you turned, deadpan, and nudged his thigh with your fuzzy gengar socks. “nagi, you’re in the same room as me.”

“huh? don’t know of this ‘nagi’ person. i’m seishiro.”

eventually, he climbed into your lap like a giant sleepy cat, nuzzled into your neck, and tried to guilt you with his classic, “if you loved me… you’d give me your umbreon…”

you didn’t fall for it.

but you did catch him later, holding your phone while you were brushing your teeth, trying to sneak trade himself the umbreon while you were distracted.

his defense?

“…is it really stealing if ‘what’s mine is yours’?”

isagi has been so strange lately.

you’re in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone and sipping your coffee when you hear a thud in the hallway.

“i’m okay!”

his voice echoes from somewhere down the corridor.

you raise an eyebrow, not even surprised anymore. your husband had been on a mission lately, a weird mission to prove that even though you’re already married, he’s still “hot husband material.”

his latest phase? doing push ups shirtless whenever you’re nearby. flexing his biceps whenever he opens a jar. winking dramatically when handing you anything.

today was worse.

he strides into the kitchen moments later, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a face filled with determination. a towel thrown over his shoulder like he’s in a men’s health shoot.

“babe,” he grins, “check this out.”

he goes to do a one armed push up right then and there on the kitchen tile, except his hand slips, and he faceplants so fast it sounds like a cartoon slap.

you sit up straighter and raise an eyebrow.

“…honey.. are you okay?” you ask, holding back a laugh.

he stays face down on the floor for a second before mumbling, “still hot though… right?”

you roll your eyes fondly and get up to sit on the floor next to him, nudging him with your knee.

“…you’re lucky i already said ‘i do’.”

he peeks up at you, grinning with a busted ego and a red forehead. “i’d marry you again if it helps my case.”

you kiss his forehead and shake your head. “let’s just keep the seduction off the kitchen floor, yeah?”

reo always had expensive taste.

in cars, in watches, in clothes.

but his favorite luxury? you.

he spoiled you when you were just his high school girlfriend. snuck designer bracelets into your locker, filled your dorm with roses during exams, flew you out for weekend getaways like it was nothing. the other girls were jealous, always whispering, “what does she have that we don’t?”

reo never gave them the attention they wanted. he just kissed your cheek and made you show off the shiny chain around your neck.

now, years later, not much has changed. except you now wear a ring on your finger, and his last name behind yours.

you wake up to breakfast already made, gifts by the door “just because,” and his card in your hand with a small, “go get yourself something pretty.”

he comes home from practice and scoops you up into his arms like a lovesick idiot, still obsessed, still whipped.

and when you pout? even a little? he acts like it’s a national emergency.

“what do you want, baby? tell me. shoes? a trip? my kidney?”

reo’s love language has always been excess, and when it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much.

girlfriend or wife, high school or forever, spoiling you was always part of the plan.

rin itoshi, even as a fully grown man, was still… rin itoshi.

he might’ve been a world class athlete now, a stoic genius on the field, cold and composed in interviews, but at home? at your home?

he was still that emotionally constipated, socially awkward, emo haired boy who never knew what to do with his hands.

he sat stiffly at your parents dinner table, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to make eye contact with your dad, silently praying the chair would collapse and swallow him whole.

you, sitting beside him, casually spooning mashed potatoes onto your plate, looked as chill as ever. like you weren’t dining with two parents who were grilling your boyfriend with every polite smile and every “so, rin, what are your intentions?”

you kicked his ankle under the table.

“sit up straight.” you whispered.

he was slouching like he wanted to vanish into his hoodie. and the worst part? he wasn’t even wearing a hoodie. he was wearing a button up shirt, with sleeves, rolled up.

also, you had brushed his bangs behind his ear before dinner and told him he looked cute like that so now his emo fringe shield was gone and he had to make full eye contact with your mom while she passed him the salad bowl.

“thanks.” he mumbled, voice barely audible.

your mom blinked. “sorry, sweetheart?”

you leaned in. “he said thanks.”

rin looked like he was about to throw up from how clenched his jaw was. then, as the cherry on top, your dad broke the very uncomfortable silence and said, “you know, itoshi, she’s quite a handful. you sure you can handle her?”

and rin, already clinging to life by a thread, nodded stiffly and raised a glass of water to his lips.

you patted his back with the most innocent expression in the world. “oh come on, rin. don’t act like you don’t worship the ground i walk on.”

he glared at you. cheeks pink. ears red. small frown.

still the same awkward, emotionally stunted guy from his blue lock days.

but your fingers brushed his under the table, and you smiled at him softly. and maybe, maybe, he could handle dinner with your parents after all.

as long as you didn’t make him talk too much.

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