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thislilfecker · 5 hours ago

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For Tonight

pair. isagi yoichi x fem!reader

genre. explicit. graphic smut, angst. aged up characters.

includes. sadistic ahh reader, switch!isagi. degradation, penetration, thigh job, rough sex, mating press, slursagi appearance. he’s bipolar.

synopsis. you’re kaiser’s sister, and isagi hates you even more than the german striker.

a/n. pure filth to feed my isagi brainrot. i promise ill get to asks soon 🫡

word count. 4.1k

Isagi despises Kaiser.

He hates his smug grin, his condescending remarks, and the effortless way he toys with his opponents like they exist solely for his amusement. So when he learned that his teammate had a little sister, he was prepared to feel the same about you.

And at first, he did.

You carry the same arrogance, the same infuriating attitude that made his blood boil and stomach twist. Every word from your mouth drips with malice, every glance taunting and distracting. You thrive on pushing his buttons, watching with delight as he digs his nails into his palms and bites his tongue until metal swirls with saliva. Manipulative. Sadistic. Everything he swears he hates.

Just like your brother.

So why is he here?

He doesn’t know what compels him to your door or how he ends up pressed against the wall, his breath coming in jagged puffs of air.

“You’re insane, Y/n,” he growls like you’re the one that forced him here. Like you whispered sweet incantations into his ears and strung him along into your little mouse trap.

You tilt your head, smirking. “You came to me, Isagi.” A finger under his chin forces him to meet your gaze. He grunts in frustration, eyes narrowed into dubious crescents.

“Or did you forget?”

Before he can answer, your fingers weave into his hair, curling tight before you yank. Hard. His breath stutters, wincing as sharp pain shoots across his scalp.

He hates you. Yet his body responds with an involuntary shiver, and his pants suddenly feel too tight.

Your smirk widens, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “What were you thinking?” You lean in, breath hot against his skin. “Showing up so late at night… all alone.” Your voice is slow, deliberate. The weight of each syllable lingers, trickling over him like a scorching lava fall, melting all sense of comprehension to ashes.

His cheeks flush crimson. He should leave. He should shove you off and hurl insults at your face. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He has no reason to be here, and you both know it.

His glare sharpens, but his voice is quieter when he speaks. “You knew I’d come.”

He knows how it sounds, weak and feeble. Here, his pride means nothing. There are no placating smiles or delicate gestures of affection. Here, he is putty slipping in and out through the divots of your hands, docile and obedient and all yours.

You hum, fingers threading through his hair in mock tenderness, smoothing the strands you just tugged. “Of course I did.”

His mind is slipping, drowning in the sensations of you. It’s overwhelming. Depraved. And yet, he leans into your touch because he loves it. Loves the way you torment him.

“I hate you,” he mutters. Neither of you believe it, but it fills the silence. “I fucking hate you, Y/n.”

He’s flushed, irritated, and painfully aware of every nerve ending, every frantic beat of his heart. He doesn’t move when you nudge his legs apart and press your bodies together.

“What would Kaiser think?”

The question is a sharp, visceral reminder of his predicament. To think he’s letting his rival’s sister touch him like this. Someone he despises with every fiber of his being. That the same blood running through his veins courses through yours.

“So nervous,” you murmur, your lips grazing his throat. “Do I scare you?”

His breath catches. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything anymore.

”Speak.”

His fingers twitch, fisting the fabric of your shirt.

“I want you.” The words slip out before he can swallow them back down.

He hardly recognizes his own voice or the pleading tone he uses. It’s hoarse, desperate. But it rips through him like it’d been on the tip of his tongue his entire life.

You pause, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thinks you might say it back. Might tell him you want him too.

But then you laugh.

A sharp, cutting sound that makes him flinch.

“I knew it.”

You give him a look of pure disbelief, enjoying the way he shrivels under your gaze.

“You like this, don’t you?” The condescension in your tone is unbearable. Your grip tugs him closer. “Look at you, trembling like a dog in heat. Masochistic piece of shit.”

You’re so cruel. So vindictive.

His hands drop to his sides, eyes clouded with shame.

“You know,” you continue, your voice dipping lower, almost sensually. “My brother works so hard to make us money. To make himself a name.” He nods. Kaiser always pushed himself to the brink, working tirelessly to maintain his position.

“And you—” your fingers ghost over his pulse, pressing just enough to make him shudder. “—are in his way.”

He swallows hard, trying to push down the desperate whines that threaten to escape. But when you lean in, your lips barely brushing his, his body betrays him once more.

“As his sister, I just can’t let that slide.”

His head falls back against the wall when your lips begin to ravish at him, licking and nipping the soft, unblemished skin on his neck. He wants to resist, to deny you, but his body is weak and aching. Each tug of your teeth and flick of your tongue sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine.

You smile. “Is there a single defiant bone in your body?”

He’s drowning in ecstasy when your lips press against his, vision hazy as his fingers dig into your waist.

It almost consumes him, how much he desires you. How much strength it takes him not to push you against the wall and take you hard and slow. Watch the way your fluids mix as his cock slips in and out.

He shivers.

“Please. Let me touch you.” He’s pleading now, eyes glossy and all you’ve done is kiss him a little. Pride be damned, he needs release now. So badly that he’s willing to submit for it.

His cheeks are a beautiful rosy red, completely flushed and at your mercy. He can tell how much you’re enjoying this from the sadistic glint in your eye.

“What a dirty little thing.” Your smile widens, voice dripping with a saccharine tone that makes his body churn. “You’re not in a position to ask for anything, meine lieber.”

Your hand trails down his abdomen nonetheless, tracing over his prominent bulge. His lips are swollen from the kissing, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face. He’s a weak, trembling mess as you palm him, unable to stop the strangled moan that escapes.

“Ever been touched here?” You ask. His brows crease and uncrease. The answer was written all over his face, in every draw of his breath and flutter of his lashes.

“No,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He can’t deny it to you, can’t lie and pretend he’s experienced this kind of touch. Soccer has always been his top priority, and relationships were an unwelcome distraction.

Your hands slip under his shirt, grazing over every ridge of muscle he’s worked so hard to build and maintain. You leave fire in your wake, an addictive singe that makes his body arch into your touch.

He’s compliant when you take his hand and lead him further into your home, following along like a guileless puppy on a leash.

Expensive artifacts, valuable paintings, and the scent of newly bought leather. The place reeks of your brother’s money, and it screams wealth in an intentional, ostentatious way. He doesn't belong here. You’ve made that abundantly clear. But before he realizes it, he’s already standing in your bedroom.

Your legs swing over his hips, and he’s melting into the mattress in a haphazard mess of lips colliding. He’s breathless, eyes half-lidded and fixated on the way you’re perched over him.

“Touch me then,” you whisper, low and seductive as you guide his hands to your chest. “I’ll play nice.”

He obliges, hands beginning to massage and knead at the flesh. It’s soft, softer than he thought it’d be. He wants to feel it with your clothes off. With his skin against yours.

You let him slide your robe off, the satin material cascading down your limbs and pooling onto the sheets. You’re wearing nothing but your underwear, completely bare for his eyes to feast on. You planned this. It should irk him, but his mouth is dry, and all he wants to do is ravage.

He cups your breasts with his hands, drawing a sharp inhale from your lips. He’s mesmerized, captivated by the heat of your skin, the smoothness beneath his palms. Your eyes meet when he leans in to capture a pert nipple between his teeth, swirling his tongue around the areola.

“Hah… So this pretty little mouth of yours is useful.”

Just when he starts to think he might actually like you, you go and open your fucking mouth. He wants to wipe that look off your face and ruin the smug composure you wear so effortlessly.

You yank his head back, detaching his lips from your skin with a lewd pop! He glares at you, but it’s short-lived when you begin to tug at his shirt.

“Patience, Isagi.” You smirk. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He lifts his arms for you to pull his shirt up and off over his head. His skin is flushed pink, a thin sheen of sweat coating his bare chest. He can feel your gaze on him, drinking him in, and it only makes him more needy, more desperate for your attention. Your fingers trail down his torso, marveling as his abs involuntarily flex beneath your touch.

He wants to kiss you, wants to match your intensity, but he’s nervous and it shows. His technique is sloppy, tongue awkwardly swiping against your bottom lip.

You pull away from him, face filled with displeasure. He’s never seen you so disappointed, and it makes him want to sink into the ground.

“What are you doing?” You wipe the glistening strands of saliva from your lips. He flinches, chest tightening with humiliation. “You’re slobbering all over my mouth.”

“I… I’m sorry. I’m trying,” he mutters, looking up at you with flushed cheeks. He can’t stand the disapproval in your tone, the condescension.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you reply, fingers threading through his hair. “Just kiss me. Like this.”

He follows your guidance, lips moving in sync as he subconsciously tugs your body closer to his. You taste like sin, and he’s indulgence, greedily lapping at the fountain of youth.

“How—How was that?” His eyes are dazed, heart pounding against his rib cage as he speaks. He wants to be enough for you. Wants to surpass your expectations.

“Better.” You scoff. “But not good enough.”

Your eyes twinkle in amusement when his face falls, leaning forward to see it clearer. “You’ll never be good enough.”

His heart sinks.

He knows this is bigger than kissing, knows it’s part of your twisted game. But it stung nonetheless.

“You’re a terrible person,” he says.

“What does that make you?”

A willing accomplice. Someone who doesn’t mind, despite the hatred flowing from his lips.

Isagi lets out a strangled moan as you grind your hips together. He can feel everything. The heat of your body. The friction. Your touch.

“I’m… nothing like you,” he strains out between heavy breaths. An obvious lie.

You ignore him, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. There’s plenty of time for him to object, to tell you he doesn’t want this and shy away. But he doesn’t. The tension lingers in the air, and he can’t deny that he craves you as much as you crave him.

He lifts his hips, slowly sliding the pants down and off. You waste no time removing the rest, his hard erection springing out of his boxers and slapping the skin on his lower abdomen. It’s embarrassing, the way pre-cum oozes from the angry red tip and slides down the sides.

You laugh in disbelief.

He came. Already. From kissing you.

“I didn’t even touch you.”

It’s humiliating. Disgusting, even. He can hardly believe it himself.

He can’t look at you, doesn’t want to see the way your face twists in satisfaction. He’s already made a fool of himself by knocking on your door.

But he can’t deny the arousal that thrums through his body when you smirk. It’s involuntary, how his cock twitches and the veins swell from beneath the surface. Part of him loves this. A dark, deep-seated desire that enjoys being belittled by you.

Your fingers wrap around his length, thumb gently gliding across the slit. His hips buck helplessly into your hand, already so overstimulated from just your touch, your body, and the way your eyes drink him in.

“Gonna cum again?” Your hand begins to pump slowly, stroking up and down until his knuckles are white against the sheets. He shakes his head no, but his breaths are flowing out of him, dick becoming painfully taut again.

He cries out when you pull away, leaving him on the precipice of release.

“Y/n…”

“You wanna cum?” You shift backward, spreading your legs open. “Do it yourself.”

His brows shoot up in surprise. You’re letting him use you? Him?

But then your legs press together, and it’s clear what you want from him. From this angle, he can see the curve of your ass and the subtle way your panties disappear between the crevice of your thighs.

Isagi groans, moving onto his knees and tugging your hips towards his. Your thighs have always fascinated him, and he almost comes undone when he slides his hard, throbbing cock between them.

He looks pitiful as he ruts back and forth, humping your thighs with his fingers digging into your skin. The material of your underwear catches against the edge of his mushroom tip, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

“Ah… Y/n… please,” he whimpers, increasing the rhythmic pace of his hips.

There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, desperate pleas met with resounding silence.

You don’t even care.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re on your phone, looking more interested in whatever’s on your screen than his cock peeking in and out between your legs.

You were letting him use you. Like a toy.

And yet, the sight makes him more aroused, beads of white oozing from his slit.

He presses your legs closer together, thrusts becoming haphazard before he lets out a guttural moan and spills hot, sticky semen all over your abdomen.

You’re unimpressed.

You toss your phone to the side, giving him a bored, disinterested look. “Done already?”

“Come on, liebling,” you taunt, grinning. “Surely you can do better than that?”

He hates how you’ve turned a term of endearment into something so derogatory, so crude. It haunts him at night, creeps into his dreams as pretenses of affection.

Even when he’s vulnerable, even when you’ve stripped him bare and reduced him to nothing, you’re still the same asshole he’s always known. It shouldn’t surprise him. You were Michael Kaiser’s sister, after all.

But even then, a fire ignites in his chest. An untamed fury that only ever overtakes him during the heat of a match.

“You want better?” His eyes are blown wide with lust, unrecognizable as he lays you down, reveling in the way your back hits the mattress and your hair sprawls over the sheets.

You gasp softly as his finger hooks into your panties and tears it off with ease.

He thumbs apart your glinting folds, taking in the way your core flutters beneath his hungry gaze. You look good enough to eat, and he’s beyond the point of pleasantries as he drags a teasing finger down your slit.

He scoffs.

If you won’t shut up, he’ll just have to fuck the submission into you.

Inch by delicious inch.

“I’ll make you cry.”

“Shit! Isa—gi, mmph!”

Isagi has you folded in half, cock thrusting in and out of you at lightning speed.

You’re clawing the sheets, arching your back and holding on for dear life as he fucks you into the mattress raw.

He doesn’t slow, even as your legs wrap tighter around his torso, and you finally understand what Kaiser meant by an athlete’s stamina.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spits, reaching down to pinch your swollen clit. You’re a sputtering, mewling mess as tears stream down your cheeks.

“Think you can…ngh… speak to me like that? Think you’re ‘nvincible?”

The intensity of his words burn with what could only be described as hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

He despises you. So fucking much.

He pulls all the way out before slamming back in, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside your velvet walls. He’s a fast learner, already adapting to where you’d like him most.

“You’re jus’ like him.”

The way your expression twists in pleasure, the obscene squelching of your combined juices… it brings him more satisfaction than he thought.

“You think you’re so smart,” he gasps, beads of sweat dripping onto your soft, pliant body. “So cunning and manipulative. And I just…ngh… can’t stand your stupid, arrogant attitude.”

He buries his face in your neck, growling as he nips and bites at your collarbone. His kisses are sloppy, leaving behind angry red marks.

“Jus’ have to constantly test me, don’t you? Taunt me, get under my skin, mess with my head…”

You’re barely listening as he rambles on, his words brimming with obvious irritation. You feel it in every movement, every snap of his hips.

“Think you’re tough shit just ‘cause… your brother’s Kaiser?” He’s leaving open-mouthed kisses down your chest, an act of tenderness lost in reckless abandon.

“‘sagi!” You mewl, gripping onto his shoulders. “Jus’ like.. mm.. that..!”

“Yeah? That feel good? Ngh… you like that?”

He shifts his hips and you almost sob.

“Hm?” He grins, licking a long, wet stripe up the side of your throat. “This the spot?’

He angles himself, hitting the sweet spot that makes you see stars like it’s his goal to see you unravel.

“Still… ngh… with me, Y/n?”

Again. And again. And again.

Your eyes roll back into your skull, nails raking red lines down his skin. His cock is nestled snugly against your cervix, thrusting deep inside of you.

He smirks, a cocky, arrogant thing as his thumb swipes over your parted lips.

“You look so good like this,” he mumbles, staring down at you. Your makeup is smeared, saliva dribbling past your chin.

“Hate you..! Such a fucking dick. Good for… ah!… nothing…” You trail off, your words an incoherent, babbling mess. It’s a feeble attempt at regaining control, and he knows it.

He scoffs. “You talk too much.”

“Gonna shut you up.” He drags the hood of your folds back, thumbing at the engorged nub.

It makes your back arch, chest tightening. Gone is the arrogance and attitude, replaced with a submissive, primal desire. There’s a perverse satisfaction in seeing you so wrecked, shattered from his actions. He’s starting to think like you.

“Deeper! Isa—gi!”

He loves the way his name glides off your tongue like an illicit drug he can’t get enough of. It’s poison, the way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Your touch is lethal—dangerous enough that he should walk away, but he craves the downfall, addicted to the slow, inevitable ruin.

“You… hahh… want me deeper?” He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pushing them even further against your chest. “Dunno if this cunt will let me.”

But he adjusts himself easily, pistoning into you with an insatiable drive.

You cry out his name, and he knows he’s found the right spot. The one that makes you twitch and sob.

“‘m gonna—!” You struggle to find the right words, but he knows.

He’s right there with you.

“Gonna what?” He circles the bundle of nerves just barely, watching as your body jolts in response.

“—cum!”

He’s mesmerized by the way his shaft sinks in and out of you, a ring of frothy white forming around the base.

He grunts, fingers digging into your thighs. “Come for me then.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Your orgasm crashes over you violently, body convulsing as your nails leave crescent-shaped indents onto his skin. He’s still moving, eyes squeezed shut as he lets you ride out your high.

“Shit. So tight…”

A few more desperate thrusts, and then his breath shutters, hips faltering as he pumps into you.

You both stay there, panting as you hang onto the passion of the moment. Eventually, he withdraws, letting the creamy white fluids seep out of your spasming hole.

There are no snarky remarks, no passing taunts. Just the whirring hum of the ceiling fan and your ragged breaths.

It should satisfy him, should bring some sense of closure, but all he feels is nothingness. A deafening silence.

Was this your plan all along? To pull him in, have him at your mercy, and leave him with nothing? Will you tell Kaiser? Recount how easily he unraveled for you?

There you are, lying beneath him, naked and glowing in the aftermath. You look angelic, disheveled hair fanning your face like a golden halo. He could almost love you. Almost.

But it’s not real. Your eyes are sharp, calculating. You could never love anyone other than yourself. That’s just not who you are, and he knows it well.

You shift, propping yourself onto an elbow as he rolls off you, retreating to the edge of the bed. The space between you is cold, despite the passionate lovemaking you just shared. Your gaze lingers on the sculpted lines of his back, watching as he reaches for his discarded shirt and pulls it over his head.

It’s such a simple action, but you can see the fatigue in his movement, in every shift of his muscles. You don’t know what it is that consumes you at that moment. Regret, maybe? Sympathy?

“What are you doing?”

He startles at the sound of your voice, still hoarse and airy from earlier. His eyes have faded back into their natural deep blues, boring into you with stoic indifference.

Usually, you would mock him, slide your hands down his back, throw out an insult just to get under his skin. But you can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

“Getting dressed,” he replies, easing into his jeans. “Need a demonstration?”

You almost flinch at his cutting tone. It’s unlike the hesitant, shy one you’ve grown fond of.

“Why?” You sit up as well, slipping on your silk robe.

He raises a brow. “I have practice in the morning.”

Perhaps you’ve pushed him too far, past the point of apologies. But your chest aches with something unfamiliar, a quiet desperation.

“It’s late,” you start, and the words keep spilling out, too heavy to swallow back down. You’re sinking, drowning in bitter consequence. “You can leave in the morning.”

The vulnerability that flickers in your eyes and the tender way your fingers curl around his wrist isn’t lost on him. You’re a brash, spiteful woman, tainted by money and influence. You have no space for him, no room for change. He has to leave before you corrupt him too.

So why do you look so small? So innocent?

Your fingers tighten. Just barely. “Don’t go.”

“But...”

“I’ll call Kaiser.” It’s quiet. Needy. You hate the way it sounds. Hates the bitter taste it leaves on your tongue. “I’ll tell him to excuse you.”

“Just stay here. For tonight.”

He looks at you for a moment, searching your face for any sign of deceit, but he finds none. All he sees is a little girl that’s never felt a warmth that lingered, like a dwindling flame in a raging storm. He can’t help but soften. Just a little.

After a while, he finally replies.

“…Okay.”

He nods, a quiet resignation settling over him. It’s a mistake, he tells himself. But there’s something in your expression that worms into his heart, slipping under his defenses.

“For tonight,” he echoes.

Isagi lies down beside you, the bed dipping under his weight.

It’s a mess of wrinkled sheets and scattered pillows, but neither of you care. You switch off the light, and he lets you drape the blanket over his tired body.

He knows that when morning comes, this will all be gone. He’ll slip away for practice and you’ll remain here, alone in your empty castle. He won’t let himself hope. Not for someone like you.

But for tonight, he allows himself to savor the warmth of your body against his, to indulge in this fleeting moment of intimacy. He wraps his arm around you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

Just until the night ends.

#HOLY FUCK #THE WRITING WAS SO GOOD???#blue lock #blue lock smut #smut #not my aroace ass reblogging smut solely because the writing was beautiful..

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