Perfect Liars — Blue Lock, Profootballer!itoshi Sae X Idol!reader, Fake Dating, Alcohol Mention, One

perfect liars — blue lock, profootballer!itoshi sae x idol!reader, fake dating, alcohol mention, one shot, 4.5k-ish words

"You're really bad at this."

There's laughter hidden in your voice, a smirk teasing at the edge of your lips. He's been around you often enough now that he can catch that particular glimmer in your eye that means you're amused. At his expense. Again.

Itoshi Sae knows he's not infallible — he may be called a genius, but that's for the soccer field. Still, it grates — he's not bad at relationships, it's just that this one is fake.

"You're going to get scolded by your manager again," Sae says blandly. You pay him no mind, looping your arm around his and pressing your fingers into his bicep before tugging you both forward to survey the display of jewelry.

"And you're going to violate the contract," you say cheerfully, reaching for a pair of earrings with summer ocean gems. Your voice is lilting, musical, the familiar syllables of home standing out starkly against the murmurs of Spanish all around you. "What do you think?"

"You don't care what I think."

You snort, and it's the first crack in your picture perfect facade he's seen all day. "True, but c'mon, Itoshi, at least act like you enjoy my company."

Right. Sae pretends to spare another precious second looking at the earrings before smoothly sliding his card over to the attendant. You bat your eyelashes up at him, still clinging to his arm. "Thanks, loverboy."

His chest clenches uncomfortably. Sae knows you're making fun of him, but there isn't much he can do about it. For the sake of his career — and yours — the show must go on.

You tuck the earrings into your purse and he holds a hand out for you at the door, suppressing a tiny flare of victory when you flash him an approving lift of your eyebrows. For someone whose face is constantly plastered on giant billboards and magnified through close ups on tv, you know how to downplay everything, looking like just another girl on these not-so-secret "dates". Still pretty and charming, but with none of the star power that turns heads and captivates stadiums.

This is what you're counting on as the two of you return to the peaceful, sleepy streets of a smaller shopping district way outside the city, and the reason Sae isn't wearing a hat to hide his bright red brown hair.

"Exposure, but not too much," his manager had said. "Be seen, but not mobbed."

"Where should we go next?" you ask, squeezing his hand. "The shop attendant just snuck a photo of us, by the way. Lean down like you're going to whisper in my ear."

Sae raises an eyebrow. "Don't kiss my cheek again."

He leans close enough for his lips to brush your ear, which would be more than enough for the camera you're both playing for — but then he murmurs, low, just for you, "Are you wearing my cologne?"

He's rewarded with another crack in your mask — heat radiates from your cheeks as you blush. You lower your lashes and avoid his gaze like you're shy, but he catches it again. That glimmer in your eye.

"It fits my image," you say. "And it smells nice."

Sae lets you tug him down the street once you deem your fake photo op accomplished, depending on your sense for these things to take the lead. He's never cared about his image to the public unless it gets in the way of his chances to play professional football, which is the only reason he signed that contract with you in the first place.

Cold. Rude. Unmarketable.

None of that mattered until his professional football team decided it did, and then his manager was scrambling to find a solution and somehow Sae ended up with you.

You — an idol with a reputation for making waves. Far from being the nation's sweetheart, but famous enough. Your label leaped at the chance to get you a foothold in the international market, and Sae's manager agreed as a way to spike his popularity rankings high enough to offset his attitude.

Privately, though, Sae has a feeling he just pissed off the wrong people in management.

"You have practice tomorrow, Itoshi?" you ask. Your hand is still tucked into the crook of his arm. It does something strange to his insides, seeing your fingers wrapped around his jacket, but he puts that thought away for later.

"Yes."

"Hmm," you hum, "and have your teammates mentioned me at all?"

Sae raises an eyebrow and says dryly, "Planning on ditching me already? And here I thought we were in love."

You laugh and stick a little closer to his side. "I only have eyes for you, Itoshi, don't worry. No, I was just asking because I think you need some props. We don't want anyone getting suspicious!"

"Props," he repeats. "We already changed our phone screens. What more is there?"

"You know… like, you should keep one of my hair ties on your wrist," you suggest, "or you can 'accidentally' have my makeup bag in your gym bag. Oh! I know — how do you feel about marks?"

Sae just looks at you. "Marks."

"Yeah," you grin up at him impishly, and Sae sees a glimmer of why you're so beloved on variety shows. "Don't you want proof? That you fuck?"

"You're just horny."

You laugh out loud at that. "Well, it's not like I can sleep with anyone else while we're together," you say, "but no, I just think it'd be good proof that we're really together. You're supposed to be attractive, right? That means I'd definitely jump your bones at some point."

Sae doesn't deem that with a response.

You drop the topic, but Sae can tell you're still thinking about it. Every step feels weighted, heavy. He can feel every brush of your body against his arm as you tug and nudge him around the town, until the considerable weight of his attention is narrowed down to the places where your body presses against his own.

"Here." You fish out a bucket hat from your purse and hold it out to him. "Your disguise for sneaking into my hotel room."

"I don't need to prove anything to my teammates," Sae says. You slip the hat onto his head and adjust it for a moment, apparently ignorant of any sense for personal space. He catches a whiff of your scent — his scent — and his gut clenches weirdly. "They're the ones who should be proving themselves to me if they want to receive my passes."

"This isn't about football," you murmur, rolling your eyes. "This is about sending a message."

Whatever. Sae watches as you pull on a bucket hat as well and pause in front of a storefront window to check your reflection. "Isn't the point to be recognized?"

"Not really," you hum, sliding your hand into his and lacing your fingers together naturally. "It would be good for your teammates to talk, but we don't actually need sleazy hotel pap pics."

You don't do anything in particular to hide your faces or linked hands as you take him back to your hotel and up to your room, probably banking on the fact that the city is busy enough to hide what's in plain sight. Sae flexes his fingers when you drop his hand to shut the door.

"Take off your shirt," you say. Sae looks at you. "You can take off your shoes, too, if it'll make you more comfortable. This shouldn't take that long, though."

"Should I be offended?" Sae shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up. The clink of the hanger is loud in the silence of your room.

"You never answered my question," you say, fingering the hem of his shirt. Your eyes are liquid depths in the sunset painting the room. "Are you okay with this?"

It's for your careers, isn't it? Sae doesn't know what he would do without football. "Yes."

You tug at his shirt and he pulls it off, drops it on your bed along with the hat. "Oh, you are hot," you murmur. Sae tucks away his smirk.

He must not do a very good job of it, because you grin up at him and it's teasing and you're nudging him back until his knees hit the mattress. He sits and plants his hands behind him, watching you. "Do you do this often?"

"Nope," you reply cheerfully. Sae waits. You climb onto his lap. "Are you ticklish?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you."

You laugh a bit under your breath, dipping down to brush your lips along the sensitive skin of his neck. Sensitive — Sae's used to full body tackles and skinship due to the nature of the game, but it's different with you in his arms like this. Like — this, with your hands resting on his back, your hair tickling his cheek. Your waist soft beneath his hand as he reaches out to stabilize you.

You're hovering above his lap, apparently a little more conscious of personal space now, but then you press your lips to his collarbone and he hisses low.

"Sorry," you murmur, lips still close enough to brush skin, "did I hurt you?"

"No," he says curtly.

Sae holds still as you hum and begin to worry at his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking, nipping here and there and licking soothingly as you work your way down. You pay special attention to the slope of his shoulder where it meets his collarbone, your nails digging lightly into the muscles of his back as you sink lower.

Heat blooms embarrassingly beneath your touch, tendrils zipping quietly along his nerves as he clenches his jaw shut. You don't seem to notice, settling firmly into his lap with a sigh that makes his blood burn.

"I'm gonna scratch your back a bit," you warn, and Sae can't help but tense as you drag your nails down his bare back.

He keeps his tone cool and unaffected when you lift your head to meet his eye. Arousal drips through his veins, heats up his skin. "Are we done yet?"

Your gaze drops to his neck and shoulders and your head tilts critically. It's not cute, but you're warm and soft and sitting directly on his crotch. Sae is — apparently — a weaker man than he thought. "Should I do the other side, too, or do you think you would've flipped me over by now?"

Brazen. Sae slides his hand from your waist to your thigh. "If we were doing this," he says evenly, "we would still be in the foyer."

"Oh."

It's silent for a breath. You blink up at him slowly, and then a smile dawns, dazzling and bright in the light of the setting sun. "So you do think I'm hot," you say smugly.

Sae narrows his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

You're being very warm and distracting. "Let me leave a few more marks on your back, and then you can get out of here."

By the time you're satisfied with your handiwork, you've added a few more hickeys to his chest, bright and blooming, and the lines along his back burn pleasantly with every shift of his muscles. It doesn't take you long, but it feels endless, time stretching out like taffy.

Sae watches you impassively as you lean back in his lap. The movement brings your hips directly against his dick, and he knows you can feel him. He's hard. You're — so warm. You could grind against his cock and bring both of you to dizzying heights with a simple shift of your hips.

But you just smile and pat his chest — tap tap.

"Will you tell me how your teammates react?" you ask, climbing off his lap and dislodging his hand resting on your thigh.

"Maybe," Sae says. He pulls his shirt back on and you hold out the bucket hat. He takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers along yours, just to watch you shiver. "If you're good."

Sae isn't sure what you expected, but you text him after practice the next day with a selfie and a few question marks in a row.

He leaves you on read.

Sae's teammates stare when he takes his shirt off, and a few whistles pierce the locker room chatter. He pays them no mind, gathering up his things for the shower, but Oliver slings an arm over his shoulders before he can get very far.

"Don't tell me your idol girlfriend is actually a hellcat," Oliver says. "Isn't that against the rules? Her image is so…"

"Get off me," Sae says. Oliver always knows how to push his buttons, though Sae will never admit it.

Oliver drops his arm and flashes him a cheeky grin. "You should bring her out with us this weekend," he says, "I can help you show her a good time."

Sae rolls his eyes. "She already has me."

It shouldn't bother him, but the casual comment digs under his skin and sticks. He's witnessed Oliver's track record, the endless revolving door of girls and guys. It doesn't feel right to picture you in that lineup. Not that Sae cares — but your image would probably take a hit. And that wouldn't be good for him.

Sae washes off with a bit more force than necessary, something pleased curling in his gut with every subtle aching reminder of you in his lap just a day ago. Sae isn't a virgin, but it's been a long time, and his half hard cock seems to agree that perhaps it's been a little too long.

You've sent him another photo by the time he finishes moisturizing and pulling on clothes. This time it's a close up of your hand. You're flipping off the camera.

If he softens at his phone, that's just for him to know.

Sae: Not very patient, are we? You: did you know you have read receipts on? Sae: Yes. You: i just wanna know the results of my handiwork. throw me a bone, itoshi Sae: They noticed.

You don't have read receipts, so he has no way of knowing if you simply got pulled away or if you think the conversation is now over.

It digs at him, prods at his attention even as he leaves the locker room and Oliver's reissued invitation fades into a distant memory. Sae goes about his business, drinks his post practice protein shake and ignores his phone.

He knows you have work, even in another country — dance practice and vocal lessons and language homework. He knows your schedule is grueling and unglamorous, a high price to pay for fifteen minutes of fame.

But you normally message him back.

He's always been the one who's left you hanging. You have a tendency to shoot off messages like you don't have a brain-to-thumbs filter, sending texts back to back with abandon, though Sae's noticed it's mostly empty filler. He wonders if you've figured out that he's picked up on it, and if that's why you stopped.

You are a lot more observant than anyone else gives you credit for, but it's interesting to pick you apart. Sae keeps his phone turned face down.

He lets it vibrate the first time, barely glancing up from some tape he's watching, but by the third vibration he gets up to see if it's you.

You: why's your teammate inviting me to clubs on insta? You: i have an image, itoshi!! You: it looks fun tho………. i should be at the club……….. You: should i be at the club?? nobody here would recognize me, right?

Sae frowns and hits the "call" button before he can stop himself.

"Hi, babe," you sound cheerful, but there's a thread of exhaustion buried deep that makes Sae's frown deepen. "Is it weird that I've never been to the club?"

"They're overrated," he says flatly. "Your manager would kill you."

It's silent for a moment. In the background, Sae picks up the squeak of shoes against hardwood, the repetitive stomp and slide of dance practice going on without you.

"There are easier ways to get rid of me," you finally murmur. Your sigh echoes down the line. It takes you another moment, but then you add, "Haven't you wondered why my company's dating ban doesn't apply to me?"

Sae's vision snaps back into focus and he blinks down at his countertop. "You're the only idol they have with cross-cultural appeal."

You laugh quietly, and Sae closes his eyes. It's easier to hear your voice this way. "I'm beloved enough that they need me to self-implode. Wanna help, Itoshi?"

The club lights pulse and shimmer with the beat, loud and drowning. Sae watches you dance and cradles a cup to his chest, leans back against the wall as if it doesn't bother him one bit that you're swaying to the music with his teammate.

Oliver, to his credit, keeps his hands to respectable parts of your body. Only touches your bare shoulder or the lightest graze of your hip. Just enough to keep you in his space and others out.

Sae would respect that, normally. Would even appreciate it, if he hadn't taken the shots Oliver ordered for the three of you earlier.

But you're wearing some impossible slip of fabric and every flash of light cutting through the machine generated fog gives Sae an image of you burned into the back of his eyelids.

"Wanna help, Itoshi?"

"You want me to keep you from crashing and burning?"

"I want you to make it real."

Sae feels your hand slide up his chest and opens his eyes to meet yours. The light makes you look shimmery around the edges, softer than usual, a little hazy. You smell like his cologne.

"I want you to destroy me, Itoshi."

You take a sip from his cup of water before setting it aside, your other hand still flat on his chest. Sae doubts you can feel the rapid beat of his heart when the music rattles his bones, but he leans close anyway, tilts your chin up with one finger and kisses you.

The club disappears as your mouth opens beneath his, a sigh, a silent invitation. Sae dips in, tastes the refreshing coolness from his drink lingering in your mouth, and then your fingers clench his shirt and everything goes hot.

Everything boils down to this, to you. Sae knows people think he's cold, but you're gasping into his mouth and he's sliding his tongue between your teeth and you're kissing him back, wet and filthy and — and you're in public, shit.

The broken sound you make when he pulls back makes his dick throb concerningly in his pants and — when did he get so hard? Sae shakes his head slightly, meets your blown pupils with a hiss, holds you a tiny bit closer. Just to keep you upright, to keep this impossible outfit from exposing any more of your skin to everyone in the club.

"Is it 'cause I wasn't good?" you ask, breathless. Sae aches. "Why'd you leave me on read? How d'you want me? How can I be good for you?"

"I was just busy," Sae murmurs. He runs his fingers up your back, watches you shiver. "They were… impressed. Oliver called you a hellcat."

"And I'm good?" you press.

Sae dips down to kiss you again, spinning the two of you around so his back can be your shield. You cling to his shoulders and it makes him dizzy, makes him kiss you deeper, like you're really his girlfriend.

"I-Itoshi, you've been holding out on me," you gasp accusingly. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he groans into your cheek. Presses a kiss there, and then moves to the soft spot just below your ear. "I should've asked you to destroy me sooner."

Right. Sae pulls back but keeps you pinned against the wall, still close enough that he can feel every soft curve of you pressing against him. "Are you done with the club?"

There's that glimmer in your eye. Or maybe it's just the club lights reflecting every color under the sun in your irises — but it draws him in and he kisses you again, lingering at your lips. Far too soft for what you're asking, but you seem tipsy enough that this can be just for him.

Sae takes a small step back, tucks you into his side, scans the club for the quickest path to the exit. Oliver catches his eye across the crowded floor and tilts his head in question. Sae nods.

He ignores the knowing grin Oliver tosses his way.

You're quiet and — pliant, on the ride back to his apartment. Sae lets you hide kisses along the column of his neck in the taxi, corners you in the elevator ride up with only a huff of amusement when you blink up at him innocently.

"You smell good," you murmur. It's a feeble excuse for the soft brush of your lips on his skin, but he lets you do as you wish. It makes it easier for him to guide you into his cold apartment, to lock the door behind you and to kneel at your feet.

"Here," he says. A hand around your ankle, cradling the delicate bone. The clasps of your heels loosen and he slides them off, sets your bare feet into a pair of house slippers. You hold onto his shoulders as if you need help balancing.

"Itoshi…"

Sae grips your bare calf with an exhale and looks up. "Can you walk to the bathroom?"

You blink down at him, pouting even as you trace a pattern idly along his cheekbone. "You want me to take my makeup off before we fuck?"

Sae's pants are tight. You slide your fingers into his hair and tug lightly. He grunts. "We need to sleep."

"I thought you said you'd help destroy me," you murmur. Sae rises and scoops you up in one smooth motion, smirking to himself when you yelp and throw your arms around his neck. The house slippers fly off your feet with your flailing, but Sae just looks at you. "Itoshi!"

"We went to the club," he reminds you. It takes no effort at all for him to carry you to the bathroom. He sets you on the counter and shuffles around in a drawer. "Here."

You wipe your makeup off and brush your teeth obligingly, not even questioning why he has a spare toothbrush or makeup wipes available. Sae grunts when you wrap your legs around his waist like a koala, but he carries you to the bed without question.

He knows you can feel him — still hard — against your warmth, so it doesn't surprise him when you refuse to let go. Sae drops you onto the bed and his grip on your thighs gets stronger, fingers digging in to the soft muscles there. "Will you sleep in these clothes?"

You shake your head, pouting up at him prettily. "Undress me?"

"Do you let all of your fake boyfriends do this?" Sae asks idly, fingering the straps of your outfit.

"You know you're my first and only fake boyfriend." Even tipsy, you roll your eyes at him.

Sae snorts. It is far too easy to peel your clothes off, though you're loose limbed and only barely cooperating. Sae has to resist brushing his lips along each new inch of bare skin revealed to him, and it doesn't help that you watch his every move with that fucking glimmer in your eye.

You reach for him once you're in nothing but your panties, fingers tugging at the belt loops of his pants. Sae huffs and the sound is too fond even to his own slightly inebriated ears, so he draws the blankets up over your body and steps away before you can drag him in.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" you ask.

"I need to wash up. Go to sleep, you little troublemaker."

You're fast asleep by the time he finishes up, breaths coming out even and slow. Sae watches you for a moment. His apartment is small for a player of his status, but he's never seen a need for a guest bedroom because he never has guests.

Sae wakes up to an empty apartment. Daylight filters in and hits his living room couch from an angle he's never seen before. He blinks up at the ceiling and listens to the silence.

His front door opens and shuts.

"Itoshi," you sing-song. "Are you still on the couch? Can I sit with you?"

You're cradling a paper bag and a tray of takeout cups, and you sit before he has a chance to fully move out of your way. "That shirt is too big for you," he says blankly.

"You can put your head here if you're still tired," you say cheerfully, patting at your lap. Sae eyes the pants you're wearing — stolen from his closet, rolled up at the bottom, cinched to your waist with a belt — and then sighs and lies back down. You grin at him.

"When did you wake up?" he asks. You take a sip of your drink and set his cup to the side for later. "You could have woken me."

"You were sleeping so peacefully," you say. The paper bag rustles as you reach in to break off a piece of pastry. "Besides, you didn't even touch me last night, and I was so defenseless. I thought maybe you were giving up on that part of the plan. So I didn't want to bother you."

"I'm not giving up," Sae says, blinking up at you slowly. The morning light makes you glow. "But I won't take advantage of you while you're drunk."

"I wanted you to," you say matter-of-factly. "I thought you said if we were doing this, we wouldn't make it past the foyer. I got all the way to your bed, Itoshi."

Sae frowns. "Do we actually need to fuck in order to destroy you?"

"It'll make you a better actor," you say casually. Sae catches your eye and you wink. "You're so stiff with me all the time my own group mates asked if it was real."

That makes him bristle, but he just clenches his jaw. You pop another bit of pastry into your mouth. "Is this part of your plan, then?"

"My agency thinks ruining my image will let them wipe their hands of me," you sigh and kick your feet a little. "The international market is different, though. I need something scandalous to keep me relevant. That's why I need you to destroy me… but you kind of suck at acting, Itoshi."

This relationship is fake. It's fake. Sae can be good at relationships. Girls have fallen for him many times. He knows he's attractive, and the evidence is clear that he could easily get a girlfriend any time he wants — even if he's never had time for one before. Still, it can't possibly be that difficult.

He reaches up and laces his fingers with yours. "Fine. I'll make the world believe we're in love."

You squeeze his hand and snort. "Good luck."