To Be Loved Is To Be Seen.

out of breath, got me going like...

attractive things that the blue lock men do.

itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you. 

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin. 

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention. 

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

© rindreamery, 2024

tags. @choccorin @mininji

sae itoshi was not a nonchalant boyfriend or a chill guy, despite how much he tried to seem like he was. you don’t ask him for his opinion on your outfit? do you not want him (to compliment you and ask you to do a small twirl so he could see the ensemble properly and then pepper your cute face with kisses)? you don’t want him to share his food with you? okay, so basically you’re saying you want him to go to hell.

you tell him to quit liking flirty comments from random people under your posts? what’s wrong with that, he agrees with them— you’re absolutely stunning. and no, he isn’t doing it just so those randoms get a notification that saeitoshi, with a silly picture of you and him with your cheeks smushed together as his profile picture, has liked their comment so that they now know you aren’t single and looking for some sleazy jackass who thinks they can get your undivided attention just by commenting ‘🔥🔥’. seriously, how dare you accuse him of such pettiness?

but really, none of that is compareable to how he feels right now; damp hair sticking to his forehead, towel over his shoulder, one hand buttoning up his loose shirt while he’s looking at his phone, fresh out of the shower after the usual training. his teammates are yapping about something like they always do but it’s all silent in his head as he takes in what feels like utter blasphemy on the screen.

zero notifications.

well, actually, he had a shit ton of texts messages from his teammates and people he considered somewhat his friends but none of them really matter— only you do.

and you hadn’t texted him since yesterday (almost 24 hours ago!), when he was on his way home and asked you if you wanted him to bring you extra snacks or something.

do you hate him?

he clicked out of the messages app and checked instagram, where you’d usually have flooded his dms with chronically online shit that he had no idea how you found funny. seriously, what the heck is all that about divers going into small spaces and eye of dih? he visibly deflates when he sees you hadn’t sent anything on there either (the last text was from him, when he’d said ‘???’ to your text that read ‘what is a father?’).

Sae [16:43pm]: Do you hate me

nah. scoffing to himself, he deleted the words, exited the app and pocketted his phone. since when was he such an attention deprived, needy little shit? whatever.

by the time he opens the front door to your shared home, there’s still no text, no call, no reel, nothing from you. “angel?” he calls out in his usual, casual tone, nudging the door shut with his boot. “’m home.”

“in here, sae,” you call out from the bedroom and he quickly takes off his shoes, drops his duffel bag onto the couch and trudges into the bedroom, feeling as if if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging harshly behind him. “i was just about to text you.” you tell him with a small smile from where you’re sitting on the office chair behind the desk, your laptop in front of you and notes strewn all over the desk. you were.. studying.

ah, right. no wonder you hadn’t texted him.

you barely register his silent footsteps and fast pace until he’s right behind you within the time it took for you to blink, one hand on the arm of the chair to turn it around before he’s half hunched over you, his other hand pressing on your back to tug you into a hug. “missed you,” his voice is muffled as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, the soft tufts of his moist hair tickling your chin and neck. “thought you hated me.”

“what?” it was said so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it, but you do and now you’re pulling back a bit to look at him properly. “what gave you that idea?”

“forget about it,” he tries to avoid the question in a painfully untactful manner, attempting to hug you again, but faltering as he sees the look on your face. god, this was so humiliating. “y‘didn't text me today— or call, or send me stupid reels,” he points out with an embarrassed grunt, standing up to his full height and running a hand through his hair. “thought you were pissed at me for beating you in monopoly or something.”

huffing, you grin up at him. “you didn’t have to bring that up, jerk. but no, as you can see,” you gesture to your table and he notices the splotches and lines of dried ink on your fingers from your pen. “i’ve been studying. or trying to, at least.”

“huh.” he lets out, grasping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers before untangling them again so he could toy around with them. his brows furrow and he scoffs when you continue, saying something along the lines of ‘i didn’t think you’d notice.’ “yeah, well, i noticed. i dunno. kinda hard to miss the zero texts from the only person i reply to, yeah?”

your eyes brighten at that, but you tease, “ohh, yeah, right. sorry, i forgot you’re a friendless loser.”

“look who’s talking,” he shoots back, and you’d almost be offended if it wasn’t for the playful look in his eyes. he sighs and dips his head to press a kiss to your temple before walking over to the closet.

“were you really sad that i didn’t send you stupid reels?” you ask him with a curious look while watching him pick out a random t-shirt and sweats, not making fun of him like you’d usually do, just genuine curiousity in your tone.

he hums in response, undoing a few buttons of his shirt before tugging it off his head and glancing at you, with his teal eyes narrowed in contemplation, shirt still hanging around his elbows. “guess so. ’s stupid, huh?”

“nah,” is your immediate reply, followed by a small shrug. “i think it’s sweet, actually. in a pathetic sort of way. you’re kinda sweet.”

during his 10-minute break from training the next day, he finds himself on the bench of the locker room, resting his aching legs with his half empty water bottle next to him as he’s scrolling through your dms with a soft smile. a shit ton of reels and one ‘good luck at practice!!’ message stares back at him.

yeah. he thinks you’re (kinda) sweet too.

fine shyt -> chopped shyt pipeline

god... how much he's changed... barcha vs pxg...

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH ~ s. itoshi, m. kaiser, o. aiku x f!reader

⊹ in which you miss their match because you're sick. ⊹ tags/cw: reader is referred to as "meine liebe", "prinzessin" in kaiser's, that's literally it LMAO ⊹ wc: 876 total (this is very short) ⊹ a/n: very self indulgent but also dedicated to @aozui my fellow sae kisser and @wakeupmaddie kaiser glazer (but nonchalant)

“you’re burning up,” sae itoshi states bluntly, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. scowling, you swat it away, wincing at the throbbing pain in your head and the aching in your bones.

“am not, you just have cold hands.”

“will you quit being so stubborn for once?” he’s in the bathroom doing his hair now, his voice drifting out to the living room, where you lay limply on the couch. “if you need to rest, then just rest. you don’t have to be there.”

“but i’ve never missed any of your matches,” you protest, squeezing your eyes shut, though you have a sinking feeling this will have to be the first. your boyfriend doesn’t take no for an answer.

sae sighs audibly. he emerges from the bathroom, hands still damp from washing, and sits down in front of you.

you crack open an eyelid, and let out a tiny sigh.

“hey, you,” you mumble.

“hey.” he brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, tracing your lips with his thumb.

“i’m sorry i can’t go see you play today.”

he frowns. why would you need to be sorry? “i’ll make a pot of tea for you, and i’ll have your favourite snacks delivered here soon. focus on getting better.”

you lean into his touch and hum, content. he watches and feels you drift off to sleep, and only then does he move to the kitchen to boil water for your tea. and you have no way of knowing this, but sae presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before he leaves, quietly shutting the door behind him.

after all, whether you’re there cheering him on or not, you’re the only one sae itoshi plays for.

michael kaiser is a man of few wants. it’s how he was raised - to cling on to anything and anyone, because things are all so temporary.

which is why you feel so guilty that you can’t even give him one of the few things you’ve offered him all the while you’ve been together - your presence. your presence at one of his most highly-anticipated games of the year.

by the time you wake up one hour before the match, all groggy and feeling gross, it’s too late. the stadium he’s playing at is two hours away, and when you factor in the time it takes to get ready, you know there’s no way you can go to see him.

you know he’s been telling you not to go, because you’ve had the flu for a while now. his voice echoes in your head, still; prinzessin, i’ll need you to stay at home and get better, okay? take your meds? can you do that for micha?

and you have to admit, you feel a little better after that nap. but you could’ve sworn you’d set multiple alarms for yourself just before michael left the house, so you could wake up on time -

unless…

you check your phone, and a voicemail from your boyfriend catches your eye. you sit back and let it play.

“guten morgen, meine liebe.” you swear you hear a hint of amusement in his voice as he says this, as it’s nowhere near morning. “i admit i turned your alarms off, and for that i’m sorry. but you’ll still be here with me, in spirit. okay, liebling?”

“okay, meine schatz,” you find yourself smiling and responding to the voicemail, even though michael’s not actually there with you.

and when your boyfriend scores the winning goal that night on national television, you see him look straight into the cameras and mouth your name.

oliver aiku isn’t the type to fuss. he’s not the kind to make a big deal out of things like colds or missed matches. life is long, and there’s always another game, another night out, another chance.

but when he walks into the apartment to find you curled up in bed, shivering despite the thick blanket wrapped around you, he feels something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

he leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “you look like shit.”

you groan, burrowing further under the sheets. “wow, thanks, oliver. that really helps.”

he smirks, but it fades just as fast. you’re usually quick with a comeback, but today your voice is weak, your face paler than he’d like. 

he sighs and steps closer, crouching next to the bed. “i was gonna grab dinner with the guys after the match.” he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i figured you’d rather have me here.”

you blink up at him. “wait - what? the match -”

“relax, i played,” he cuts in. “did my job, had my fun, then left early.” he taps your forehead lightly with two fingers. “i’d rather be here, anyway.”

you frown. “you don’t have to -”

“i know.” his voice is softer now, just like his touches on your hand. “but i want to.”

oliver aiku has never been the type to make promises he can’t keep, and he’s spent years living like nothing and no one could ever tie him down. but tonight, as he pulls you closer, listening to your soft and fevered, though slightly calmed breathing, he realizes - if there’s anywhere he wants to be, it’s right here.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

kaiser is the kind of person who chases your lips once you pull away for whatever reason. this man will not let you breathe

Sorry for disturbing 🩷 would it be possible a one shot with either Bachira or reo (or any character that fits the vibes) based on the sentence “don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you” or “why are you so stubborn?”. Looking for some angst not gonna lie😖😶‍🌫️

𐙚 “Don’t give me space, that’s the last thing I want.” BLLK oneshot 𐙚

CW: angst. Nakedness innuendos but nothing explicit, mention of breakup.

ᯓ★ Ryusei Shidou

“Damn it, Y/N,” Shidou snapped. It wasn’t loud enough to make you flinch, but it was loud enough to make your eyes widen in surprise.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. After all, you are more than aware of how he is—the type of person he is. He’s not so rough in private as he is on the field, sure, but his bruising personality still carries over into his personal life. The signs, the warnings were there all along. Big, bold, and yet, they still managed to get lost.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he continued. “I have told you once, and I have told you twice, I don’t—I just don’t. I don’t want to open up, I am fine. I do not need help—“

“Fine.” You cut him off, trying to avoid another argument—the third of that morning alone.

“Fine. I am sorry for pushing. I am sorry for insisting. I just know something is wrong. I can tell from the way you haven’t closed an eye in the last few days. From the way you have been on edge constantly. I shouldn’t have pried, I am sorry. Just know that I am here if you do need me. Because that’s what I am here for, right?” Your words linger in the air for a moment, the silence thick between the two of you as both stare at the pavement. The silence is broken as you turn around to leave the living room, your slippers squeaking on the parquet floor.

“Wait—Y/N,” Shidou sighed, his voice calmer than earlier. His shoulders had dropped, his eyes slightly softer, although there was still that wall present.

“Wait. Please—don’t go. Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you. Please… I… can’t,” he mumbled, his words coming out quietly and quickly, enough to understand them and the message he was trying to send.

Stay. I need you. Please. Don’t leave me alone. I can’t talk about it, not yet. But please stay.

Your eyes soften as you move back close to him, step after step, slowly. Unsure movements, trying to see how he would react. Will he flinch away? Will he move back? But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes on you. And your eyes are on him. You stop right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to move back, to move away if he needs to. But he doesn’t move. And so, you take one more step, and your arms are around him. His head comes to rest against your neck, his breathing hitting your soft skin, making it warmer.

“I’m sorry,” your words come out quieter than intended, a whisper of some sort.

“It’s fine, stop apologising,” he whispers back, moving his mouth against your neck, leaving a soft, slightly humid kiss on the now warm skin. “Just hold me for a little longer.”

ᯓ★ Bachira Meguru

“Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you, Y/N-chan,” Bachira screamed while crying—no, while sobbing his eyes out. The scene felt so familiar. The yellow bedsheets, the softness of his mattress where he was sat on. The artwork from his mother or the little sketches he made, scattered across the study table and some glued to the wall. Right beside the Polaroids of you two. You two laughing, you two kissing. You two smiling.

And now, it felt like everything was crumbling away slowly.

“Y/N-chan… please,” he sobbed as he tried to step closer, but you took a step back. He couldn’t—there was just something wrong with your eyes. The way they were so… dark. So empty. You never looked at him with such disdain. Disgust even. Why now?

“Don’t leave me, please—” you cut him off.

“Bachira, we are done. D-O-N-E. Done. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. You’re absolutely the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Bachira, Bachira… Bachira… Bachira? Bachira, are you listening? Bachira, can you hear me…?

He wakes up gasping. His eyes still blurred with tears he didn’t know he had shed while he was sleeping. His heart was beating so fast that he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. His body was shaking as he tightened his grip on a hand… a hand? He turns his face, meeting your worried eyes. Your mouth opens, probably calling his name, that’s what it looked like. But he was in such a discombobulated state that he didn’t even hear your words. His eyes wide as if he had seen a ghost, while they desperately tried to read any of the emotions he had seen previously on your face. Your eyes were kind, sweet as ever. There was no disgust, no fear, no hatred. And yet…

It felt so real. So damn real. He was no stranger to self-doubt. He was no stranger to feeling—like he wasn’t good enough. And maybe a little voice at the back of his head was waiting for the right moment to lash out all of these insecurities onto him, right when the moment was nothing more than peaceful, and destroy everything once again.

That wasn’t you. You never looked at him in such way, and he was sure you never would. That was a conjure of his brain, of his deepest insecurities. Of you leaving him. Of you abandoning him like he has been abandoned before in his past.

But you are here. Right beside him. Still holding his hand while your worried eyes and furrowed eyebrows look at his face, trying to determine how to work the situation.

“Bee? I’m here. You feel me? Feel my heart. I’m here,” you whisper softly, bringing the hand you were holding right up to your chest, to your beating, steady heart.

Right. You’re here. We are here. Together. You didn’t leave. We are in my bed. Our pictures are still up on that same wall staring back at us. And I can feel your soft, warm, bare body against mine under the covers. We are here. We are together. And I love you. Oh, how I love you. Please, never leave me. I love you.

ᯓ★ Reo Mikage

“For the love of— again? Really, Reo? Again? Why are you so stubborn, I swear—” you say to your best friend, Reo. Your voice is slightly harsher than intended, but the tiredness and maybe a tinge of anger are starting to seep out.

Again, it happened again.

Reo getting dumped by Nagi. And consequently, the purple-haired guy runs into hiding, sobbing his eyes out while spiraling out of control. And you were tired. Tired of seeing him hurt. Tired of seeing the person you loved, cared for and cherished getting used and discarded when he wasn’t needed anymore.

Reo wasn’t perfect, and neither are you. But then again, who is? Despite his flaws, he is kind, oh so ever kind. He is gentle even, and his smile—his laugh, is so beautiful. So full of life, it’s the little giggles turning into a belly laugh, a small snort in between as he laughs his heart out. And you miss it as tears and sobs replace his usual smile and laugh.

You sigh, moving to sit by his side on the floor. Your arms move automatically like they have done in the past, to hold him tightly against your chest. To give him a sense of security despite the darkness he is feeling inside.

“I am so tired,” he whispers shakily between sniffles and tears. “I—is it too much? To ask to be loved? Is it too much to love me? Am I too much?” he says in a quiet, timid voice.

He is not speaking to you, well, not directly. The question is more or less said out loud as he is starting to open up.

“No. It’s not too much. You’re not too much, you’re not a burden to love, Reo. You’re the biggest gift anyone could ever receive.” Your words are soft as silk, caressing him, holding him metaphorically and literally in a warm embrace.

You’re not too much, Reo. You’re just enough.

“But then—” he sniffles. “Why is it… he keeps leaving? Why is it that no matter how hard I try, he always ends up leaving?”

Good question. Why does Nagi leave? Well, you certainly have some words, strong ones at that, but it’s not the time nor place to use them.

“Because sometimes we aren’t meant to stay with that person, Reo. I know, it’s an oxymoron. It doesn’t make sense, it’s ridiculous even. How and why? If you love someone so hard, so much, why do they leave? Why can’t they stay? Well—because it doesn’t matter how hard you love someone, sometimes that love is not enough to make them stay. Sometimes, too, you’re misplacing your love with the wrong person. In your case, I feel it’s a mix of both. I know you care for him, so deeply. That’s who you are, after all. But—who cares for you, Reo?” you say in a low, soft tone, as your hand goes to cup his cheek.

“Who cares for you when the lights are out and you’re alone with your thoughts? And I’m not talking about the physical intimacy kind. I’m talking about the mental one. Who’s there, giving you advice? Who’s there, helping you? Who’s there supporting you?”

Reo’s eyes meet yours, filled with tears but also a glimmer of understanding. He knows you’re right, but it’s hard to let go of something you’ve held onto so tightly.

“I just—I think sometimes it’s better to let go. I can’t make the choice for you, and I won’t. It has to come from you. But just know, whatever you decide, I’m here. I’ll always be here,” you continue, your voice firm yet gentle.

Reo takes a deep breath, his body still trembling slightly but starting to calm down in your embrace. He nods slowly, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t know if I can do it alone,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I— don’t want to do it alone. Don’t give me space. Don’t leave. That’s the last thing I want from you. Please… help me” his eyes meet yours in a quiet understanding.

“You’re not alone, Reo. You have me, and you have so many people who care about you. You just have to see it. And maybe, it’s time to start caring for yourself as much as you care for others,” you say softly, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

He pulls back slightly to look at you, a small, grateful smile forming on his lips. It’s a start, at least.

“Thank you. I love you so much. I don’t know what I would do without you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

Your cold lips touch his cheek, leaving a soft, reassuring kiss

“Anytime silly” you reply, holding onto a soft, almost teasing smile. Your noses touch, while sharing a soft, quiet chuckle together.

In that moment, as his purple eyes mix into yours, you both understand that while the journey ahead might be tough, he has you and you have him. And maybe, just maybe, Reo will finally find the strength to let go and find someone who truly deserves his love.

© GLAMOROUSCAT (All rights reserved, do not share, modify or repost my work outside of tumblr)

jealousy jealousy!

when hes just a little (very) jealous of someone else

bllk boys (nagi, rin, reo) x reader: insecurities, fluff!!!!!!!, established r/s except for rin (but you two get into one by the end!), nagis part was deleted and rewritten TT, not proof read + likes n reblog r appreciated <3

nagi seishiro:

“eh… you cleared this level already…? i thought you were struggling with it..?” nagi’s voice muffled against the pile of blankets his face was smushed in, looking up at you confusedly from your phone, displaying the game level cleared.

its not that he doesnt believe you cleared it all by yourself, if anything youre pretty good at this game despite only playing it for him. its simply because you were complaining on call with him about it, and all of the sudden youve finished it? he doesnt quite believe it, hes gone through that level too and he knows its pretty challenging, taking a little more energy than it really should have even for nagi himself.

“ah.. my seatmate cleared it for me this morning when he saw me playing it!” its strange: your bright voice always wakes him up a little, bringing light into his otherwise dull and boring life. yet this time, he feels his heart pang a little.

its troublesome. he doesnt like feeling this way: his heart tightens at your words, he unconsciously grips your phone a little, only realising when the screen protector cuts him a little, and he feels as though hes getting all fired up strangely the same way he gets on the field. if anything, nagi doesnt even know who this mysterious seat partner is, and he sure doesnt want to know: its troublesome to socialise with others after all. and yet, if there’s anything he’s now set on doing as though his life depends on it, as though your relationship with him depends on it, as though his ego depends completely on this: he wants to confront this guy and challenge him in an actual game competition. he knows he’ll win, he has spent his entire life in bed playing mobile game or spending late hours of the night on grinding back to immortal on different variety of games from valorant to league of legends to overwatch. he’s covered his grounds he thinks, that maybe all those time wasn’t wasted at all other than the fact that you weren’t with him during those time: lending him your lap to lie down on when he plays his switch or phone, lending him your support when you sit on his lap on his chair squirming to keep it a challenge to win and carry his team still, even more lending him your accounts when he plays with you, helping carry you in any game you want or even just building your islands together on animal crossing or minecraft on more chill days.

nagi doesn’t get it - really, its the same ego that drives him in football, not wanting to lose. his eyes flicker with sudden fire and intensity that only burns whenever he plays games with you: whether that be when you die in a pvp game and him immediately straightening his back to avenge you, earning aces for rounds straight until the screen flashes with victory, or when someone talks bad about you in the voice channel and is immediately reacted with nagi’s voice that defends your honour as if he’s your knight in shining armour, or even simply the way his hands click on the mouse quickly whenever he sees a zombie go near you in the dark cave whilst playing something as chill as minecraft. if anything, nagi think it might just apply to real life too: his hands tugging at yours as though on instinct in record speed when you trip on another branch to prevent you from falling, his glare at others whenever they bother you too much that is visible through the awkward smile you give and your hands finding its way to fiddle with his shirt.

and the same ego is clear to him now: he doesn’t want anyone else to be yours, he wants to be the only one to help you. selfish maybe, but he’ll deliver - the way he tracks your figure in the map from valorant to minecraft to even genshin, the way he fights to protect you from the enemies, his hands animatedly clicking at his mouse and the other navigating his keyboard all at the same time in order to garner the best and most successful result that he knows will get you to smile oh so brightly that makes his heart pound, or even the way he charges his old switch just to help you play animal crossing on his own account, maintaining your village and neglecting his all to make a cute little house for you inspired by your pinterest board even though it takes him all night.

and to you, its clear: he’s upset at what you’ve done with the way he deflates even more than he already is. and it clicks. a routine and cycle you’ve unintentionally broken - you complaining about a level or rank you can’t get out of, he’ll listen and ask you about it the next day when youre back at his house, and he’ll fix it just as he always down: an unspoken agreement really.

“sorry sei… i still can’t clear the next level.. help me seiiii…” and suddenly he’s back lying right on your pillowy thighs: the way his eyes that was just seconds ago filled with intensity that you think simply doesn’t fit his face closes with comfort as you massage his scalp again with his fingers, the way his face smushes against your thighs comfortably rather than the weird feeling of him hovering on your thigh as though he wanted to get up, the way his hands no longer grip your phone tightly and instead holds your hand, fitting it right in perfectly.

“kay… its not bothersome with you..” he says, a confession of love from himself. he’ll never find it annoying if its you: he thinks he would play the dinosaur game from having no internet for hours on end if you liked watching him play it, he thinks he’d fight against the same boss for even days straight if you said you needed the materials for it for your character, and he knows he will most definitely help you finish any level you can’t. and something he wont say, a quiet confession springs in his mind: he loves you and most definitely he loves to play for you. and based on you willingly passing him your phone, maybe, just maybe, he wont give in to his impulses and actually find that guy - only shooting daggers at him that sends a shiver down his spine when he waits outside your class for you to release after school.

rin itoshi:

its not the first time rin felt this pang in his chest: he felt it when his older brother kicks the ball to any other member of the football team to shoot for the goal, he felt it when his teammates seems to be able to shoot he ball even more accurately than he does, he felt it when his brother praised yoichi instead of him. he’s always regarded that feeling as something football related: he’s never felt too much emotions outside of his passion and hobbies either way - but lately, he thinks he feels it a lot whenever he’s with you. perhaps, the seed from before blue lock has started blooming: the day you boarded the bus with him to the facility that was hours away from yours and his house that made his cheeks stain with pink as he sits right beside you, eating the filling breakfast you made for him, beaming at him so brightly as you wave him goodbye that makes him hesitate for the first time in his life.

and right now, he doesn’t get it. its not like there’s a lack of chocolates at his desk, if anything its quite the opposite. there’s practically a mountain of chocolates of different variety that would surely fulfill his secret sweet tooth - from dark chocolate in a heart shape mold bought from a fancy shop, from milk chocolates in squares sprinkled with heart shaped sweet bits on top, or even strawberries dipped in white chocolate. and yet, if looks could kill, that guy who’s holding YOUR chocolate box would have died, guts spilled right on the classroom door like those cliche horror games he plays. rin doesn’t get it: its not as if youre close witht that guy,youre his seat partner for all the years you’ve spent together since kindergarten, and he’s sure that that guys no one special right? and its out of character when rin thinks harder about a nobody in his class: do you like band kids like that lame guy? (he did learn the guitar for fun when he was younger, should bring it out from under his bed again?) do you like guys who are a little better at math? (maybe he should study for this weeks math quiz he thinks) or do you like guys who have leadership roles? (he’ll ask to be captain of the football team, its obvious anyways, he’s the best in this dull football club in his school)

usually, when he feels this same pang in his chest, he ignores it, keep mum about it and just work harder instead until the glass shards leave his heart - and yet he can’t do that strangely despite the routine between you two staying: where you and him sit together at the back of the class, playing your phone at the back oops the class unbeknownst to the teacher, giggling and whispering about whatever, your feet kicking his occasionally from the lack of distance that makes his face a little pink. yet, here he is eyeing that last chocolate underneath your table, its unlike the others he noted - unlike the mini chocolate cup you passed to that guy who he wishes to punch simply because of the smug smirk that was plastered on his face, unlike the small chocolate bars you presented to the other girls in the class, and even more special definitely from the chocolate candies you sneak into both his and yours mouth during class. its heart-shaped, reminiscent of the other chocolate now angrily thrown into one plastic bag that he plans to eat whilst crying about this the second he reaches home, a ribbon tied messily clearly with much effort too, and even pasted mini heart papers.

and its not until recess when youre alone with rin in class as per routine, everyone leaving for lunch does he do something about it for the first time in his life about this nagging and tugging feeling that makes him feel like a little kid again. and it just might have been the universe way of telling the two of you how connected you two are: as you struggle to find the courage to give him the slightly burnt chocolate brownies inside the heart shaped box.

“i.. like you.” “f-for you rin..!”

its simultaneous, at the exact same time, where the clock struck 1:00pm.

the confession he’s kept all these years, since the first day he’s met you at kindergarten where you two practically were fixed at the hips ever since: seat partners since primary school all the way up until now where youre both now seventeen and about to go to university and him to become a professional football player soon. ten years - ten years of looking at you as if he’s so far away when youre with anyone but him as he feels the friendship bracelet around his wrist for reassurance, ten years of writing confession letters after confession letters and poetries only to rip them all apart, yelling into his pillow and kicking his feet like a maiden in love, ten years of looking at you pass chocolates every single time during valentines except to him. its unlike rin, he’s never been good at expressing himself, believing in action over words - the way he carries your files and extra bags after school, the way he always listens and remembers what you say and even buy things you’ve mentioned offhandedly with his own pocket money, the way he never hesitates to carry you back home even when his leg is all jelly from football practice that he doesn’t tell you.

and its the same for you. the valentine gift you’ve made for him all these years: spanning from chocolate chip cookies you’ve made, to macrons you bought for him from his favourite bakery, or even his favourite blueberry pie your mother bought you - and yet all left underneath the table, secretly placed back in your bag for you to eat it whilst crying about your cowardice. and you hate it: these ten years of watching him carry a plastic bag full of physical confessions without any interest, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth even when youre staying over and opening a pack of these chocolates when you’re hungry, these ten years of looking bitterly at the friendship bracelet that is nothing more than a bitter reminder of how you’ll never be more because of your own cowardice, these ten years of looking at rin accept everyone’s chocolates but yours.

and for the first time in years, rin thinks it’s just right - when he places his lips on yours, melting into this sweet kiss with the brownie in his mouth. and he thinks you might just taste sweeter than the brownie melting between the two of yours mouth.

reo mikage:

he doesn’t get this tight feeling wrapping like thorns around his heart - seeing you so close with a classmate, smiling as he seems to be teaching you something through the windows of your classroom. it’s clearly not the exhaustion from climbing all the way from his class at the first level to yours at the fourth with this being the millionth time hes done this like a instinct every time the bell rings, its not the way your hands seems to linger so close to his practically touching someone’s else hands that gets reo sweating cold beads of sweat down his neck, and its not jealousy at how someone else might just be better than him. realistically he knows, you’re probably just having difficulties in your academics, a normal human thing but he can’t help the bitter bile that rises to his mouth - he can teach you too evident from the library dates where he helps you go through your homework and teach you the same concepts like hes made for it and hes definitely better than that classmate right? hes smarter, he tops the class every single exam without fail with his name always plastered on the results sheet as number one, he’s much more charming he would like to believe with your smile always reaching your eyes that he adores, and he’s much more useful with the way he can teach you whilst helping you with other things like while buying you food on his phone, fixing your broken pens, or something. he swallows the bitter bile, walking into the practically empty class with just you and that.. classmate, scruntising his every detail in his mind all whilst putting on the charming facade hes too used to having on - one that you can tell by the furrowing of your eyebrows at him as he grabs a chair and slides it beside you as though looking at your homework.

“haven’t i taught you this before?” its petty, he knows, its quite literally a new chapter, one that he knows your class just started on. but he thinks it does the job when he sees your classmate suddenly feel uncomfortable - perhaps its the tone of his voice that underlies irritation clearly meant for him, perhaps its the subtle passive aggressive smile aimed at him, or perhaps its the intimidation of having reo mikage right next to you clearly upset with you. he doesn’t really enjoy the title placed on him, if anything sometimes he loathes the reputation that comes with his family name, with people looking at him as only that and never as reo - but just this time does he thank the stars for his luck.

“huh?” he can tell, youre confused, and he thinks youre just so oblivious or maybe hes just weirdly jealous of something so insignificant that even your brain can’t comprehend him at all. but he doesn’t mind it as he glanced sideways at your classmate - awkwardly and quickly packing his bag, leaving just you and reo sitting at your desk.

and its awkward silence, with him looking at your homework that he just received just an hour ago and hasn’t started on too, and you looking confused at him. its not unfamiliar to see reo in your class, its practically routine at this point, except he usually just stands outside until youre done with packing your bag, taking it right from your hands the second you step out of your class.

“so.. who was that?” he cant help the way his voice suddenly sounds so soft, as though its about to crack, as if hes about to cry. he tries to clear his throat to even it out, and even so, he definitely sounded a little too out of character - out of character for how he presents himself: nothing short of perfect. and he knows youve caught it, the cats out of the bag, when he sees the sides of your mouth tug up a little as you zip your bag.

“just a classmate reo really…” your voice a little teasing, looking at him knowingly, as his hands tug at your bag, slinging it around his right shoulder where it should belong. and he thinks its alright: the way you ruffle his hair that feels just so right that he leans in even closer and even bends down a little like a dog desperate for a pat, the way you beam at him that he knows is meant only for him that shifts the rest of your class to be nothing more than just a blur, the way your bag fits snugly on his shoulder as it was meant to be.

“yeah? it better be!~” he chirps, jealousy no longer gripping onto him like a chain tugging at his neck, reminiscent of the feeling he feels in his stuffy and restrictive home. and he knows it’ll be that way until the end of time: the way your hands tugs at his tightly as though you never want to let go either, the way you look at him as though he’s your entire world, the way you understand him even through a few words. soulmates, maybe, and perhaps he has no reasons to ever feel this bitter feeling that burns his throat.

METAMORPHOSIS / TOUCH michael kaiser

by no means are you and michael an affectionate couple, but you're a couple nonetheless. in the midst of exhaustion and vulnerability, you'll confess your loving and he'll love back

taking my ugly wet cat boyfriend wife out of the dungeon for an hour or two #lovinggirlfriendactivities

Kaiser lays still next to you, basking in the kisses of still quiet as a tumultuous day had settled into the serenity of nighttime. Michael was a beautiful man—gifted with a strong jaw and sharp eyes he would decorate in red every morning, a river of blue and blond falling over his shoulders and down his back—but you refrained from saying so to avoid stroking his already absurdly huge ego.

But it's at times like these where you submit yourself to your more expressive affections of him.

You reach out and brush strands of hair away from his face, cupping his cheek in your shaking hand with the most gentleness you could muster. This night was one of the rare ones where his breath didn't shake and it was in his peace did you find him most beautiful.

As you delicately held him, basking in the warmth of his face, his eyes fluttered open beneath the soft moonlight.

"Did I wake you? Sorry," you whisper, attempting to retract yourself. Michael was quick to hold your hand in place, bringing it to the front of his face and kissing it before intertwining your fingers together. It wasn't just you tonight expressing a rate innocent intimacy. Your relationship primarily consisted of banter admist a fucked up sense of domesticity that was more like insulting each other in place of "I love yous".

"It's alright," Michael whispers back, his breath hits your palm and he followed it with another kiss, this time lasting a second longer. You can't help but find the moment kind of odd from how foreign it is, but it's a pleasant kind and although you know you'll wake up in the morning, returning to his comical grandiose, you'll appreciate it for what it's worth.

"I love you," you softly speak. The syllables are weird and if it were any other moment, you'd probably gag a bit and threaten to vomit on your boyfriend while he laughs at you, saying something dumb like "of course you do!"

His whisper of your name touches your hand in a kiss and a confession. "I love you too," and both of your eyes flutter shut, the bed feeling cozier than ever.

Michael Kaiser — Nervous Like a Bad Dog

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 0.9k TYPE: Humor, Fluff (debatable), Early relationship WARNING(S): tw Kaiser, tw AWKWARD

You are taunting him.

This is an offense Kaiser considers very grave. Of course you’ve done it before and often to his face, and it can be fun in a way like a fake chase where the victim knows they’re not in any real danger (maybe the word is ‘playful’ even though both of you get foul with it), but this kind of mockery is degrading. You’re not doing it on purpose, which makes it an act of second nature. And that means it's unforgivable.

“I hate this corny ass movie.” You gesture at the screen. “Wish they’d scream more, also.”

“You said you wanted to watch it,” murmurs Kaiser, not really giving a fuck considering he’s not even paying attention to the movie. His gaze is fixated on your hand, now far away from his again. Just when his skin was about to brush against yours and he was mentally congratulating himself for his discretion, you pulled away in such a blithe manner. All that straining for nothing.

“Well it sounded entertaining like, in a bad way, but it’s just boring. Also the religious themes are so superficial and edgy, you can’t even laugh. I think they should’ve been Amish. At least that would’ve been funny.”

You shift, settling your hand back over the couch. Kaiser wishes you were a little closer, though at least he can resume the hand holding mission, inching his fingers towards yours again. The physical response to what he’s attempting is embarrassing. With every advance his heart races harder, and his palms are sweaty, and it’s just fucking ridiculous. He can imagine your skin under his, almost tangible.

Technique-wise it’s not complicated. Despite the amount he’s tensing up, Kaiser understands, logically, that he’s making a mountain out of a molehill. But it is a tender gesture and Kaiser doesn’t know how to be gentle or sweet. Softness is alien to him. There is a certain light he needs you to see him in, to come off as suave and charming. It has to be perfect and smooth and like he’s done it thousands of times before, even though now will be the first. And you will swoon over him also, he’ll make sure of it.

Almost there, he’s about to grasp your hand in his, holy shit-

“Micha, are you even paying attention?” You adjust your position again, pulling it away completely as you recline on your side against the armrest. “I thought a pretentious snob like you would have more critiques to make?”

“The movie’s so shitty it has rendered me speechless,” he says. It comes out easy and natural enough, but his blood is boiling. Can you not sit still for more than a second?! This was the seventh time!

“Fair enough,” you reply, eyes still glued to the screen.

You’re teasing him, aren’t you? Otherwise how would it happen so much? You think messing with him is funny??? Exploiting his moment of weakness and faltering?!

Kaiser smirks (at nothing; the gesture is pointless since you’re not even looking at him and entirely performative for himself). As if you’ll get the better of him. Maybe more drastic measures are in order.

He starts scooting closer. You’re still bitching about the movie and with how slow he’s moving, he doubts you’re noticing him closing in on you, and even if you are you’re choosing to feign ignorance to it in your transparent attempts at belittling him. Well, that’s the way he’s perceiving your behavior, anyway, as a personal slight against him.

His arm is about to reach you, will reach you, wrap around you. He’s going to embrace you soon. Heart thumping away in his chest, Kaiser realizes his throat is dry all of a sudden when he swallows, but it’s going to happen-

You stand up and head to the bathroom without a second glance in his direction.

Kaiser sits there frozen in whatever position he was in mid-movement before your betrayal, jaw hanging open, and he realizes he must look like a stupid buffoon at the moment. He is livid, however. How dare you!? When he grits his teeth, it hurts a little.

After assuming a more acceptable and casual stance, he heeds the tv, finally. Some girl tries to drown the main character, but ends up dying of a head injury instead somehow and then some other bullshit starts happening.

Wow. You weren’t kidding, this movie is fucking garbage. It almost distracts him from his predicament.

You return and sit back down next to him all relaxed like you haven’t been actively giving him an uptick in cortisol and adrenaline. Do you think this is a game? It’s as if you can’t even tell you’re dealing him psychic damage — playing innocent and oblivious to your transgressions. What a cunning pretense that is.

Kaiser… grabs your hand and tugs it. And stares at you straight on. It’s kind of unnerving and intense for no reason.

You raise your eyebrows at him as if he’s being strange, this confused expression on your face. “Why are you squeezing so hard? I value my blood circulation, you know?”

Eye twitching, he corrects his grip to a proper, more sensible one, lacing your fingers together. You do not understand what his deal is. Kaiser says, “This will be the best hand holding of your fucking life even if it’s the last thing I do.”

… What.

Unable to help yourself, you burst out laughing. “You’re so odd, Micha.”

___

POV you wanted to have a date but your boyfriend is perpetually mentally stuck in his own version of silent hill

BLUELOCK REQS HERE!! Hehe how about (any characters you want) and what cute pet names reader and them use for each other and how they react when they first used it? Hope you have a great day!!

THEIR ENDEARMENTS FOR YOU?

featuring: itoshi rin. itoshi sae. michael kaiser. ryusei shidou. mikage reo. bachira meguru. isagi yoichi.

n. first time writing for the boys and i went overboard with 7 charas (i usually only write 4) and i could write more than this but it took every reflex in my body to stop myself. i might want to rewrite the rin one a separate full drabble in some short time ahead. thank you for the req sweetie, i hope you also have a great day/night >3<

ITOSHI RIN. you blinked, taken aback for some reason by the surprising nickname. a beaming grin appeared on your face as you made the decision to take advantage of the moment. “baby?” you repeated, teasing every piece of him. “since when did you start calling me that, rinnie?”

he rolled his eyes, clearly flustered. “don’t call me that,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. but you leaned closer, unable to resist teasing him further. “aww, does baby rinnie not like his new nickname?” you cooed, batting your eyelashes playfully.

rin’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “fine, i’ll call you dumbass instead,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. it has come to a conclusion that you two will never stop pestering each other.

RYUSEI SHIDOU. "damn, sexy mama, lookin’ good," he called out, and before you could react, he grabbed the belt holes of your jeans, pulling you close with a playful tug. you could see the amusement in his smile and the naughtiness so very visible in his eyes.

you felt your cheeks heat up at his unexpected move and nickname. “shidou!” you exclaimed, half-laughing and half-embarrassed. “god, when did you come up with that?”

he leaned in, his hands messing up your hair. “just calling it like i see it,” he teased, pulling your hair back behind your ear as he lowered his lips right beside it. “you like it, doncha?”

MICHAEL KAISER. “i’m off to practice, mein liebling,” he tied his shoelaces as you stood by the door. you looked at him, puzzled by the unfamiliar words. “mein liebling?” tilting your head, wanting to tell you don’t understand any ounce of german. “what does that mean?”

kaiser smirked, clearly enjoying your confusion. “you can search for it yourself,” he replied, leaning back against the wall. “i’m a busy man, you see.”

you pouted, playfully nudging his shoulder. “come on, michael, tell me. is it something nice?” he chuckled, revealing his red eyeliner as he closed his eyes in amusement. “of course it is, idiot,” he teased. “i’m calling you an idiot in german.”

raising an eyebrow, you’re clearly unconvinced. but kaiser shrugged nonchalantly. “well, you’ll just have to trust me,” he continued, yet you caught a sly grin that flashed across his face. oh, he’s definitely messing with you.

MIKAGE REO. “here you go, milady,” he said, placing your cup in front of you with a flourish and a slight bow.

“milady?” you paused before taking a sip from your cup. “wow, reo, what a gentleman you are today,” you teased, maybe thinking of calling him ‘my lord’ in return.

the man stood up straight, smirking broadly, and sat down across from you with his knees crossed.. “well, i aim to please,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “only the best for you, milady.”

ITOSHI SAE. your boyfriend raised an eyebrow, oblivious to the effect his words had on you. “is something wrong?” he was slightly concerned. “what’s up with you?”

you tried to suppress your flustered state, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “no, nothing’s wrong,” you stammered, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “it’s just… you called me ‘love’.”

he paused for a moment, then shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “i guess i did,” he said, sitting down across from you. “well, get used to it. because that’s how i feel about you, love.”

BACHIRA MEGURU. "here, cutiepie!" he jogged over to you, a big grin plastered on his face as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

you took his face and used the towel you were holding to wipe away his sweat. “cutiepie, huh?” you replied, pinching his cheeks with the other hand. “that’s a very sweet thing coming from you, meguru.”

bachira laughed, plopping down beside you and draping an arm over your shoulders. “well, i think it suits you perfectly,” voice always light and playful. “you’re the cutest person i know.”

ISAGI YOICHI. “hey, angel,” he greeted, his voice a bit shy as he scratched the back of his head. his cheeks were flushed, not just from the run, but also from calling you by the new nickname.

your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheeks. “you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” you teased, pulling back slightly to see his reaction. “so, you’re calling me angel?”

isagi’s blush deepened, and he looked away, clearly embarrassed. “yeah, um… i just thought it suited you,” he mumbled, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “but if you don’t like it, i can stop.”

@uzurakis