ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⸝ ᛪ༙┆KEEP LIVING ! ⎯ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

summary: On a dark, quiet night, you and Yuji sit in heavy silence, clinging to each other as memories and emotions flood in. With only hours left, you find comfort in his touch—and fall asleep together, holding on to what little time remains.

warnings: crying, death, angst

wc : 1,5 k

It was the darkest night you had ever lived through.

And maybe it wasn’t just the sky, not just the absence of stars,

but something deeper—

a heaviness in the air that whispered of something awful coming.

Something inevitable.

The city lay buried beneath a pitch-black blanket.

Not a single star pierced the sky.

No lights in the windows.

Only the pale, fragile moon tried to shine through a wall of clouds,

but even that seemed afraid.

A cold wind rustled through the leaves,

made them crackle like dry paper.

It ghosted along your skin,

raised goosebumps across your arms

until you had no choice but to pull them around yourself.

You held yourself tightly.

Because maybe you needed to.

Maybe it was the only way to feel real,

to remind yourself: this wasn’t the end.

Not yet.

Not for you.

You sat on the damp grass.

It chilled your legs through the fabric of your pants.

Yuji sat beside you,

his presence as quiet as the grave,

his eyes staring into the dark like it might offer some sort of answer.

Neither of you spoke.

You couldn’t.

The silence had grown thick and sharp between you,

like iron chains wrapped around your throats.

Neither of you dared to be the one to break it.

A lump clawed at your throat.

You swallowed hard—

but it didn’t move.

Yuji felt it too.

You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged,

like something inside him had already given up.

He looked hollow.

Not just tired—

but empty,

like the world had taken everything but the shape of him

and left him here,

a ghost in his own skin.

And maybe it had.

You remembered the first time you met Yuji.

It had felt like any ordinary day—until Gojo brought him in.

The boy with the pink hair had looked dazed and confused,

like someone had just dropped him into the middle of a story he hadn’t read.

But even then—

there’d been something in his eyes.

A spark.

A strange kind of joy, like he was excited to be alive,

even if he didn’t yet know why.

He had never been guarded.

Introduced himself with an awkward smile,

and something about him had been so warm, so open,

you had liked him instantly.

How could you not?

Sure, Yuji was loud.

Too loud sometimes.

Talked more than he thought.

Said stupid things without filtering them—

but that was what made him him.

He was so unapologetically real.

So alive.

You bonded quickly—

as if something in the universe had already decided

you were meant to belong in each other’s lives.

By the end of the week,

you were friends.

By the end of the weekend,

you were more than that,

even if you hadn’t said it out loud yet.

That night you watched a movie together in your room—

Nobara, Megumi, Yuji and you.

Yuji couldn’t shut up.

He kept interrupting with comments and theories

about how the movie might end.

He made wild guesses, some absurd, some brilliant—

and all while completely ignoring Megumi’s increasingly annoyed glares.

After that, it became your tradition.

Every other Saturday.

Movie night in your room.

Sometimes all four of you,

sometimes three,

sometimes just you and Yuji.

Everyone brought snacks.

You shared everything—

your food, your thoughts, your laughter.

And then there was the first time Yuji cried in front of you.

It had been another movie night.

A love story.

One of the protagonists had died—

suddenly, cruelly.

A stupid accident no one had seen coming.

You had tears in your eyes, of course.

It was heartbreaking.

But you expected Yuji to laugh it off,

to tease you for being emotional.

Then you saw the glimmer on his cheek.

A tear.

Real and unashamed,

sliding down like a silver thread.

You said nothing.

Just stared.

He hadn’t tried to hide it.

Hadn’t even wiped it away.

It was like he didn’t care.

Or like he felt safe enough around you to just… let go.

That thought alone had made something flutter warmly in your chest.

Now it was the same kind of night—

but worse.

Colder.

Heavier.

No one was crying yet.

But it was coming.

You swallowed hard.

Your throat burned.

You were trying—

desperately—

to push down the panic threatening to rise,

but it was useless.

It was long past midnight.

Morning was only hours away.

And with it—

the end.

You let your arm fall into the grass.

Ran your fingers through the blades.

They were cold.

Wet with dew.

A moment later,

Yuji’s hand found yours.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t say anything.

Just… placed his hand over yours.

It was warm.

So warm it hurt

Your heart split down the middle.

Tears blurred your vision instantly.

You didn’t even get the chance to hold them back.

They poured out of you like they’d been waiting for permission.

You bit down on your lip—

hard—

trying to silence the sobs.

» No « , you breathed.

It tore from your chest like it had claws.

You curled in on yourself.

Gripped his hand tighter.

Held on like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

A heavy weight pressed against your chest,

squeezing the air from your lungs.

You gasped.

Panicked.

Sobbing so hard your body trembled.

Your voice shattered.

Over and over.

»No.«

you cried again,

your voice breaking into raw pieces

that left your throat burning.

Sounds escaped you—

not words,

not anymore—

just pain.

Yuji held your hand tightly,

just as tightly as you held his.

He wouldn’t let go.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not unless someone made him.

He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

The pain grounded him—

gave him something else to focus on

other than the way your cries were tearing him apart.

Your grip was so tight

he was almost certain you might break his hand.

But it didn’t matter.

Because watching you fall apart—

watching you struggle to breathe,

to even exist—

was worse than anything else.

He had to be strong for you—

but maybe, more than that,

he had to be strong for himself.

There was no way he would cry.

He couldn’t.

Because the moment the first tear fell,

it would become real.

And once it was real,

there would be no turning back.

Tears burned in his eyes.

He tilted his head back,

hoping they’d stay in.

But they didn’t.

The first one fell.

And that was it.

It was real now.

There was no undoing it.

The second followed.

Then the third.

» Y/n «, he whispered, pulling gently at your hand.

» You need to calm down «, he said—

but his own voice cracked halfway through.

You gasped.

The sobs didn’t stop.

Couldn’t.

How could they?

Yuji was going to die.

In a few hours—

he’d be gone.

And there was nothing left you could do.

Nothing anyone could do.

Just a few nights ago,

you had knocked on Gojo’s door.

Crying.

Begging.

Begging him to save the boy who still had his whole life ahead of him.

Gojo had wrapped an arm around you.

Sighed.

Told you he had done everything he could.

That it wasn’t enough.

That it was over.

» Y/n «, Yuji murmured again.

This time, you looked at him.

Your face was a wreck.

Tears clung to your chin.

Your eyes were red and swollen.

But you looked at him.

» Yuji, you—«

you tried to speak,

but a sob tore through you.

Your body shook with it.

And it hit you then—

it wasn’t just Yuji who would die.

Everything else would go too.

His heartbeat.

His warmth.

His laugh.

His voice.

His scent.

His future.

His smile.

His dreams.

Gone.

And a part of you with it.

A part of you would die with him—

if it hadn’t already.

» You’re going to die «, you murmur.

» I know « he nods.

» They’re going to take everything from you « a sob.

» Yes « he replies.

» What am I supposed to do without you?« tears falling.

» Keep living « a bitter smile.

You shook your head, barely breathing.

» How am I supposed to keep living?«

It was barely a whisper.

More a thought spoken aloud than a real question.

But Yuji still answered.

» You’ll have to.«

His voice was quiet.

His tears kept falling.

He wasn’t even trying to stop them anymore.

» I don’t want to.«

You felt his hand squeeze yours.

Just enough to say: I’m still here.

Still holding on.

» I don’t want you to go « you sobbed,

and something inside Yuji cracked.

» I don’t want to go either.«

His voice was a whisper—

a thread holding the moment together.

»Let’s go to sleep « he said,

and when he looked at you,

he smiled.

That same smile—

honest and bright,

like it belonged to a different life.

» Let’s go to sleep, Y/n.«

Your eyes widened.

» What? No—we can’t sleep!«

you cried, panic flooding your chest.

» We only have four hours left! «

» Y/n.«

His voice was soft.

Almost too soft.

Like a lullaby.

» Let’s sleep.«

You looked at him.

And in his eyes,

something shimmered—

maybe tears,

maybe something else.

You said nothing.

Just nodded.

You held hands the entire way back.

Neither of you spoke.

There were no words left.

And in Yuji’s room,

you didn’t even change clothes.

You just collapsed onto the bed.

He lay on his back.

You curled into his side.

Your head on his chest.

Your arms around him.

Both of you cried.

Quietly.

Until exhaustion took you.

And when you woke up—

he was gone.

And you knew.

You knew what that meant.

© 2025 shinyac0re ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

requests open ! — dont be shy !

[ddreamhhollows]

I love your theme and writing but im too scared to text you😞 ( loved to be moots)

NO WAY UR SCARED??? I PROMISE I DONT BITE 😭😭😭 lets be moots ofc

[ddreamhhollows]

UR WRITING IS SO GOOD AHH

STOPPPPP YOU'LL MAKE ME BLUSH

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ POISON ,, michael kaiser 𐚁request

⸻ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟

𖹭.ᐟ michael kaiser xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ heavy angst,, toxic relationship,, codependency,, mental health struggles,, intense emotions,, unhealthy dynamics 𖹭.ᐟ warnings :: toxic behavior,, emotional manipulation,, physical altercation (slapping),, mental health issues,, unhealthy coping mechanisms 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1649 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

the sound of your palm connecting with kaiser's cheek echoes through his apartment like a gunshot.

for a moment, neither of you move. your hand stings, your chest heaving with the force of emotions you can't name, can't control.

kaiser's head is turned to the side, a red mark already blooming across his pale skin, and when he slowly turns back to face you, his eyes are dark with something that might be fury.

"feel better?" his voice is quiet, dangerous, but there's something else underneath it. something that sounds almost like understanding.

you want to hit him again. you want to scream. you want to collapse into his arms and let him hold you while you fall apart, because he's the only person who's ever seen you like this and stayed.

"i hate you," you whisper, but your voice breaks on the words.

"no, you don't." kaiser steps closer, close enough that you can see his eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "you hate yourself. there's a difference."

the accuracy of it makes you flinch, makes something raw and vulnerable crack open in your chest. because he's right, isn't he? he's always right about the ugly parts of you, the twisted parts that you've never let anyone else see.

"don't," you say, backing away until your spine hits the wall. "don't do that you fucker. don't analyze me like i'm one of your opponents."

"but you are, aren't you?" his smile is sharp, cruel in the way that only kaiser can be. "we're always fighting, liebling. even when we're fucking, even when we're sleeping, we're at war with each other."

he's close enough to cage you against the wall now, his hands braced on either side of your head. you should push him away. should leave, should run, should do any of the things that healthy people do when relationships become weapons instead of shelter.

instead, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him down to kiss you.

it's brutal, all teeth and desperation and the taste of blood where you bite his lip too hard. he kisses back with equal violence, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

this is what you are together—beautiful and terrible and completely destructive.

when you break apart, both of you are breathing hard, and there are tears on your cheeks that you don't remember shedding.

"why do we do this?" you ask, your forehead pressed against his. "why do we keep hurting each other?"

kaiser's hands frame your face, thumbs brushing away your tears with surprising gentleness. for a moment, his mask slips, and you can see the boy underneath—broken and desperate and just as lost as you are.

"because we understand each other," he says quietly. "because when i look at you, i see all the ways i'm damaged, and it doesn't scare me."

"it should," you whisper. "we should scare each other."

"we do." his laugh is hollow, bitter. "that's why it works."

three days later

you haven't spoken since the fight. haven't texted, haven't called, haven't done any of the desperate things you usually do when the silence stretches too long between you.

you're trying to be healthy. trying to break the cycle. trying to prove to yourself that you can exist without the constant push and pull of whatever toxic thing you and kaiser have created together.

it's not working.

you can't sleep. can't eat. can't focus on anything because part of your mind is always wondering what he's doing, if he's okay, if he's thinking about you too.

your therapist would be proud of the attempt, at least. dr. yamamoto has been telling you for months that your relationship with kaiser is unhealthy, that you're enabling each other's worst impulses, that you need to learn to be alone before you can be with someone else.

she's right, of course. she's always right.

but she's never felt the way kaiser looks at you like you're the only real thing in his world, like your darkness matches his so perfectly that being apart feels like trying to breathe underwater.

it's past midnight when you find yourself standing outside his building, your key card trembling in your hand. you shouldn't be here. shouldn't have come. should turn around and go home and try to be the kind of person who can walk away from things that hurt them.

but you're not that person. you're the kind of person who sees poison and drinks it anyway because at least it tastes like something.

his apartment is dark when you let yourself in, but you can hear the shower running. can smell his cologne lingering in the air, mixed with something sharper—whiskey, maybe, or the particular scent of sleeplessness that seems to follow both of you around.

you sit on his couch and wait.

when kaiser finally emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist, he doesn't seem surprised to see you. doesn't ask how you got in or why you're there or any of the questions a normal person might ask.

instead, he just looks at you with those calculating eyes and says, "three days, fourteen hours, twenty-six minutes."

"what?"

"that's how long you lasted." he moves to his bar cart, pours himself a glass of something expensive and amber-colored.

doesn't offer you any, because he knows you don't drink when you're like this. "i was betting on two days."

"i tried," you say, and you hate how small your voice sounds. "i really tried to stay away."

"i know." he settles into the chair across from you, and there's something almost gentle in his expression. "i tried too."

"how long did you last?"

his smile is self-deprecating, bitter. "six hours. i made it six hours before i drove past your apartment building like some pathetic stalker."

the admission makes something loosen in your chest, some tight knot of anxiety and self-loathing that's been choking you for days. you're not the only one who's weak. you're not the only one who can't let go.

"we're fucked up," you say.

"completely," he agrees, taking a sip of his drink. "we're toxic and codependent and probably making each other worse."

"your therapist tell you that?"

"yours too, i'm guessing."

you nod, and for a moment you just sit in the darkness together, two broken people acknowledging their damage.

"i missed you," kaiser says quietly, and the simple honesty of it breaks something inside you.

"i missed you too."

he sets down his glass and comes to sit beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel his warmth but not quite touching. waiting, you realize.

letting you decide if you want this, if you want him, if you're ready to fall back into the beautiful disaster of whatever you are together.

you lean into him, and his arms come around you like they belong there.

"we should probably break up," you murmur against his chest.

"probably," he agrees, his fingers stroking through your hair. "we're terrible for each other."

"we bring out the worst in each other."

"we enable each other's self-destructive tendencies."

"we're addicted to the drama."

"completely addicted," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

you pull back to look at him, and there's something soft in his expression, something vulnerable that he only shows you in moments like this.

"but i don't want to," you admit. "i don't want to break up. i don't want to be healthy if it means being without you."

kaiser's hands frame your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. "then don't be. be fucked up with me instead."

"that's terrible advice."

"it's honest advice." he leans his forehead against yours. "we're not good people, liebling. we're selfish and damaged and probably beyond saving. but when i'm with you, at least i'm not alone in it."

"you make it sound romantic."

"isn't it?" his voice drops to a whisper. "finding someone who matches your particular brand of broken? someone who sees all your ugly parts and wants you anyway?"

maybe it is romantic, in its own twisted way. maybe love doesn't always look like healthy communication and mutual growth and all the things the self-help books say it should look like.

maybe sometimes love looks like two people who are drowning finding each other in the dark water and deciding to sink together rather than swim alone.

"kiss me," you whisper, and he does.

it's softer than usual, less desperate and more... grateful, maybe. like you're both acknowledging what you almost lost, what you almost threw away in the name of being better people.

when you break apart, kaiser's eyes are bright with something that might be tears.

"stay," he says, and it's not a command or a demand. it's a request, vulnerable and raw.

"okay," you agree, because you're tired of fighting what you are, tired of pretending you want to be somewhere else.

"we're going to hurt each other again," he warns as he leads you toward his bedroom.

"i know."

"we're going to fight and scream and probably break things."

"i know that too."

"and we're going to stay anyway."

you pause in the doorway, looking back at him—this beautiful, terrible man who understands your darkness because it matches his own.

"yeah," you say quietly. "we're going to stay anyway."

because this is what love looks like for people like you. not gentle or healthy or any of the things it's supposed to be, but real in a way that cuts straight to the bone.

you love each other like a wound that won't heal, like a fever that won't break, like two people who have found their perfect disaster and decided it's better than being alone.

and that's enough.

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

this oneshot is my FIRST request (link here)! so im quite scared it flopped lol... i hope you liked it <3

[ddreamhhollows]

Bro bllk w a reader who’s still shit scared of the dark

thank you for the req, hope you like it!!! also ts is so me 🫩✌🏻 posting 2 reqs a day because talks of fuckass 11th grade starting from 15 or smt 🤣🤣

ˋ°•*⁀➷ "nothing's gonna hurt you, baby."

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro

itoshi rin

rin doesn't get it at first. he's like, "it's just darkness… nothing's there." but the second he sees how scared you actually get, he takes it seriously.

if you have to walk to the kitchen at night, he'll silently follow you without saying anything. a comforting presence behind you, so you know you're not alone.

sleeps with the door cracked open if you're staying over, because you said you felt safer that way.

when you're in bed together, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you flush against him:

"go to sleep. i'm here, nothing's gonna happen to you."

if the lights go out during an unfortunate power cut, he won't let go of your hand for even a second.

itoshi sae

sae will tease you a little about it, just one dry comment, "are you five?"

but the second he notices genuine fear in your voice, the teasing stops.

keeps one of those small rechargeable lamps by your bed at all times, turned on to a dim yellow.

will get up in the middle of night to accompany you to the washroom.

if you cling to his arm when the lights are low, he'll sigh, but pull you closer and say:

"relax. you've got me. you're fine."

he will seat you in his lap during power cuts, and for once, he'll talk about his day so you only focus on his voice rather than the darkness.

michael kaiser

kaiser's first reaction is smug. "really? damn. that's kinda cute though."

he will 100% offer himself as your personal flashlight, basically following you everywhere with his phone torch and being dramatic about it.

"fear not, meine liebe, your hero has arrived." 🫩

loves the excuse to keep the TV on all night when you're sleeping over because you asked for it.

if you're scared in bed, he'll pull you under the covers with him and tangle your legs together. "can't be scared if you're distracted, hmm?"

will kiss your forehead during a blackout and be like, "see? still here."

makes a joke of it in public sometimes, but never in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

more like telling the waiter to bring you a candle because "they're scared of mood lighting."

isagi yoichi

isagi is so gentle about it. the moment you tell him, he’s like, "oh! that's okay, we'll keep the lights on then."

makes sure there's a nightlight in every room you might be in after dark.

during scary movies, if it gets dark and you tense up, he'll immediately turn the TV off halfway through the movie, and drag you to bed saying, "it's bedtime."

sleeps facing you so you can see him clearly, mumbling little reassurances until you drift off.

"i'm here. and not sleeping until you do. so sleep."

will even run you a late-night snack with all the lights on just so you can eat without feeling scared.

if the power goes out, he'll find the brightest flashlight and keep it aimed at the ceiling so the whole room is softly lit.

nagi seishiro

nagi's reaction is very calm, "darkness annoys you? me too, to be honest. such a hassle to see in darkness."

not much of a talker, but if you're scared, he'll shuffle closer to you in bed until you're practically lying on top of him.

doesn't mind sleeping with every light in the house on. he's the type who could nap anywhere anyway.

if you have to go somewhere in the dark, he'll lazily drag himself along behind you, muttering, "don't worry, i got you."

holds your wrist when it's pitch black so you don’t accidentally bump into things.

sometimes stays up all night gaming just to keep an eye on you. 😭

[ddreamhhollows]

Thank u so SO much for following or liking my posts, im so so thankful 🥹 I could write yall 3 oneshots to express my love for yall 😭😭 I hope u will stay safe and healthy, and dont hesitate do dm me or to interact

[ddreamhhollows]

hello! i just found your blog, and i really like the way you write!

i have an idea with kaiser angst……

so, maybe yn has mental problems and she's dating kaiser (or likee the didn’t make it official but they're kissing and stuff,, clear that they're in love with each other.) and two mentally unhealthy people meet each other, their relationship is very toxic, sometimes they are gentle with each other, they can even cry together, sometimes they quarrel, or for example, yn could slap him in the face because of the emotions, smth like that, but if they try to don't see each other anymore, they still end up at each other's house,together because really depend on each other. (i explained it VERY poorly, SORRY 😞 i just myself don't fully understand my own idea yet, you don't have to pay attention to the request if you don't feel comfortable, etc.)

OHHH I SEE IT I’LL MAKE SURE TO WRITE IT!!!! Maybe later in the day 🤭👀👀👀 just a head up, it’ll be gender neutral reader !!! ‼️‼️‼️

UPDATE :: link is here

[ddreamhhollows]

Im having such a bad day today (cuz of a certain ex mutual) but I feel like I should write something

[ddreamhhollows]

IM CRYING TO THE PERSON WHO SAID THAT U MADE MY DAY 😭😭😭😭

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ EMPEROR ,, michael kaiser

⸻ ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑑

𖹭.ᐟ michael kaiser xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ headcanons ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

୨୧ when you're sick,,

pretends he's annoyed but shows up with expensive medicine and food from some fancy place

"you're pathetic. how did you even survive before me?"

but he's checking your temperature every hour and won't leave your side

brings you flowers, blue of course, "because the room smells like illness"

secretly researches the best remedies online at 3am

୨୧ when you're stressed/overwhelmed,,

notices immediately because he's always watching you

starts handling things without being asked :: pays bills, organizes your schedule, deals with people bothering you

"i'm not doing this for you, it's just efficient"

gives you his card and tells you to "buy something you want, it'll improve your mood"

runs you ridiculously expensive bubble baths

୨୧ when someone flirts with you,,

his smile gets dangerously sharp

slides up behind you and makes it VERY clear you're taken

"liebling, who's your new friend?" (but the way he says friend sounds like a threat, but he keeps the menacing smile)

possessive touches :: hand on your waist, playing with your hair

later: "they had terrible taste in cologne anyway"

୨୧ when you're sad,,

doesn't know what to say so he just... stay next to you, still playing with your hair

expensive chocolates, designer tissues, your favorite takeout

sits with you in silence, occasionally patting your head awkwardly

"crying makes your eyes puffy. it's not attractive." (but he's still holding you)

remembers exactly what made you sad and probably plots revenge and to break their teeth out

୨୧ when you're happy/excited,,

secretly loves seeing you light up but acts like it's "loud"

"yes, yes, very exciting. now come here."

buys you things related to whatever made you happy

takes photos of you when you're not looking because you look "acceptable"

his smile gets softer when he thinks you're not watching

୨୧ when he's jealous ,,

goes into full angry chihuahua mode

starts speaking german when he's really possessive

"mein schatz belongs with me, not with... that" with a ugly, nasty face

gets extra touchy

probably buys you something expensive afterward as an "apology"

i really liked doing that thingie... i should do it more often

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ WARM HANDS ,, itoshi rin

⸻ ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𖹭.ᐟ itoshi rin xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ fluff,, soft rin,, soft moments,, comfort,, established relationship,, head massage,, mentions of headache/exhaustion,, very soft content 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1495 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

the apartment is dim when you finally drag yourself through the front door, your head pounding with the kind of tension headache that feels like someone's slowly tightening a vice around your skull.

the day had been bruta, and you were too tired for any shits that could happen now.

you drop your bag by the door and lean against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to will away the throbbing behind your temples.

"you look like shit."

rin's voice cuts through the quiet, and you open your eyes to find him standing in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, that familiar slight frown creasing his brow. but there's concern in his teal eyes, the kind he tries to hide behind blunt observations.

"thanks," you mumble, toeing off your shoes. "really know how to make a person feel welcome."

"i'm serious." he steps closer, and you can see the way his gaze tracks over your face, cataloging the exhaustion in your features. "when's the last time you slept properly? or ate something that wasn't from a vending machine?"

you want to give him a sarcastic response, but honestly, you can't remember. the past few days have been a blur of stress, and now your body is demanding payment for the abuse.

"my head is killing me," you admit instead, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead. "feels like someone's hitting my skull hard from the inside."

rin's frown deepens, and for a moment he just stands there, like he's weighing his options. then, so quietly you almost miss it, he says, "sit down."

"what?"

"on the couch. sit down." his voice is gruff, but there's something softer underneath it. "i can... if you want, i could..."

he trails off, his ears going slightly pink, and you realize he's actually embarrassed about whatever he's trying to offer.

"what is it, rin?"

"head massage," he mutters, looking anywhere but at you. "helps with tension headaches. improves blood flow, reduces muscle strain in the neck and scalp. it's practical."

the clinical way he describes it makes you want to smile, despite the pain radiating through your head. of course rin would frame a tender gesture in terms of sports medicine and practical benefits.

"you don't have to—"

"do you want me to or not?" he cuts you off, but there's no bite to it. if anything, he sounds almost... hopeful?

you study his face for a moment. behind the gruff exterior and the embarrassed flush, you can see genuine concern, genuine desire to help ease your pain. and honestly, the idea of his hands in your hair sounds like heaven right now.

"okay," you say softly. "yeah, that would be nice."

something in his expression relaxes, and he nods once, sharp and decisive. "couch. now."

you settle into the corner of the sofa, and rin disappears for a moment before returning with a glass of water and two painkillers.

"take these first," he says, pressing them into your palm. "they'll help with the inflammation."

"very well, doctor rinnie," then you do as he says, and rin is settling behind you on the couch, his long legs bracketing your body. you can feel the warmth of him at your back, solid and reassuring.

"this okay?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

"yeah."

his hands hover over your head for just a moment, like he's psyching himself up, and then his fingers are threading through your hair, and oh.

oh, this is nice.

rin's hands are exactly what you'd expect from a professional athlete. they're strong, sure, with calluses from years of training. but they're impossibly gentle as they work through your hair, fingertips pressing careful circles against your scalp.

"your shoulders are completely locked up," he murmurs, and you can hear the frown in his voice. "how long have you been carrying stress like this?"

"a long time," you admit, already feeling some of the tension start to melt away under his touch.

his thumbs find the base of your skull, working small circles into the tight muscles there, and you can't help the soft sound that escapes you. it's half relief, half pure bliss, and you feel rin's hands still for just a moment.

"that good?" he asks, and there's something almost smug in his tone, like he's pleased with himself for making you feel better.

"mhmm." you lean back into his touch, letting your eyes drift closed.

"better?" he asks after a few minutes, his voice softer than before.

"so much better." you let your head fall back against his shoulder, and you feel him tense slightly at the contact. "don't stop."

"wasn't planning to," he mutters, but you can hear the fondness creeping into his tone despite his best efforts.

his hands continue their gentle work, fingers combing through your hair, nails scratching lightly against your scalp in a way that sends pleasant shivers down your spine.

the headache is fading to a dull ache, replaced by a drowsy contentment that makes your limbs feel heavy.

"you're really good at this," you murmur, words slightly slurred with relaxation.

rin makes a noncommittal sound, but you can feel the way his chest puffs up slightly with pride.

"just... don't expect me to do this all the time," he says, but there's no conviction behind it. his fingers are still moving through your hair with infinite patience, like he could keep doing this for hours.

"wouldn't dream of it," you tease, and you feel rather than see his eye roll.

"you're such a pain," he grumbles, but his touch grows even softer, thumb tracing gentle patterns behind your ear.

the combination of his warmth at your back, the rhythmic motion of his fingers, and the gradual easing of your headache is making you drowsy.

you can feel yourself starting to drift, lulled by the steady sound of rin's breathing and the tender way he's taking care of you.

"hey," he says quietly, noticing the way you're going limp against him. "don't fall asleep on me."

"can't help it," you mumble. "too comfortable."

rin goes very still for a moment, and you wonder if you've said something wrong. but then his hands resume their gentle ministrations, and you feel him settle more comfortably against the couch cushions.

"just... don't tell anyone about this," he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

"about what? the head massage?"

"about me being..." he pauses, struggling with the words. "soft. or whatever."

you turn your head slightly to look at him, and the expression on his face makes your chest tight with affection. he looks vulnerable, almost embarrassed by his own gentleness, like caring for you is something to be ashamed of.

"rin," you say softly. "there's nothing wrong with being gentle. especially not with me." you said cheekily.

his ears go pink again, and he looks away. "it's not... i don't usually..."

"i know." you reach up to cover one of his hands with yours, squeezing gently.

he doesn't respond to that, but his fingers curl around yours for just a moment before he goes back to playing with your hair. the touch is softer now, less about the massage and more about simple comfort, simple connection.

"your headache?" he asks after a while.

"almost gone." you let your eyes drift closed again, savoring the feeling of his hands in your hair. "this is perfect."

rin hums quietly, and you can hear the satisfaction in the sound. his fingers continue their gentle exploration, occasionally catching on a small tangle and working it loose with careful patience.

"you need to take better care of yourself," he says eventually, his voice quiet and serious. "this kind of stress... it's not sustainable."

"i'll try to do better," you promise, and you mean it.

"good." his fingers trace along the shell of your ear, making you shiver. "because i'm not good at... at taking care of people. but with you, i want to be."

the admission is quiet, vulnerable, and you feel your heart squeeze tight with affection for this complicated, caring man.

"you're better at it than you think," you tell him. "this? what you're doing right now? it's exactly what i needed."

rin doesn't respond with words, but his touch grows impossibly softer, fingers threading through your hair with reverent gentleness.

and maybe that's answer enough. the way he holds you like you're something precious, the way he sets aside his own discomfort with tenderness because your comfort matters more.

you drift in and out of a light doze, vaguely aware of rin's hands never stopping their gentle motion, of the way he shifts occasionally to make sure you're comfortable against him.

at some point, you think you feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, but you're too drowsy to be sure.

what you are sure of is the way he holds you. carefully, protectively, like you're the most important thing in his world.

i was blushing while writing this...

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ PRESENCE ,, sae itoshi

⸻ ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛

𖹭.ᐟ itoshi sae xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ fluff,, protective sae,, fluff,, mild harassment,, protective & possessive behavior 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1311 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

the café is busier than usual for a tuesday afternoon, filled with the soft chatter of students and the gentle clink of ceramic cups. sae sits at a corner table, scrolling through his phone while keeping one eye on the counter where you're waiting to order.

he'd offered to go himself, but you'd insisted on getting the drinks this time, something about "taking care of him for once."

he finds it unnecessary, because he's perfectly capable of buying his own coffee. however, there's something oddly satisfying about watching you navigate the menu with that focused expression you get when you're trying to remember his exact order.

salted kombucha, an acquired taste that most people find weird, but somehow perfectly fitting for someone like sae. you've got it memorized by now.

the line moves slowly, and sae turns his attention back to his phone, checking messages from his manager about tomorrow's training schedule.

but something makes him look up again. maybe it's the shift in your posture, the way you've gone slightly rigid, or just that instinct he's developed over the months of knowing you.

there's a man standing too close to you. he looks like he's in his mid-thirties, cheap cologne that sae can smell from across the café (that smell like the air after you get after flushing the toilet), wearing a business suit that's trying too hard to look expensive.

he's leaning into your personal space, saying something that's making you take a small step back.

sae's jaw tightens imperceptibly.

he can't hear what the man is saying from this distance, but he can read your body language like a blank page. the polite smile that doesn't reach your eyes, and the way you're angling yourself toward the counter and away from him.

the subtle tension in your shoulders that means you're uncomfortable but trying not to make a scene.

the man reaches out, fingers brushing against your arm, and sae is moving before he's even consciously decided to stand up.

he crosses the café with measured steps, not hurried but purposeful, weaving between tables with the kind of fluid grace that comes from years of reading the field and finding the perfect positioning.

he doesn't announce himself, doesn't clear his throat or tap the man on the shoulder.nhe simply appears at your side, close enough that his arm brushes against yours, and waits.

the temperature around you seems to drop several degrees.

sae doesn't look at the man immediately. instead, he focuses on you, his voice calm and perfectly neutral when he speaks.

"they're taking a while with the orders today," he observes, as if he's been standing there the entire time.

you glance up at him, and he catches the flash of relief in your eyes before you compose yourself.

"yeah, but it's fine. you're here so i don't have to wait alone"

it's only then that sae turns his attention to the stranger, and his gaze is arctic. he doesn't say anything, doesn't need to.

just looks at the man with those cold, calculating eyes that have intimidated seasoned professionals on football pitches across the world.

the man, who had been mid-sentence in whatever line he was trying to feed you, falters under sae's stare. there's something about his presence, maybe it's the way he holds himself that makes people reassess their choices.

"oh," the man says, his voice noticeably less confident than it had been moments before. "i didn't realize you were... are you two...?"

sae doesn't answer. doesn't even acknowledge that the man has spoken. he just continues to stand there, a wall of silent menace in designer clothes, until the stranger gets the message.

"right. well. i should probably..." the man takes a step back, then another. "nice talking to you," he adds weakly in your direction, before practically fleeing to the other side of the café.

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, and sae finally looks down at you.

"what did he want?" his tone is casual, conversational, but there's steel underneath it.

"nothing important," you say, trying to brush it off. "just being friendly, i guess."

sae's eyes narrow slightly. "friendly."

it's not a question, and the way he says it makes it clear he has a very different interpretation of what just happened.

"really, sae, it was fine. i could have handled it."

"i know you could have. but you shouldn't have to."

the barista calls out your order, and sae steps forward to collect the drinks before you can move. salted kombucha for him, your usual complicated creation with extra foam and a dash of cinnamon.

he hands you yours, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

"thank you," you say quietly, and he nods.

you find a different table to sit at, one with a clear view of the exit and where sae can position himself between you and the rest of the café.

he settles into his chair with fluid ease, but you notice the way his eyes occasionally flick toward where the man from earlier is now hunched over his laptop, pointedly not looking in your direction (he tried once, but he had met the murderous gaze of sae).

"you didn't have to do that," you tell him, wrapping your hands around your mug.

"do what?" sae takes a sip of his drink, his expression perfectly neutral.

"your scary glare, you scared him."

"good."

the simple, matter-of-fact way he says it makes something warm flutter in your chest. sae isn't one for grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but there's something deeply reassuring about his quiet certainty, the way he can make you feel safe without even trying.

"he was making you uncomfortable," sae continues, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "people like that only understand one kind of language."

"and what language is that?"

"a good beating."

you can't help but smile at that, even though part of you is still processing what just happened. sae notices (he notices everything you do) and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. he even let out a little smile.

"if someone's bothering you," he continues, his voice steady and sure, "they're bothering me."

it's not a confession, exactly, because you're already together, but it's still sae in his own way practical and direct and somehow more romantic than any flowery declaration could be.

"sae... you totally look like a mafia boss."

"drink," he says, effectively ending the conversation.

you do as he says, but you can't stop stealing glances at him over the rim of your mug. he's back to scrolling through his phone, but you notice the way he's positioned himself.

still between you and the rest of the café, still hyperaware of your surroundings in a way that suggests this protectiveness isn't something he's consciously thinking about.

it's just who he is. who he is with you.

when you're ready to leave, sae stands first, scanning the café with those sharp eyes before nodding toward the exit. he lets you walk ahead of him, but stays close enough that you can feel his presence like a shield at your back.

the man from earlier doesn't look up from his laptop as you pass (and maybe, again, it's because sae gives him a frigid glare).

outside, the afternoon air is crisp and clean after the warmth of the café. you walk in comfortable silence for a few blocks before sae speaks again.

"if someone bothers you again," he says, his tone conversational but firm, "tell me."

"i will, captain!" you giggled while putting your hand to your head, as if to give a mock salute.

"you better."

"okay," you agree, and he nods once, satisfied.

"good."

he starts walking again, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but you catch the way his shoulders relax now that he has your promise.

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⌗ ┆ CAREFUL ,, rin itoshi

⸻ ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒

𖹭.ᐟ itoshi rin xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ fluff,, protective rin,, tsundere rin,, hurt/comfort,, soft 𖹭.ᐟ tw :: minor injury ,, some pain mentions 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1591 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

"tch. are you serious right now?"

rin's voice cuts through your pained whimper as you sit on the ground, clutching your ankle.

the uneven pavement had caught your foot wrong when you'd been trying to keep up with his longer strides, and now you're paying for your clumsiness with what feels like fire shooting up your leg.

"i'm fine," you lie through gritted teeth, trying to push yourself up. "just give me a second—"

"don't." his hand shoots out to stop you, firm but careful not to jostle you further. "don't be stupid. you can barely sit up without wincing."

and there goes that tone, the one that sounds irritated but has an undercurrent of something softer. concern, maybe, though rin would probably rather die than admit it.

he crouches down beside you, his sharp eyes immediately focusing on your ankle. you watch as his expression shifts, the annoyance giving way to concentration as he takes in the way you're holding yourself, the careful way you're breathing.

"let me see," he says, and it's not really a request.

"rin, really, i'm—"

"let me see," he repeats, more firmly this time, and you reluctantly move your hands away.

his fingers are surprisingly gentle as they probe around your ankle, checking for swelling, testing the range of motion.

you suck in a sharp breath when he presses against a particularly tender spot, and his hands immediately still.

"sorry," he mutters, though he doesn't look at you. "can you move your toes?"

you wiggle them, wincing at the dull ache that shoots up your leg. "yeah, but it hurts."

"probably just a sprain," he says, sitting back on his heels. "but you're not walking on it."

"what do you mean i'm not walking on it? rin, we're like twenty minutes from—"

"exactly. twenty minutes of you limping and making it worse." he stands up, brushing off his hands with that same annoyed expression. "come on."

"come on where? i just told you i can't—"

you don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly rin is bending down, one arm sliding under your knees and the other supporting your back. before you can protest, he's lifting you up like you weigh nothing at all.

"rin!" you squeak, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck. "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like i'm doing?" he starts walking, his stride steady and sure despite the extra weight. "someone has to get your clumsy ass home."

your face burns with embarrassment, and from something warm that spreads through your chest as you notice how carefully he's holding you, how he adjusts his grip to make sure your injured ankle isn't bumping against anything.

"you don't have to carry me," you mumble against his shoulder. "i could probably walk if i go slow—"

"no."

"rin—"

"no," he repeats, more firmly. "you want to turn a simple sprain into something worse? be my guest. but i'm not watching you hobble around like an idiot when there's a perfectly good solution."

you fall quiet, partly because you know he's right and partly because there's something mesmerizing about being this close to him.

you can smell his cologne, can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, can see the way his jaw tightens slightly whenever you shift in his arms.

"this is embarrassing," you mutter.

"what's embarrassing is you not watching where you're going," he shoots back, but there's no real heat in it. "seriously, how do you function on a daily basis?"

"i'm usually more coordinated than this."

"uh-huh. sure."

despite his sarcasm, you notice that he slows down when you pass other people, angling his body slightly to shield you from curious stares.

notice how he shifts you higher in his arms when your weight starts to slip, murmuring a quiet "i've got you" that he probably doesn't even realize he's saying.

by the time you reach your apartment building, your ankle is throbbing in earnest, but you're almost disappointed that the walk is over.

there's something comforting about being held like this, about the steady warmth of rin's body and the careful way he's been carrying you.

"keys," he says when you reach your door.

"they're in my bag. you can put me down, i can—"

"keys," he repeats, and you sigh, fishing them out and handing them over.

he manages to unlock the door without putting you down, kicking it open with his foot and carrying you inside.

you expect him to deposit you on the couch and leave, maybe with some parting comment about being more careful, but instead he carries you to your bedroom.

"rin, you really don't have to—"

"where do you keep your pillows?" he asks, setting you down on the edge of the bed with the same careful precision he's shown all evening.

"my pillows? they're... right there?" you gesture to the head of the bed, confused.

he grabs two of them, arranging them at the foot of the bed before gently lifting your injured ankle and propping it up. the elevation sends immediate relief through the aching joint, and you can't help the small sigh that escapes you.

"better?" he asks, and you nod.

"yeah. thank you."

he's already moving again, disappearing into your kitchen without explanation. you hear him rummaging around, opening and closing cabinets, and you're about to call out and ask what he's doing when he reappears with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel.

"for the swelling," he explains, settling the makeshift ice pack against your ankle. the cold is shocking at first, but it quickly numbs the worst of the pain.

"how did you—"

"basic first aid," he cuts you off, though his ears are slightly pink. "anyone with half a brain knows rice. rest, ice, compression, elevation."

"excuse me, mister genius." you smirked slightly.

he sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body but careful not to jostle the mattress too much.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound the quiet hum of your air conditioning and the distant noise of traffic outside.

"you didn't have to do all this," you say quietly.

rin doesn't look at you, focusing instead on adjusting the ice pack. "it's not like i had a choice. you would have just made it worse if i left you alone."

"still. thank you."

he makes a noncommittal sound, but you catch the way his shoulders relax slightly at your words.

"does it hurt?" he asks after another moment of silence.

"not as much now. the ice is helping."

he nods, finally looking at you. there's something softer in his expression now, the sharp edges worn down by concern and the quiet intimacy of taking care of someone.

"you scared me," he admits, so quietly you almost miss it.

"scared you?"

his jaw tightens, like he's already regretting the admission. "when you fell. for a second, i thought... i thought it might be serious."

your heart does something complicated in your chest. "rin..."

"it was stupid," he continues, his voice back to its usual sharp tone. "getting worked up over a simple sprain. but you just... you went down so fast, and you made this sound..."

"what sound?"

"like you were really hurt." he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "i know it's just a twisted ankle. i know you're fine. but for a moment, i couldn't..."

he trails off, but you understand. rin isn't good with emotions, isn't good with admitting that he cares, but the way he's been taking care of you all evening speaks louder than any words could.

"i'm okay," you say softly, reaching out to touch his hand. "thanks to you."

he looks down at where your fingers overlap his, and some of the tension leaves his posture.

"you're staying off that foot for the rest of the night," he says, and it's not a request. "and tomorrow, too, probably. i'll come check on you."

"you don't have to—"

"i'm coming to check on you," he repeats, more firmly. "and if i find out you've been walking around on it before it's healed, i'm going to be pissed."

there's no real anger in his threat, just the stubborn concern that seems to define how rin cares for people. fierce and protective and hidden behind layers of irritation that don't quite manage to conceal the softness underneath.

"okay," you agree, squeezing his hand gently. "i'll be good."

"you'd better be."

but he squeezes back, just for a moment, before pulling away and standing up.

"i should go," he says, though he doesn't move toward the door. "you need to rest."

"rin?"

"what?"

"thank you. for everything. for carrying me, for taking care of me... for worrying about me."

his ears go pink again, and he looks away. "tch. it's not like i had a choice. someone has to keep your lukewarm ass alive."

but there's no bite to the words, and when he finally does leave, he makes sure you have water and snacks within reach, adjusts the ice pack one more time, and promises to text you in a few hours to check how you're feeling.

rin might complain about having to take care of you, might grumble and act like it's all a huge inconvenience, but his actions tell a different story entirely.

and honestly? you wouldn't mind spraining your ankle again if it means seeing that soft, protective side of him once more.

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ BLUE ROSE,, michael kaiser

⸻ 𝑖𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑓 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛, ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠

𖹭.ᐟ michael kaiser xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ angst,, right person wrong time,, heavy emotions,, past lovers,, wedding disaster,, grief,, angst angst angst 𖹭.ᐟ tw :: car accident,, major character death,, mourning 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 3582 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

three years ago

the park is empty at this hour, streetlights casting long shadows across the worn path where you used to walk together on better nights. kaiser's hands shake as he waits for you, the lighting of the street lamps illuminating the cuts on his knuckles, the bruise blooming purple along his jaw.

you're sitting on the bench beside him, close enough that he can smell your shampoo, feel the warmth radiating from your skin. close enough to touch, but he keeps his hands to himself because he knows that if he reaches for you now, he'll never be able to let go.

"michael," you say softly, and he flinches at the concern in your voice. "what happened? you called me at midnight, you look like you've been fighting, and you won't tell me what's wrong."

"i have to leave," he says, the words scraping his throat raw.

you turn to face him fully, your eyes wide in the dim light. "leave? is it because of your father? what do you mean leave? like, leave town for a few days, or—"

"leave. permanently." he can't look at you. "there are people who want to... who need me to do something. and i can't say no."

that's not entirely true. he could say no, but he would rot in jail for an undetermined time.

"i don't understand." your voice is smaller now, confused and hurt. "michael, whatever this is, we can figure it out. together. you don't have to run away."

run away. as if this is cowardice instead of the hardest thing he's ever had to do. as if leaving you isn't tearing him apart from the inside out.

"you don't know what you're asking," he says, finally meeting your eyes. the trust there, the absolute faith that he can fix this, be better, choose differently, it's like a knife between his ribs. "you what is happening right now."

"then tell me." you reach for his free hand, and he lets you take it even though he shouldn't. your fingers are soft against his split knuckles, gentle in a way that makes him want to be with you forever.

"don't." the word comes out sharper than he intends, and you flinch. he immediately hates himself for it, for the way your hand loosens around his. "don't say that. it'll only make this harder."

"make what harder? michael, you're scaring me."

he stands abruptly. the car across the park flashes its headlights once.

"i'm leaving," he repeats, and this time his voice is steady, controlled. this time he sounds like the kaiser he's going to become instead of the michael he's always been with you. "tonight. and i'm not coming back."

you stand too, reaching for him again, but he steps away. if you touch him now, if you look at him like that, he'll break. he'll throw himself at your feet and beg you to come with him, and then he'll have to watch you realize what kind of person he really is.

"michael, please." tears are starting to track down your cheeks, and each one feels like a physical blow. "please don't do this. if i-i did something wrong, i can change! whatever's happening, whatever you think you have to do—we can find another way. we can—"

"there is no other way." he's backing away from you now, toward the car, toward his future, toward everything that will make him powerful and untouchable and completely alone. "this is who i am. this is who i've always been."

"that's not true." you're following him, your voice breaking. "you're kind, and you're funny, and you make me feel like we own the world. we!"

"forget about me," he says, still walking backward, putting more distance between you with every step. "find someone better. someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"i don't want someone better!" you call after him, and your voice echoes across the empty park. "i want you!"

he reaches the car, and ray dark rolls down the window. "time to go, kaiser."

kaiser. not michael. already he's becoming someone else, someone harder, someone who can walk away from the only person who ever made him believe in love.

he looks back at you one more time, memorizes the way you look standing there in the lamplight with tears streaming down your face and your heart breaking because of him.

he wants to run back to you, wants to promise that he'll find a way to come home, but he knows he won't. the person who could make those promises is about to die in the backseat of this car.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, though he's not sure if you can hear him from this distance. you didn't.

then he gets in the car, and marc drives away, and the last thing he sees in the side mirror is you collapsing onto the bench where you used to sit together, your hands pressed to your face as you sob.

he doesn't look back again.

present day

there's a particular kind of cruelty in seeing someone you once loved preparing to marry someone else.

kaiser stands outside the small café, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, watching through the window as you laugh at something your friend says.

three years. it's been three years since he walked away, since he chose the path that led him through hell and back again, leaving you behind like a discarded dream.

you look different now—older, maybe wiser. there's a lightness in your expression that he remembers from before, from when things were simple and he was just michael, not kaiser, not the emperor, just a boy who was falling in love and too afraid to admit it.

the bell above the door chimes as he enters, and your head turns. for a moment, time suspends itself. your eyes widen, and he watches as a thousand emotions flicker across your face—surprise, hurt, something that might be fondness, and then carefully constructed composure.

"michael," you say, and his name sounds different in your voice now. not cold, exactly, but distant. protective.

"hello." he slides into the booth across from you, ignoring the questioning look from your friend who quickly excuses themselves with promises to call later. "you look well."

"so do you." your fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. "i heard about your success. bastard münchen, the new generation world xi. you got everything you wanted. i'm glad for you."

there's no bitterness in your tone, which somehow makes it worse. you look sincere, and he knew you were. you were...the kindest soul he ever met. he would prefer anger to this polite indifference, this careful distance you've wrapped around yourself like armor.

"not everything," he says quietly, and you look up sharply.

"michael—"

"i know." he holds up a hand. "i know i don't have the right. i left, i chose to leave, and you have every reason to hate me for it."

you're quiet for a long moment, studying his face. he wonders what you see there—if you can still read him the way you used to, if you can see past the polished exterior to the boy who used to trace patterns on your skin in the dark and whisper about futures he was too scared to believe in.

"i don't hate you," you say finally. "i did, for a while. but hate is exhausting, and you... you had your reasons. even if i don't understand... i respect you for it."

your reasons. as if his cowardice was something noble, something forgivable. as if choosing self-preservation over love was anything but the cruelest kind of betrayal.

"i was scared," he admits, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. kaiser doesn't do vulnerability, doesn't do admissions of weakness, but something about sitting across from you strips away all his carefully constructed defenses. "i was scared of what i was becoming, scared of dragging you down with me."

"so you decided for both of us." there's the hurt, finally, bleeding through the composure. "you decided i couldn't handle it, decided i was too weak or too naive or too—"

"no." the word comes out sharper than he intends. "never that. you were the strongest person i knew. you still are, probably. i was the weak one. i was the one who couldn't handle the thought of you seeing me become something terrible."

your laugh is soft and sad. "did you really think so little of me? that i would have loved you less?"

the question hangs between you, heavy with all the might-have-beens and what-ifs that have haunted him for three years. because the truth is, he did think that.

not because you were shallow or conditional in your love, but because he was so convinced of his own unworthiness that he couldn't imagine anyone loving him through the darkness he was walking into.

"i thought you deserved better," he says instead, which is also true, if incomplete.

"that wasn't your choice to make."

"no. it wasn't."

you're quiet again, and he takes the opportunity to really look at you. there's something different about the way you sit, the way you hold yourself. a contentment that wasn't there before, a peace that makes something twist painfully in his chest.

"are you happy?" he asks, though he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

you smile, small and genuine. "i am. i'm getting married."

the words hit him like a physical blow, even though he knew. of course he knew—it's why he's here, why he sought you out after all this time. he'd heard through mutual friends, through the strange small-world connections that follow you even when you try to disappear. but hearing it from you makes it real in a way that twists something vital inside him.

"congratulations," he manages, and he thinks he almost sounds like he means it.

"thank you." you pause, then, with a gentle smile, "would you like to come?"

the invitation catches him off guard. he stares at you, searching for mockery or malice and finding neither. just a genuine offer extended with the same kindness you always showed him, even when he didn't deserve it.

"why?" he asks.

you shrug, a gesture so familiar it makes his chest ache. "because once upon a time, you mattered to me, and you still do. because despite everything, i'd like you to be there for one of the happiest days of my life."

once upon a time. past tense. he should be grateful that you're being kind, that you're offering him this chance to see you happy, to get some kind of closure. instead, all he can think about is the finality of it, the way you've relegated him to history.

"i'll be there," he hears himself say.

୨୧

the flower shop is quiet, filled with the soft fragrance of roses and lilies and all the traditional blooms that people bring to weddings. kaiser stares at the display, his hands clenched at his sides.

"can i help you?" the florist asks, appearing beside him with a kind smile.

"i need something for a wedding," he says, his voice rough.

"oh, how lovely! what's your relationship to the happy couple?"

kaiser's jaw tightens. "i'm a friend of the bride."

friend. the word tastes like ash.

the florist begins showing him the usual options—white roses, pink peonies, cheerful yellow daisies. all of them beautiful, all of them appropriate, all of them wrong.

he's not here to celebrate, not really. he's here to say goodbye, to watch you choose someone else, to finally close the door on the chapter of his life that he's never been able to finish.

his eyes catch on something in the corner—blue roses, rare and striking, the color of deep ocean or twilight sky. the color of the tips of his hair, the color of the shirt he was wearing the night he first kissed you, the color of the bruises on his knuckles when he came to your apartment bloodied and desperate and you cleaned his wounds made by his father's beating without asking questions.

"those," he says, pointing.

the florist follows his gaze and frowns slightly. "the blue roses? they're beautiful, but... well, they're not exactly traditional wedding flowers. blue roses symbolize mystery, the impossible, love that can never be..."

"they're perfect," kaiser cuts her off with a menacing glare.

he pays without really registering the cost and walks out with the single blue rose wrapped in simple paper. it feels heavy in his hand, weighted with all the things he never said, all the chances he never took.

୨୧

the venue is small and elegant, tucked away in a garden that blooms with spring flowers. kaiser arrives early, partly because he's never been able to shake his punctuality and partly because he needs time to prepare himself for this.

he finds a seat toward the back, the blue rose resting across his lap, and watches as the space fills with your friends and family.

he recognizes some faces—your college roommate, your sister, your parents who eye him with barely concealed disapproval. he can't blame them. he was the boy who broke their child's heart and disappeared into the night.

the groom takes his place at the altar, and kaiser studies him with the sharp focus he usually reserves for opposing players. tall, kind-faced, with laugh lines that suggest he smiles often. the kind of man who probably brings you coffee in the morning and remembers your favorite books and never makes you wonder if you matter.

the kind of man kaiser never learned how to be.

(this should have been you, his mind can't help to whisper. the jealousy in his heart will never disappear..)

the music starts, and the wedding party begins their procession. bridesmaids in soft blue dresses, a coincidence that makes his grip tighten on the rose stem, groomsmen in charcoal suits, everyone glowing with happiness and anticipation.

and then the music changes, shifts to the traditional wedding march, and every head turns toward the back of the venue.

kaiser turns too, his heart hammering against his ribs, prepared to watch you walk toward someone else, prepared to smile and clap and pretend his chest isn't caving in.

but you don't appear.

the music continues, measured and stately, but the aisle remains empty. kaiser sees the groom's face change, confusion replacing joy, and murmurs start to ripple through the gathered guests.

minutes pass. the music falters and stops. the officiant says something quietly to the groom, who nods and steps down from the altar. kaiser watches as he walks quickly toward the back of the venue, pulling out his phone.

something cold settles in kaiser's stomach.

more time passes. the murmurs grow louder, worried now instead of just confused. kaiser's hands are white-knuckled around the rose stem, and he doesn't know why his heart is racing, doesn't know why dread is creeping up his spine like ice water.

then someone runs into the venue, your sister, he thinks, though he's only met her once. her face is pale, streaked with tears, and the words she gasps out to the groom make the entire world tilt sideways.

"there's been an accident. on the highway. a drunk driver ran a red light and—" her voice breaks. "we need to get to the hospital. now."

his heart drops, like the blue rose who falls from kaiser's nerveless fingers. it hits the floor with a soft sound that somehow echoes in the sudden terrible silence.

୨୧

hospitals smell like disinfectant and despair. kaiser has been in enough of them—visiting teammates, getting his own injuries treated, the occasional charity visit that bastard münchen organized.

but he's never been in one like this, never sat in a waiting room with his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest while doctors use words like "critical condition" and "significant trauma."

he doesn't know why he came. doesn't know why he followed the frantic procession of cars from the venue to this sterile building. he has no right to be here, no claim to your life or your pain. he's just the ex who broke your heart, the ghost from your past who showed up at your wedding carrying impossible flowers.

but he can't leave. can't make himself walk away, not when you're somewhere in this maze of corridors fighting for your life.

your family clusters together near the windows, holding each other and crying softly. the groom—your fiancé, kaiser reminds himself—paces the length of the waiting room, still in his wedding suit, his face a mask of devastation.

kaiser sits apart from them, still clutching the blue rose he picked up from the floor. one of the petals has come loose, and he smooths it between his fingers, focusing on the texture to keep from falling apart.

hours pass. or maybe minutes. time moves strangely in places like this, measured in heartbeats and shallow breaths and the soft squeak of nurses' shoes on linoleum.

finally, a doctor appears. she's young, tired-looking, with kind eyes that kaiser immediately doesn't trust because he can see the sympathy in them, can see the weight of bad news in the set of her shoulders.

she speaks quietly to your family first, then to your fiancé, and kaiser watches their faces crumble one by one. watches your mother collapse into your father's arms, watches your sister press her hands to her mouth to muffle her sobs.

watches your fiancé sink into a chair and bury his face in his hands.

the doctor's words reach kaiser like echoes: "internal bleeding," "multiple trauma," "everything we could do," "i'm so sorry."

the blue rose petals scatter when his hands start shaking.

୨୧

they let him see you.

he doesn't know who arranged it—maybe your fiancé, in a moment of grief-stricken generosity, or maybe your sister who remembered him from years ago.

it doesn't matter. nothing matters except the fact that you're lying in this narrow hospital bed, pale and still and connected to machines that beep softly in the quiet room.

you look like you're sleeping. like you might open your eyes if he just calls your name loud enough, shakes your shoulder gently enough. but he knows better.

the steady line on the monitor, the terrible stillness of your chest, the way your hand feels when he takes it in his too cool, too limp, too final.

"i brought you a flower," he whispers, and his voice cracks on the words. he places the blue rose on your chest, right over your heart that will never beat again. "blue roses. do you remember? you always said they were impossible, too beautiful to be real."

his hand finds your hair, smooths it back from your forehead. "i was going to tell you," he continues, though he doesn't know if that's true, doesn't know if he would have had the courage. "i was going to tell you that i never stopped loving you. that every day for three years i thought about what i gave up, what i threw away because i was too scared to believe in impossible things."

the machines keep beeping their steady rhythm, marking time that no longer matters.

"i was going to ask if there was still a chance. if maybe, even after everything, we could find our way back to each other." he laughs, but it sounds more like a sob.

"stupid, right? you were getting married. you found someone who could give you everything i was too cowardly to offer. and i was going to show up with my blue roses and ask you to throw it all away for me."

he bends down, presses his forehead to yours. your skin is still warm, but it won't be for much longer.

"i would have married you," he whispers against your temple. "if i could go back, if i could do it over, i would have married you in that shitty apartment with nothing but a ring from a vending machine and a promise that i'd love you through everything. i would have chosen you every single day."

but he can't go back. it's too late now. he can't do it over, can't give you the love you deserved when you were alive to receive it.

all he can do is sit here in this sterile room, holding your cooling hand and watching the blue rose rise and fall with the artificial rhythm of machines keeping your body breathing even though you're already gone.

outside, he can hear your family making arrangements, discussing funeral homes and services and all the terrible logistics of death.

inside, kaiser closes his eyes and tries to memorize the weight of your hand in his, the way your hair feels under his fingers, the shape of your face in the harsh hospital lighting.

when he finally leaves, hours later, he leaves the blue rose behind. it's the only thing he has left to give you, the only piece of his heart that might matter now.

୨୧

( if someone asks if he's ever had his heart broken, he thinks of a blue rose falling onto cold tiles. )

( he thinks of impossible love and terrible timing and the way regret tastes like hospital air and unfulfilled promises. )

( he thinks of you, and how he'll carry the weight of almost for the rest of his life. )

hi...<3? i really tried my best to write this.... my bestie and i came up with the idea/plot, and i cried my eyes out while writing it hehe

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

i'm cooking something really REALLY angsty rn (i have finished it)... i cried while writing this, and listened to "fourth of july" the entire time. prepare your tissues ig?

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ SOULMATED SO HARD ,, michael kaiser

⸻ 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. 𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒. 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠. 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

𖹭.ᐟ michael kaiser xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ soulmates au,, multiverse realism,, fate,, longing,, reincarnation hints,, romantic tension,, soft kaiser!! 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 2,147 𖹭.ᐟ insp :: “soulmated so hard we’re ... in every universe” ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

1 ⸻ 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 : teenage neighbor au 𖹭.ᐟ neighbors to something,, reader is a pianist,, “you’re not like the rest” trope,, kaiser falls first but won’t admit it

michael kaiser didn’t believe in fate. or love. or neighbors.

especially not ones who moved in over winter break and insisted on playing piano at 2 a.m. like they were in some kind of sad indie movie.

he hated it. every time his head hit the pillow, there it was again — soft, slow notes echoing through thin apartment walls. like a lullaby written by someone who couldn’t sleep either.

he knocked on the wall the first night. no response. he knocked again the next. still nothing.

by the fourth night, he stopped knocking. by the fifth, he left his window cracked open so he could hear it better.

he hated that more.

୨୧

he met you in the hallway by accident.

hair messy. hoodie too big. headphones around your neck. he almost didn’t recognize you until you said something, and then it clicked. that was the voice he’d heard humming along with the piano last night. that was you.

you gave him a polite smile. “sorry if i’ve been too loud.”

“you have,” he said, not thinking.

you blinked. “oh.”

he looked at you. the way you shifted your weight. the way you didn’t look away. the way your fingers tapped your leg like you were always keeping time.

“…but it’s fine,” he muttered, finally. “just don’t play anything shitty.”

you grinned. “so you’ve been listening.”

he rolled his eyes and walked away. he didn’t tell you that he’d memorized every note.

୨୧

he started leaving his window open on purpose.

he never told you that either.

୨୧

you were different.

he hated how cliché that sounded, but it was true. you didn’t ask why he dyed his hair, and you didn’t look at him like he was something impossible to reach.

you just… existed. and somehow, you kept pulling him in.

you caught him outside one day, juggling a ball between his knees, and said, “you’re good.”

he shrugged. “i know.”

“cocky much?”

“confident.”

you tilted your head. “hm. you look lonelier than confident.”

and fuck, he’d never wanted to kiss someone out of spite so badly.

instead, he kicked the ball at a perfect angle, hit the trash can behind you, and smirked. “still lonely?”

you didn’t flinch. didn’t look impressed either. you just picked up the ball, tossed it back, and said, “only lonely people need to show off.”

he fell a little in love with you then. just a bit.

୨୧

you asked if he wanted to come over once. he said no.

you shrugged and said, “door’s open anyway.”

he came over two hours later.

you didn’t mention it. just slid over on the piano bench and said, “wanna learn?”

he didn’t. but he said yes.

you placed his fingers on the keys. slow. gentle. patient. he tried to scoff, but his heart was loud in his ears. his pinky brushed yours and he forgot the note you were on.

“focus,” you teased.

he wanted to throw the whole piano out the window. but you were here for him, and him only. and he kinda liked that.

2 ⸻ 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 : strangers on a train au 𖹭.ᐟ strangers to something,, instant connection,, kaiser is annoying and knows it,, soft kaiser

he gets on at berlin süd. 7:42 a.m. second car. same time every tuesday.

you’re already there, always in the window seat. a book in your lap. never reading it.

kaiser notices that first.

you stare out the window instead. eyes tracking trees and telephone wires like they’re saying something he can’t hear. like you’re waiting for the world to blink first.

he finds it interesting.

that’s the second thing he notices. and he hates that he notices anything at all.

୨୧

you talk first.

he’s adjusting his headphones, trying to untangle the cord, and you just, point.

“you’re gonna break the wire if you keep yanking it like that.”

he blinks. “what?”

“here,” you say, reaching over. your fingers brush his.

for half a second, something cold and electric zaps up his spine. he ignores it. you untangle the cord, quick and efficient, and hand it back like you didn’t just touch him. like his heart didn’t lurch at your skin on his.

“you’re welcome,” you add, turning back to the window.

he stares.

“…i didn’t say thank you,” he mutters.

you don’t even look at him. “arrogant shit.”

୨୧

he sits across from you the next week. you don’t acknowledge him.

he tries not to feel weird about it. (spoiler : it doesn’t work.)

୨୧

“you always read the same page,” he says.

you raise an eyebrow. “what?”

“that book.” he points. “it’s always open to page 17.”

you glance down, lips twitching. you blush slightly in embarrassment. “…maybe it’s a good page.”

“maybe you’re a liar.”

you huff a laugh. “and you're a bastard.”

“not true.”

“why?”

“because i'm not.”

you don’t answer. just stare at him for a second, long enough to make him feel seen in a way he isn’t used to.

“i think you are, but it's not necessarily a bad thing."

he’s quiet the rest of the ride.

୨୧

you start sitting across from him by choice.

sometimes you talk. sometimes you don’t.

but kaiser gets used to the silence between you. not heavy. not awkward. just full. like something waiting to happen.

he wants to reach out. press a thumb against the side of your knee. brush your hand again. pull the book from your lap and ask what’s on page 17 that keeps you coming back.

but he doesn’t.

because he doesn’t do this.

and yet—

“what do you do?” he asks one morning.

you blink. “for work?”

“no. for fun.”

you hum. “i write things i don’t finish.”

“like what?”

“everything. stories, playlists, letters, etc...”

he wants to ask who the letters are for. he doesn’t.

“you?” you ask.

“i play football.”

you nod, like that makes sense. “you seem like someone who’s always running. like a dog.”

he stiffens, then smirk. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it’s not a bad thing.”

he looks out the window. your reflection beside his. both slightly warped. both realer than they should be.

“…you’d hate me in real life,” he says eventually.

you tilt your head. “this isn’t real life?”

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t know how.

୨୧

you stop showing up after three weeks.

kaiser checks the window seat every time. waits until 7:43. then 7:44.

nothing.

he tells himself it doesn’t matter.

(he thinks about you every time his headphones tangle. every time he sees someone reading but not really reading. every time he feels too loud for the world.)

two weeks later, you return.

you’re late. breathless. hair wind-tossed. eyes soft.

“sorry,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him.

he doesn’t say anything. he just stares.

“what?” you ask, sheepish.

he shakes his head. “you missed the best page.”

you smile. “you remember the number?”

“you think i forget things that annoy me?”

“i think you’re softer than you pretend to be.”

his throat tightens.

“what happened?” he asks, voice quieter than he meant.

“i broke up,” you say. like it explains everything. maybe it does.

and he doesn’t ask more.

he just sits with you. listens to the hum of the train. feels your knee brush his under the table.

the silence isn’t quiet anymore. it’s loud in his chest. rushing in his ears.

he wants to ask you to stay. he doesn’t.

instead, he offers you one of his earbuds. wordless. smooth. you take it.

"say..." you tentatively ask, "are you free tonight?"

"for you, always."

and the train keeps moving.

3 ⸻ 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 : canon compliant au 𖹭.ᐟ established relationship,, slice of life in elite football hell,, domestic undertones,, “no one knows about us” vibe,, kaiser lets his walls down,, so soft it hurts

everyone knows michael kaiser.

his name trends weekly. his face is always perfect. his hair falls like it was sculpted by some annoyingly artistic god. he scores like he breathes — like it's the only thing he's ever been meant to do.

and you?

you bring him his lunch in tupperware and make fun of his tattoos.

୨୧

you meet after a match. he’s yelling at a manager, and his voice is sharp. he's pissed about a schedule change or a missed sponsor window or the fact that someone tried to give him a jersey with the wrong shade of blue.

you’re there by accident. just passing through. clipboard in hand. trying to look busy.

he spots you mid-rant, mid-breath, mid-anger, and pauses.

eyes narrow.

“who are you?”

you blink. “you don't know everyone who works here?”

he scoffs. “i try not to.”

you shrug. “then i guess it doesn’t matter.”

୨୧

he finds you again three days later.

you’re sitting behind the bleachers during practice, headphones in, watching the clouds instead of the field.

“you ignored me the other day.”

you glance up. “i didn’t.”

“you did,” he insists, crouching in front of you like you’re his game now.

you sigh. “you were yelling at a grown man over a color swatch. figured you had enough going on.”

his grin sharpens. “so you were watching.”

you roll your eyes, 'how could i not."

he sits beside you.

just like that.

୨୧

it starts like that, just like that.

he’s everywhere all of a sudden.

shoulder brushing yours in the hall. long legs stretched across the bench beside you. stupid comments whispered as he walks past your desk.

(“you’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like a remperor.” “maybe because you’re not one.” “ouch.”)

he likes it. you. this.

the way you don’t flinch at the weight of him. the way you hold your own.

you see him, and he doesn’t have to perform for it.

୨୧

one night, he texts you at 2:13 a.m.

do you think i’m actually good or just marketable

you respond four minutes later.

i think you’re both and you hate that the world can’t tell the difference

he stares at the screen for a long time.

then puts his phone facedown.

୨୧

you become his favorite secret.

he doesn’t tell his team. doesn’t mention you in interviews. doesn’t tag you anywhere.

but when he scores, his eyes flick toward the stands, toward the one spot you always sit, half-hidden, hoodie up. and you always give him a thumb up.

when he wins, he doesn’t party. he shows up at your place instead with a bag of groceries and zero cooking skills.

when he loses, he finds your wrist under the covers and holds it like a lifeline.

“they don’t know i’m yours,” he murmurs once, breath warm on your skin.

“do you want them to?”

he’s quiet for a beat.

then: “no.”

and it’s not cruel. he just wants this for himself. just once. a part of his life that no one else gets to touch.

and you let him.

୨୧

then, a scandal breaks mid-season.

something dumb, an old tweet, a teammate’s off-hand comment, a rumor about a fight that didn’t happen. the press twists it into drama. the fans eat it up. the club issues a half-assed statement.

he skips practice the next day.

you find him on your fire escape, hoodie pulled up, face unreadable.

he doesn’t say anything when you slide the window open. just leans against the railing, eyes on the sky.

you sit beside him. hand inches from his. not touching yet.

“i trust you,” you say softly.

he doesn’t look at you.

but his fingers find yours.

intertwine.

hold tight.

୨୧

after a match in munich, he pulls you into a hallway no one uses. it’s raining. his hair is wet. his shoulders are trembling, not from cold, but from adrenaline.

“do you think this ends?” he asks.

you blink. “what?”

“us. this. me being able to have you like this.”

you hesitate. “only if you want it to.”

he steps closer.

“i don’t,” he says. “not ever.”

you kiss him.

he kisses back like he’s falling, hard, fast, with all the force of a man who has only ever moved forward.

when he pulls away, your name is a whisper at the corner of his mouth.

like a prayer he’s finally learning how to say.

୨୧

he wins another match.

breaks another record.

the stadium erupts.

and this time, this time, when he looks up, he points at the stands. just once. just for you.

the cameras catch it. social media explodes. no one knows what it means.

but you do.

because when he finds you later, still breathless and still glowing, but he doesn’t say anything.

he just presses his forehead to yours and laughs, soft and stupid and so full of something that doesn’t need to be named.

and you get it. you get him.

every version of him.

in every universe.

fluff!

© 2025 ddreamhhollows

[ddreamhhollows]

⋮ ⌗ ┆ COLD HANDS, WARM HEART ;; rin itoshi

⸻ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔 𝘩𝑖𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝, 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘩𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡𝘩 𝑖𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑑

𖹭.ᐟ rin itoshi xx gn﹗reader 𖹭.ᐟ established relationship,, fluff,, winter date,, classic grumpy x sunshine,, hand holding,, grumpy but soft rin 𖹭.ᐟ word count :: 1202 ౨ৎ 【bllk masterlist】

snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, settling in lazy, glittering layers across the practice field. everything was hushed except for the soft creak of snow underfoot and rin itoshi’s low grumble beside you.

“why the hell did you drag me out here,” he muttered, breath puffing white in the cold air. his nose was pink, his gloves half-untied, and he glanced at you like you’d tricked him into some sort of frostbitten torture chamber.

“because it’s beautiful,” you said cheerfully, looping an arm through his. “and you need fresh air. plus, snow is romantic.” you held up your gloved hands and wiggled your fingers. “look at it sparkle.”

rin snorted, stamping his foot to shake off the powdery blanket. “i’m not here to be romantic. i’m here because you insisted.” but he couldn't hide a small smile.

you laughed, tugging him forward. “this counts as insisting. come on, we have hot chocolate waiting at that little café down the street.”

“hot chocolate is the only reason i’m moving,” he admitted, voice still brusque but a hint softer.

you let go of his arm to brush snow from a bench and then tugged him toward it. “sit. rest. i’ll go get drinks.” you tried to plant him firmly, but he leaned back on the bench too quickly and almost slid off.

“i’m fine,” he grumbled, catching his balance. “you’re the one who almost decked me.”

“sure,” you teased, brushing your mitten off on his jacket. “whatever you say, grumpy.”

he shot you a look (half annoyed, half amused) and you escaped with a quick wave. the door to the café chimed as you stepped inside, warmth wrapping you like a blanket. two steaming mugs later, you emerged into the gray afternoon, carrying chocolate-scented goodness.

“caution: very, very hot,” you warned, offering one mug to rin.

he took it with a reluctant nod, cradling it between his gloved hands. “thanks,” he muttered, eyes locked on the steam.

you perched beside him again on the bench. “how’s that feel?”

“better than standing outside, i guess.” he blew on the surface, watching little ripples of chocolate form.

“drinking something warm is like magic,” you said. “it thaws your insides.”

rin raised an eyebrow. “you sound like a book of inspirational quotes.”

you bumped his shoulder. “shut up.”

you sipped, savoring the sweetness, then reached out to warm your other hand on his mug. the proximity reminded you of how stiff his posture was, arms close to his body, shoulders hunched. he was still treating the cold like an enemy.

so you did what any sensible person would: you looped your unoccupied arm through his again and curled your fingers inside his coat sleeve. instant warmth. he tensed for a fraction of a second, then relaxed when you didn’t let go.

“hey,” you said softly. “cold hands, remember?”

he exhaled, a breath that sounded like relief. “you know i hate being cold.”

“i know.” you turned to look at him, snowflakes landing in his dark hair. “so let me help.”

rin avoided your eyes, but didn’t pull away. you squeezed his arm gently to let him know you weren’t going anywhere. then you tilted your head, conspiratorial. “race you to the street lamp and back?”

he frowned lightly, his version of a challenge. “you’re on.”

you both launched off the bench, mugs dutifully tucked under one arm. within seconds, laughter bubbled out of you as rin sprinted ahead, scarf trailing behind him like a banner.

the lamp post was close, just twenty meters away, but the snow made footing tricky. you skidded halfway, saved yourself with a quick sidestep, and realized rin had counted the lamp as the finish line. he was waiting, grin plastered wide, breath coming in little puffs.

“what are you—” you began, chest heaving, and rin grabbed your wrist, tugging you forward.

“tag,” he declared, ducking under your free arm and tapping the side of your knee.

“you cheated,” you accused, more out of breath than mad.

“all’s fair in love and snow,” he quipped, eyes shining.

you rolled yours. “lame.”

“not as lame as you slipping on your own feet.” he uncrossed his legs and held out his hand. “come on.”

you huffed but accepted, stepping closer. the world narrowed to the two of you, the falling snow, and the muffled sounds of distant traffic.

“i thought the hot chocolate was the prize,” you said.

rin tilted his head, looking at you like you’d asked him where the moon was hiding. “the real prize was the race.”

“right.” you pressed your lips into a thin line.

rin leaned in, voice low. “but for the record, i like warming your hands more than winning.”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

he shrugged, nonchalant. “does it matter? just... stay close.”

you obliged, sliding an arm around his waist. then you felt a gentle tug as he lifted your other hand to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles. the gesture was small and quiet, but it sent warmth straight to your heart.

“see?” he murmured, “your hands are so cold.”

“so warm them,” you teased, nestling closer into his coat.

he brushed snow from your hair. “you’re annoying.”

“i know.”

“but i like it.”

you laughed softly and tilted your face up to him. “what if i want more than hand kisses?”

rin’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “then you’ll get it.”

before you could react, he lifted you into his arms and spun you around in the falling snow, arms locked under your knees and back. you gasped in surprise, flurries swirling around like tiny stars.

“rin!” you squealed, half-laughing, half-trying to steady yourself. his movement was slow and careful, making sure you didn’t slip. then he spun you the other way, laughter bubbling out of him.

“this is my world,” he said, voice muffled by your scarf. “i want to twirl you in it.”

flashes of his playful grin, the way snow clung to his lashes, the warmth of his coat around you, and it felt like a dream.

he set you down gently, still holding your waist. you stared up at him through big, brimming eyes. “rin… you're so cheesy...”

he bent down, forehead against yours. “come here,” he whispered, brushing snowflakes off your cheeks.

you closed your eyes, heart fluttering as his breath warmed your face. then his lips met yours in a soft, sweet kiss, snow settling on your hair. the world held its breath, the cold, the snow, even the distant cars seemed to pause.

when you parted, rin rested his forehead on yours, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “happy?” he asked, voice husky.

“very,” you breathed.

he grinned against your lips. “good. because i’m not done with you yet.”

you looped both arms around his neck, standing on tippy toes. “i’m counting on that.”

he scoffed, quiet but tender, wrapping you in a tight hug. “then let’s go find someplace to warm up properly.”

you let go reluctantly, and he offered you his arm again. together, you walked back toward the café, snow crunching underfoot, cold hands tucked into his jacket and warm hearts overflowing with new memories.

＼(≧▽≦)／

© 2025 ddreamhhollows