#ahh... blue.... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iqxatlantic · 5 months ago

Text

"move baby, move baby, i'm in love"

ft. yukimiya kenyu . ooc! yukimiya ? . implied fem! reader . kinda insecure! reader. yuki's a model ofc he has a roster . sappy high school love . she fell first / he fell harder n she did too ahh trope . miscommunication at first . confessions . hangout/date thing . fluff ? . unreliable narrator . drabble

wc: 1.0k

synopsis: being madly in love with the model and soccer player, yukimiya kenyu, you knew you stood no chance with all the other pretty girls. little did you know, you were the most perfect n pretty girl in yukimiya's eyes. (hell his vision is really good so yk u the shit hehe <3)

your gaze on him never faltered. your lips parted as you admired the man. his tall, slim but lightly toned build... god his figure was so perfect! his originally brown, well groomed and straight hair was undone into a wilder n messier style.

you swore your heart skipped a beat when the match ended he took off his windproof glasses. ooh, those gorgeous orange eyes... STARING RIGHT AT YOU?!

you looked around making sure. he waved. before you could wave back another girl wave at him. he kept his smile on. yukimiya knew damn well that wave wasn't for her but, he's far too kind to give her an expression of ignorance.

you frowned a little as you got your hopes up high. the whole soccer match had ended. soranin high school had won 3-2. barely... but, yukimiya scored the last goal! everyone was cheering. as everyone left the bleachers, a ton of girls ran towards yukimiya to congratulate him, showering him in with gifts, etc.

you stood there for a little while before getting tugged away from your friends. "if you keep staring at him i swear t'god he gonna find out." one of them grumbled. "you're cute n all but do you see that damn roster?!" another one chimed in. "[name], you don't have a chance i'm sorry..!"

you didn't consider your friends wrong but its better to try than not. "jus' a minute." you mumbled as you pulled out a small gift. it was a silly little blueberry keychain. your friends look at you with a " you serious right now..?" expression.

to be fair, you did do lots of information sapping and found out one of his favourite foods were blueberries.. once the whole roster died down your friends pushed you towards him. "kenyu, she has something for you!" they giggled. you shoved your arms forward, showing the keychain. yukimiya smiled as he took it. "thank you, [name]."

oh you were going CRAZYYYY. it's been a while since you and yukimiya's been talking. texting everyday, all of the above. everything seemed to be pulling you two closer, shit seemed too good. 'f course something had to happen.

sitting in class, all you could daydream about was seeing yukimiya. your friends poked at you, "thinking about him again?" they smiled. "y'know he's doin' a lot! he cares so much about his vision yet he's always on his phone for you."

you couldn't help but feel a little flushed as the bell rang for everyone to pack up and LEAVE. as you swung your backpack onto your shoulder you walked out of class with your friends. walking past the soccer field to catch a glimpse of the man.

and you did! just with another girl however. who was a little touchy. a little too touchy for your liking. you couldn't help but form a frown. shit, the girl was gorgeous... she was laughing lots with him. that checks off one box of his type.

he spotted you (the boy has hella good sight ok..) attempting to wave, you've already left. you couldn't lie you were a little gloomy... juuus a little gloomy (lies LOL. you were really freaking gloomy.)

you sulked in your bedroom. you received a text, checking it immediately.

"kenyu <3: [name]? can u come outside :( soccer field? [name] please"

you rolled your eyes at the notification. i mean you were all ready for bed there's no way you'd be at the school soccer field at this time of the night! it would be such a hassle.

you stood at the side of the field. staring at the beautiful model in front of you. "hi kenyu." you mumbled kinda bitterly. how cliché. the moon was shining so brightly at dusk. the wind blew, disheveling yukimiya's nicely groomed hair.

"are you mad at the fact i was talking with another girl?" he smiled, jokingly. you shot him a look, one that shut him up and humbled him immediately.

switching from his playful manner he softened a little. "[name], that shouldn't matter y'know that right?" are you supposed to confess..? like the hell does he want from you?!

you rolled your eyes as you accidentally ran your mouth, "well it matters cause i like you." your eyes widened as you covered your mouth. shiiit. you n not knowing how to keep your mouth shut sometimes.. no matter how smart or a little dumb you were. running your mouth was jus always there i guess.

his orange eyes which were illuminated by the moon's glow widened a little. he let out a soft giggle, shaking his head as he took off his glasses.

"hell, i'd never expected you out of all people to like me." he laughed playfully. you wanted to punch his bitchass likable and charismatic ass... god.. "i like you too, [name]." you felt your jaw drop. (maybe it actually did LOL)

"there's no way- a tall gorgeous model n soccer player like you couldn't... kenyu yukimiya, raise your damn standards! if you care so much about your sight hell happened when you started liking me-" your rambling was quickly stopped as he bent slightly to your level, finger on your lip.

"because my eye sight is immaculate, that's why i've chosen to like you out of everyone." he began. "you radiate a type of energy i can't explain. you're breathtaking. even if you don't think so. [name]. you're perfect. just because you don't fit the standards of my type, doesn't mean i can't develop feelings for you."

yukimiya kept yapping. you cringed a little, wanting him to shut up, you pulled him into a kiss. what the hell. your inexperienced tongues dancing with each other. he bit your lower lip before pulling away.

a smile crawled onto his lips. "knew you were inexperienced, but never knew you were that inexperienced." he teased. holy shit the things you'd do to actually strike his face the way he would to a soccer ball..

before you could open your mouth you were embraced into a tight hug. "i actually like you a lot [name]. you're such an interesting character, i love you." he mumbled. is this guy being serious? whatever. you'll complain tomorrow.

hugging back, you two had a moment. oh, the things yukimiya would do for you to see yourself the way he'd saw you. like or love couldn't explain the vast amount of feelings he had for you. <3

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

a/n : good god this fic made me tweak so bad holy shaaat... i have like 1000 exams to study for and im doing this... peak responsibility <3 i wrte it for my pookies and god... sorry if its super cringe this is v v cliche i knoww :( yukimiya is not a character i can write well about HAHA hopefully ys enjoyed.. TT sorry if u wouldn't act like this, i too lose it when the fic does smth i personally wouldnt do but BEAR W ME PLS </3 bummy english and plot once more im sorryyy reminder that english is not my first lng... TT

mentions!: @hyacinthssslove, @wisteriasfallingforyou

226 notes · View notes

koalaflower · 5 months ago

Text

Midnight Love

pair. michael kaiser x fem!reader

genre. angst, smut, ANGST, in that exact order. mention of abuse. desperate, whiny man. mature. brief penetration and fingering. complex situationship. kaiser cries for you.

synopsis. he needs you. irrevocably.

a/n. my stomach was in knots writing this. yes, the title is inspired by girl in red. i like pain and suffering idk. in my mind, kaiser is just a little boy that wants to be loved.

word count. 4.6k

You met Kaiser in a bar late at night. You were busy celebrating a work promotion, and he was there to forget, seeking refuge from his father and his fans. Your paths crossed under the haze of alcohol, stumbling towards each other in a crowd of unfamiliar bodies. He worshipped you, and you held him close, pressing tender kisses onto his skin.

What began as a fling became a regular occurrence.

Once or twice a week, you’d find yourself in his arms. Always late at night and always vanishing by the morning. It was a simple, unspoken arrangement. You didn’t pry into his life, and he didn’t ask for anything more than the solace your touch provided. It was convenient and mutually beneficial. A well-deserved break from reality.

He didn’t need you. You were just another girl. Someone he found during a lonely night. Someone quick and easy.

So why did his heart ache when you called it off? Did you find someone new? Something real? Why did Kaiser, the picture of confidence, a man so callous and detached, find himself grappling with emotions he couldn’t name? You’d given him something he never thought he deserved—a constant love, even if it was physical, even if your kisses were in the heat of the moment.

Your presence filled a void he’d buried for years, and now, without you, he had no one to hold onto. No family to return to, nothing to call home. Kaiser wasn’t supposed to care. And yet, he couldn’t let you go.

The room falls silent when the words leave your lips. The last time. You said this was the last time. Your naked body curled around his, head on his bare chest as a thick blanket covered the mess you two made. But he didn’t feel warm. Not anymore.

“No.”

That’s all he could manage to say, voice lowering to an imperceptible whisper. His fingers tipped your head back to look at him, a glint of desperation in his deep blue eyes.

Your lips part, trapped in his forlorn gaze. You’ve never done anything more than touch, the two of you agreeing to avoid intimate conversations, even if your actions were anything but. Your mouth goes dry, unsure of how to respond.

“What?”

His thumb brushes your cheekbone gently, reverently, as his other hand pulls you closer to him. The desperation was seeping into his voice, despite how deep and composed it was. He couldn't let go of you. He couldn't let you slip through his fingers and end up in the arms of another man. He needed you.

“Don't leave,” he says, swiping his thumb over your lips, still swollen and rosy from his love.

“Kaiser,” you whisper, taken aback by the emotion in his voice, the way his lips quiver and eyes threaten to spill. “Our relationship isn’t professional. I don’t need it anymore. Not like I used to.”

You don’t need it anymore. You don’t need him anymore.

The words felt like a slap to his face, and it stung. You were going to leave him because of your pride and professionalism. He was ready to beg and plead for you to stay, throw away all his dignity and sink down to his knees. He would bring you pleasure again, to prove his worth, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Instead, his thumb continues to trace circles on your skin, feeling the way goosebumps prickle under his touch and how your breath catches for the last time.

“Professional?” he echoes, a quiet, sardonic laugh escaping his lips. That was it? Professional?

“That’s what we agreed to. To.. prevent whatever this is.” Your voice is level, calm. You talk to him like he’s a child that needs lecturing. “I can’t keep meeting you whenever one of us has a bad day. What we’re doing isn’t healthy.”

He wants to grab your shoulders and plead with you, but he doesn’t. Why? Why isn’t it healthy? How, when your presence silences and soothes the thoughts in his mind? When he drops into your arms like he belongs there? Like you’re his home after a long, desolate day.

The pain in his heart is too much to bear, his eyes locked onto yours as he listens to you speak those cruel words. You’re more than a fling, but the words are lodged in his throat. He couldn’t even defend himself, knowing you were right. He never saw you as anything but a convenient escape, someone to warm his bed, yet here he was, begging for more. How pathetic.

“Is that…” He pauses, tongue flicking over his lips. “Is that all I am to you? A fling?”

“That’s what we agreed to be, what you wanted this to be. Until we don’t need it anymore.”

He knows you’re right. He gave you the terms, listed the conditions. He set the boundaries and named the price. He was a fool, for not thinking it would lead to this.

His arm that was wrapped around you tightened, as if his embrace would reason with you and make you stay. His gaze never left yours, the intense blues of his eyes desperate. ‘Stay with me. Come back to me. Look at me like this. Forever,’ they whisper.

“And what if I need this?” He’s aware he sounds like a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum at their favorite toy being taken away, but he doesn’t care. He’s losing you, the only constant in his life, and it’s scaring him. “What if this is the only thing I live for?”

You run your fingers through your hair, an exhausted sigh escaping your lips. It makes his heart wrench because he’s the reason. Yet he can’t help but admire the way you look, skin still littered in his hickeys and hair a wild mess as the covers cling to your frame. You’re covered in his lips but you’re not his, and it’s a tough pill to swallow.

“Kaiser, you’re a celebrity. There’s countless other girls out there. Hell, you have so many fans, so many op—“

“They're not the same,” he says. Stern.

He didn't want any girl. He wanted you. He wanted you in his bed every night, to share whispered words in the dark, the softness of your lips on his. He wanted to feel you next to him, the warmth of your body against his own. No other girl could make his heart race and head spin the way you did. No one else could fill the void within him.

“Don't leave me,” he whispers again, lips tenderly pressed against your neck.

He couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth, the words his pride would have never let him utter.

“What are you saying?” You sit up, looking at him like he’s frail. Fragile.

He slowly sits up as well, the blankets pooling at his waist, leaving his bare chest exposed, blue roses traveling up the length of his arm. His hand reaches for yours, lacing your fingers together. This feels right. He can feel your pulse, the blood thrumming beneath your skin.

“I’m saying I don't want any other girls in my bed,” he murmurs, inhaling your scent. It makes him feel all tingly inside, all warm and fuzzy.

His thumb continues to rub your hand as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

“Only you,” he says.

He brings your intertwined hands up, placing your hand over his heart. He lets you feel how it beats quickly and hard.

He thinks, for a moment, that he’s gotten to you. That you’ll reciprocate. But you just let out a sharp exhale, your hand slipping from his.

He was disappointed with himself. How pathetic could he be? Showing his true self to someone who never saw him as anything more than a convenient body to sleep with. Someone to call when you’re lonely and need a distraction.

“You could've just said no.”

He can't believe that he allowed himself to be so vulnerable just for you to leave him behind. His fingers curl into the sheets as he bites back the pain in his chest. The covers aren’t warm. Not like your hold. They don’t kiss him and breathe life into his body.

“I’m sorry. This was a mistake,” you say, crushing him again. He feels the air drain from his lungs.

A mistake. The word feels like a knife twisting in his chest. A mistake. That's what he was to you. He swallows the lump forming in his throat, the bile threatening to rise.

He thought he had finally found someone who loved him, flaws and all. The way his mother hadn’t, the way his father hadn’t, and the way the world hadn’t. Yet here he is, reliving every rejection he’s ever faced.

He was abandoned. Again. Rejected, cast aside, replaced with someone who could give you what he couldn't.

“I can’t be with you,” you say, like it’s as natural as breathing and he was the one making a big deal out of nothing.

“You’re a celebrity,” you continue. “And I’m not anybody.”

Was that it? Were you scared? Scared of being thrust into the unknown? Scared of leaving everything behind? So many solutions ran through his head, things he wanted to say to convince you to stay, that you were somebody to him. But he stayed silent, foolish, because the finality in your tone was hurting him. His jaw tensed as he fought to keep his composure. He didn't trust himself to speak.

“I shouldn’t have—we shouldn’t have done anything that night,” you whisper. He can’t do anything but watch as you slip out of bed, even though it’s midnight. Even though you had just made love.

He needed an answer. He needed to know why all of this was a mistake, why you wanted to leave him, why he wasn't enough. Why he was never enough.

Not for you. Not for anyone.

“Why?” he asks, his voice weak and cracking. He’s never felt more humiliated in his life.

“I can’t love you.” You don’t even look at him as you speak. His heart shatters, fingers curling in and creasing the sheets. “I can’t possibly love you.”

Why? Why can’t you? He wasn’t asking for anniversaries or gifts or fancy dinner dates. He just wanted you to hug him, kiss his lips, soothe his loneliness like you had been. Only an hour of your day, a quarter of your time. You could set the conditions, you could negotiate the terms. He’d give it all, if only you’ll stay.

“Then why do I love you?”

Silence. The words hang in the air.

He couldn't cry, not now. He couldn’t bear seeing that look of pity on your face.

Kaiser was used to disappointment, used to being abandoned. But he had hope. He had hope that you loved him. Hope that you saw him as he saw you. He was a fool to believe you would love him, too. And now, you were leaving, and he was paying the price for it.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, fingers fumbling with the buttons on your shirt. It was wrinkled, crumpled from the way he slid it off of your body. You were a mess, and now he’s ruined.

“Just go,” he says, tearing his gaze away from you. “Don’t apologize.”

You get dressed, clothes covering all the reminders he’d left of his existence on your body. You spare him one last glance before leaving his condo.

He lays there, in silence, in the bed that still faintly smells like you. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how bad the ache is. He couldn't bring himself to move.

He feels his chest ache in a way he's never felt before. It was agony, pure torture. He never wanted to feel like this again. It was worse than when his mother abandoned him or when his father raised a fist against him. Because at least with you, he had something to lose.

Rejected. Abandoned. Unloved. Again and again. His entire life. He had no one. He was disposable. He wasn't worthy of love. He wasn't worthy of being loved. Not even by you.

The ghost of your touch still tingles on his body. The warmth of your skin against his still sears in his mind. He feels like a fool, an utter, pathetic fool, laying in an empty bed, clinging to a heavy blanket, and wishing it were you.

The season passed by in a blur. The February sky reminded you of his eyes, and the night, the dark highlights in his hair. You can’t ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach whenever his face flashes on television—advertisements, season highlights, news outlets—you couldn’t escape him. You think you imagine the way his laughter fades when the camera pans away from his face, but you don’t give yourself time to think about it, about him, as you switch the TV station. You don’t want to know if he’s hurting or not. His success is intact, and this is for the best.

It'd been a little over a month. A month that felt like a year. His mind was occupied by thoughts of you, consumed with the pain of the loss.

Nothing makes it better. He works day and night. Music, acting, interviews, anything to fill his days and distract himself from this dull ache. But it's all useless.

The tabloids are spiraling with rumors about his love life. New girls occupy the empty side of his bed, yet none of them stay long. They're just random hook ups that fill the void.

Kaiser has been drinking. More than before. Drowning in alcohol as a way to dull his pain. He wants to drink until he can't see. Until he can't think or feel.

So he blames it on the whiskey, when his feet drag him to your place during a particularly lonely night. He’s a drunken mess, broken and shivering, but it’ll all be over once he sees you. The air is crisp, his fingers trembling as he forms a fist and knocks on your door.

He's exhausted. He's miserable. He doesn't know how long it's been. But he can't forget you, can't move on. His mind is clouded with thoughts of you.

It’s 2 in the morning when you open the door, about to tell whoever it is to leave until you see him. He’s a mess. His eyes are glazed over as he leans against a pillar for support.

“Kaiser?” you ask, eyes wide. You can hardly believe what you’re seeing.

His shirt is halfway unbuttoned, his skin flushed, hair a mess, and his eyes are bloodshot. He can't cope by himself. He needs you. He needs your touch, your voice, and your presence. His heart, which he tried so hard to ignore, thumps hard in his chest, like it’d jump out of his body if you didn’t hold him.

“What—What happened to you..?” The question is so innocent, so simple, that it makes him want to cry, because he knows you know. He knows you’re just denying it, like how he’s denying the way his insides twist just by breathing near you.

He doesn’t resist when you pull him inside. You shut the door behind him in case someone sees you together. A fan, maybe. Or the paparazzi. He didn’t care once he felt your fingers brush against his skin, buttoning his shirt back up. Your brows were knitted in concern, and his fingers itched to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Each graze left behind a trail of heat, a feverish combination of heaven and hell.

He stays still, his eyes fluttering and struggling to stay open, but he feels it. He feels the butterflies in his chest, and the knot in his throat tightens. It's been so long. He had tried so hard to forget you. But he couldn't do it.

“My god. How much did you drink?” You ask, a disapproving, chastising tone in your voice, and he almost smiles. Words that would have annoyed him before, he’s now grateful for. He’s been missing you. It feels so good to see you.

You’re about to slip away from him again, muttering something about a glass of water. It’s all muffled in his ears, blurry in his vision. He holds your wrist, keeps you rooted to the spot, and he doesn’t let go.

His breath smells like alcohol and cigarettes when he kisses you. It burns, singes, scorches even, like you’ve done something forbidden. But neither of you pull away.

He kisses you until his lungs burn. And then he kisses you harder. He’s moving on autopilot, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, seeking you out, seeking your taste, so familiar and engrained into his senses.

He's missed the way he feels when you're right there in front of him, sighing against his lips and tugging his hair. His lips press a trail of sloppy kisses down to your jawline and across your neck. He kisses and bites like he’s trying to devour you, his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt to feel your skin.

“Mm… you’re drunk,” you say as you pull away, chest rising and falling as a string of saliva connects your lips. His cheeks are flushed, and your hands are cold.

His voice is low, a mere whisper. And his head is pounding, but he doesn't care. Not right now. Not when he’s so close to you again.

“Don't care,” he replies, kissing your neck once more before lifting his head up to look at you. His mind is a drunken mess, his thoughts running a mile a minute. Everything he wants to say, he can’t.

“This isn’t a good idea.” Your hands cup his face, breaking through the haze of influence when your eyes bore into his. He searches for it, but he can’t see the love reflected back. He can’t, and it hurts all over again.

Just one more night, and maybe he'll sober up. Just one more. That's all he needs. Another night of being able to hold you and hear your soft noises as he makes love to you.

“Kaiser.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. He wants to tell you to stop looking at him like that, with pity and concern. But all that comes out is a soft whisper.

“Please…”

He hates that look in your eyes. He hates how you see him now. Why can't you love him the way you used to? He doesn't deserve your pity. He needs you, and it's killing him that you don't feel the same.

You nod, and the relief breaks through him like a dam. The butterflies, the spark, it’s all there again. His hands move to the back of your thighs, picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

He knows this place. He's been here many times before. He’s memorized the portraits, the trinkets, and the decor around your room. He knows how to get to the bed without pulling away from you, his fingers already tugging your shirt up and off. He can't wait to feel everything all over again, can't wait to feel whole, to feel good again.

His kisses travel from your lips down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin and leaving marks in his wake. His hands move from your waist to the back of your thighs. They wander, memorizing every inch. Remembering.

You moan when he dips a finger into you, and he groans at the sounds tumbling from your lips. He wanted to hear you come undone, wanted you to cry his name, just as you used to.

It’s so easy. To slide another finger in. To curl it against the spot you’re most sensitive. He knows every flutter of your eyes, every buck of your hips as your hands pull him closer.

He’ll take his time to savor the feel of you. Every curve, every dip, every scar, every inch of your perfect body. He wanted to memorize you the way he first did when this all started, so many months ago.

Your legs are tightly wound around him when he pushes the head of his cock inside. He’s gasping, breathing heavily against your skin as your heat welcomes him so readily. Like you were made for him. His head is still fuzzy, but nothing compares to how he feels in this moment.

His fingers dig into your hips, forehead pressing against yours. He can't look at you, not yet. He'll lose himself if he stares into your eyes for too long. He just wants to focus on this, on the warmth of your body against his own.

His eyes open just a little, seeing you, and you look so pretty, so ruined as you gasp and grip at his arms. He almost cums on the spot, with the way your body squeezes around him like a vice. The way you looked and felt and sounded is just like he remembers.

You're ruining him, and he’s letting you.

He knows he can't stay like this forever. He knows this isn't real and he'll have to feel that loss again tomorrow, but for now, for tonight, you’re his.

You beg for him to move faster, and he can't deny you. You, who looks like an angel, cries like a siren, and pulls him in like a vixen. He wants to ruin you the way you're ruining him.

He's a fool. A fool who comes back to you time and time again, who loves you more than you'll ever know. He doesn't stop, no matter how much his chest burns or his head aches.

And then he’s ruined it.

His stupid, drunken self lets the three words slip from his lips, in a moment of passion and lust. He lets them tumble into existence, lets them tear from the depths of his being.

They're drunk and sloppy and inaudible, but you hear them as a muffled groan against your lips. Then he realizes, and time comes to a standstill. His eyes widen, heart thumping against his chest, but he doesn’t feel it. He feels nothing at all.

“I love you,” he said. And he knows he’s ruined it all again.

It’s over. The moment is broken. You heard him, and reality is crashing down.

The words hang in the air between you. He knew he messed up. He was drunk. He didn’t mean to say it, yet here he was, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. Words were stuck in his throat, an apology ready at the tip of his tongue. He waited for you to tell him to leave, but you didn’t.

It hurts more than imaginable when you close your eyes and tell him to keep moving. His lungs burn because you don’t say it back.

His hips rut faster, fingers almost bruising your skin. You cry out and he can feel that you’re close, but it’s not the same as before. You’re tense. You’re pretending. And he knows your thoughts are far from him.

It's wrong. It’s all wrong. Nothing feels as good as it did. He can tell by the way you aren't as responsive to him as before. He tries to get it over with quickly, hoping it'll end soon because it hurts more than helps now.

He wants to feel that same spark of love and passion he’s been craving so badly since you left. He wants it to ignite all those butterflies in his stomach, but he's only left with a hollow ache in his chest.

He needs release, even though it hurts. He can't bring himself to look at you, afraid of the look you're giving him. He wants you to cry his name, but it won't happen. He can tell by the way you're laying. Your body is like a coil, so stiff and wound up.

His thrusts are faster, but you look so detached. Tears slid down his face.

“Why, Y/n?” he asks through grunts and the sound of skin against skin. His breathing grows more ragged as silent tears continue to stain his face.

You close your eyes, unable to look at him. Even as his tears slip onto your skin, even as he kisses your neck.

Kaiser can't bring himself to open his eyes either. He never should've come here, never should've kissed you, never should've let himself get his hopes up.

You both came undone. Your walls are fluttering around him, and his eyes are glued to the way his fluids seeped out of you. You’re both panting, wrapped in a blanket of post-clarity.

He lay beside you, his chest heaving. His vision is blurry, yet he can still see you. He can see that you’re not looking at him, and it only makes him feel worse. He’s fantasized about this since the day you left, and yet here you are, not looking at him. Not speaking to him.

He tries to catch his breath, but every inhale burns like he’s underwater. God, it hurts. His hands curl into fists as he waits for you to do something. Say something.

“…I’ll get you water,” you murmur, standing before slipping out of the room.

His heart sinks the moment you get up. You're right in front of him, yet he feels so far from you. He feels so numb, his hands trembling as every emotion seems to sweep over him at once.

When you return with a white mug in your hands, he’s already dressed. Already stumbling past you and heading for the door.

He needs to get away. He wants to stay forever, but he needs to go. His fingers curl around the handle of your front door.

“Kaiser, wait.”

He freezes, listening. He won’t look back. He can't, or he’ll never find the strength to leave.

“Just… drink this before you go,” you say.

He hesitates, but he couldn't deny you, not even now. His hand releases the door handle, fingers curling around the handle of the cup of water you offered him instead. He doesn't meet your gaze. He has to look down, afraid that he'll do something he'll regret as you button up his crumpled shirt for him.

“Stay.” Your voice is quiet, and he has to strain to hear.

He stills, lips parting. Maybe he heard you wrong. Maybe you meant something else. His mind, despite how cloudy it felt, filled with hope again. Or maybe, just maybe—

“Stay safe.”

Stay safe.

Not stay.

Just stay safe.

You didn't want him to stay. Why would you? You didn't love him.

You look away, leaning against the counter as he gulps down the water like it’ll salvage him.

His grip on the cup tightens, so badly wanting to throw it against the wall. He stays silent, placing the cup down on the counter with a trembling hand.

Your fingers wrap around the ceramic, rinsing it underneath the faucet. He watches as you wash away his touch, his lips, and his love. The way you do so easily since the first night.

He can't look at you as he opens the door and leaves.

He had hope that you’d say it back, that you’d tell him to stay the night. He was naive enough to believe you'd love him too if he’d stayed. No. You just wanted him to stay safe. He was just a drunk hook up to you. Nothing more. Nothing less.

#Spotify #michael kaiser #bllk kaiser #kaiser x reader #bllk #blue lock kaiser #kaiser smut #kaiser x you #smut #angst angst angst #angst with no happy ending #x reader #blue lock #anime #manga #kaiser i love you #situationships #nonchalant ahh reader

291 notes · View notes