ariilovesmoney

[ariilovesmoney]

BLUE LOCK || RIDING THEM

...hello. lets just pretend I haven't been gone for like 300 years. yeah? ahem. this one includes isagi, rin, sae and kaiser.

ISAGI YOICHI

He's floored. Floored, I tell you. Doesn't know where to put his hands. Where should he put them? Fuck, he can't even think right now. He just grips the bedsheets with a pretty "oh, I can't, I ca-nnn't..." and throws his head back into the pillows in a struggle like he can't handle it. Because, and he said it, he can't. This guy can't even open his eyes to watch you. No, seriously, it feels so good that his face is tweaking.

It's so warm. So fucking warm. Warming his dick so nicely that he can barely feel it anymore. If he looks down, he'll catch sight of your sweet pussy spurting hot droplets of shimmering juice onto his happy trail whilst you bounce like an annoying fat kid junked up on E-numbers. If he looks down. Not that he will just yet. No, he'll cum against his will, and he refuses to make a fool of himself. Haha, like he isn't already.

He's the type to moan like a bitch until he gets too overwhelmed, then the pathetic, uncontrollable growling starts to come into play as if he's pissed off by how utterly, debilitatingly fucking fantastic your silky hole feels when its clinging to the base of his cock each time you drop your weight down on his barely restrained hips.

"Yeah, yeah, YEAHRRGH, fuck! Get it, get it, baby, get it– h'ohmygod-..."

Poor bastard's gritting his teeth and everything trying not to ascend to the pussy gods. For a hot second, you actually think he might burst into tears beneath you. You feel quite proud when he manages to hold it back, especially with how he's breathing like he's been winded. What a good little soldier. Too bad this is only the first round out of the three you've planned and he's already hyperventilating. You won't tell him that though, gotta conserve that ego of his.

"Ahhnn, 's gonna make me pass out- fuck me more, ah- 'm not ready to cum but its too good, its too fucking much... oh no-"

N'aw. Yoichi, you're so cute.

ITOSHI RIN

Hey, so. You know how, like... when you're riding, you're supposed to be doing most of the work? Aha yeah, Rin doesn't get that. Doesn't apply to him. At all. You're kinda frustrated at first, breathlessly asking him to stop being so ignorant and let you bounce of your own accord for once. No, he doesn't let you. Reliant behaviour? You can piss off if you think he'll allow himself to inch his pinky toe in that direction.

"You asked to be on top, you're on top. I'm not ignoring you, I'm– tch, would you fuck off? Don't whine in my face, its annoying as hell- nngh,"

He's got his feet planted on the quaking mattress, using that handy core strength of his to brutally buck up into you, observing closely with the face of a wild fucking animal. Those big, veiny hands are locked in place and kneading the tender fat of your asscheeks like two prime cuts of his favourite meat, and he's using them to slam you down in time with his gut-renovating thrusts. He locks eyes with you on purpose, not slowing down no matter how much you glare down at him while he's going so fast you almost choke on your own breath. Try not to take it personal, okay? Or do, your choice. Your lovely Rin-Rin couldn't care less right now, he just wants to hear you sobbing. Wants to watch you go stupid on his huge dick. To be the one still in control in a position that implies the opposite. He's just a big selfish bully, through and through.

"Careful, don't bite your tongue. I'm not taking responsibility when it's your own fault you can't take dick properly."

You're sniffling and crying your heart out soon enough, broken voice jumping along with your manhandled body whilst he snaps his strong hips up into you like a seasoned professional. You don't even know why he's so good at it. No porn, just game footage. Doesn't jack off to blow off steam, he trains. The entitled prick's a hardcore soccer obsessionist, now how the fuck does he know to press his palm down against your bladder like that? Before you know it, he's having to stop his hips from twitching involuntarily so he can lean up and help you out with a tissue off the nightstand. Begrudgingly.

"Uhn, uh, uh– gh, for fucks sakes, hold on. Hold on... snot-nosed girlfriend, god, what 'm I doing..."

You're already fully breaking down on his cock, hands fisting at his broad chest and holding on for dear life like an amateur at a rodeo... and you really thought you could be in control? The wild bull does what it wants, babe. You might wanna hold onto his horns.

ITOSHI SAE

Um, you wanna ride the Itoshi Sae? You're... kidding, right? No? I mean, I commend you for your bravery and determination, and so does the man himself. But darling... this ain't try-outs. You're in the big leagues now. If you want a permanent place in this man's life, you better earn it with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he's so generously handed you. He didn't have to. He has, though. So don't fuck this up. It's all riding on you from this moment on, pun intended. All love xx

"Ah-ah. Ass facing me. I'm not really a fan of the secondhand embarrassment it'll bring me, watching you try not to cry."

Oh, what a cunt. Although if anything, it just makes you wanna give him the ride of his life. You ignore the humiliation fluttering around behind your ribs like evil swallowtails. His dick is phat, and you definitely understand why he said what he did. The moment you feel the ache of his tip pushing against your cervix like it's fucking impatient? There's already an ugly expression tugging at your features, teeth digging into your wobbling bottom lip with a painful pressure. Whilst you're very safely starting to grind on it, he lets out an unimpressed, downright mocking sigh – "what's this... oh, right, ever-present disappointment" – from behind you, casually walking two fingers over the curve of your asscheek like he's got nothing to occupy himself with. So... you may be on the verge of tears. But fuck if there isn't a flame of sheer vengeance scorching the wings of those swallowtails now. You let him know it, too. Pussy strangling him and walls rolling in waves like its trying to breathe in his soul.

"Would you take a nice, long fucking look at that. She's somewhat competent after all. Show me that ego, let her out for me."

He's completely still as he tries to hide that his breathing is quickening with every slap slap slap of the underside of your thighs against his sticky hips, not once taking his sharp eyes off your jiggling, bouncing ass like he's waiting for you to make a mistake. But you don't. You don't. Your thighs kill, and his veiny cock is twitching so much you start to think it's threatening to destroy you in morse code if you keep moving, but you don't stop to feel it. Sae wants your ego? Fine, he can have it. He's groaning as if it pains him to see you successfully prove yourself on his girthy dick, his tense hands finally moving out from behind his head so he can reach forward and spin you around by the waist, the perfect texture of your insides grazing all over his tip with the movement. The low hum of approval he blesses you with is- UGH, otherworldly.

"Hn, shit... there she is, the girl worthy of my fucking effort. Yeah, you heard me. Give me a nice "thank you for choosing me, Sae" and I might let you cum on this cock."

MICHAEL KAISER

Riding this man is the opposite of whatever the fuck you thought the experience would be. Let me guess. Classy. Open silk robes, a glass of sloshing red wine in hand, condescending little comments falling from pretty, parted lips in the flickering candlelight. God, you're so wrong it's funny. Michael Kaiser is a certified fucking hazard. He'll force you to ride him sideways if it makes his dick feel better. This man sits up while you're bouncing on it to wrap his hand around your throat and hiss along to the sound of your shallowed breaths. If the bed gives out with how much you're both moving, could he ever give a fuck? Not in the slightest. He moans and says and acts however he wants, and you will have no choice but to work with it.

"Ah, f- ah, ah! Fuck it like this– like this. Are you braindead, klutz? Make me feel like I've settled for a hopeless virgin again and you'll find there's dire fucking consequences."

Oho, you'd punch this mouthy prick if his face wasn't so pretty. However... biiiiig sigh. What Kaiser wants, Kaiser gets. So you swallow down your bruising pride and make damn sure to ride that irritatingly perfect cock the way he's barking at you to. And while you're at it, you're going to pretend to hate the angle at which his engorged tip is nudging at your insides. Huh? Was that a whimper from you just then? Fuck no! Must've been the, uh... the wind. Or something. His canines glint in the darkness surrounding you as he bucks higher than ever into your clenching pussy, just to let himself drop back down on the mattress with an "oof...", his shiny member being yanked out of you by gravity. Doesn't care that you give him a look that could kill a thousand men. He only does this to watch how your glistening, sticky slick clings to his cockhead like a thick, silken spiderweb before splattering all over the salty skin of his abdomen.

"You're so disgustingly sloppy. Luckily enough for you, I'm turned on by your sad inability to be classy. As humiliating as that is. Enough wasting time now, come on. Put it back in before I lose interest."

He's SO bluffing, it's sickening. You know he'll be asking to brush your hair and give you cuddles as thanks. Fucking unbelievable.

||||||||

[ariilovesmoney]

Rin Itoshi would absolutely panic like crazy when he'll hear you groaning in pain from period cramps for the first time.

This man has never had a girlfriend before you. No sisters. No female cousins. Not even a normal female friend. The only women he's interacted with are probably the team doctor and maybe a manager once a month. That's it.

So when you suddenly double over, clutching your stomach, gasping or letting out a quiet scream?

He'll just stand there like:

"What happened?"

"I'm fine. Period cramps."

And when you'll say, "It's normal. It happens every month," he'll look at you like you just admitted to surviving being stabbed monthly.

You'll tell him to calm down and rest beside you, but he won't be in the room anymore. No, he'll be in the kitchen whisper-screaming at his phone like it personally offended him.

Rin Itoshi's Google search history at 12:47 PM:

"How to stop period cramps FAST"

"Do girls DIE from period pain??"

"How do I help girlfriend with period pain no experience"

"Best foods for uterus"

"How to compress pain out of body without hurting her more"

"Can you remove a uterus safely in your own house (hypothetical)"

He'll come back with:

A mug of hot water (not tea. just… hot water.)

A sock filled with hot rice (he found it on a blog)

A banana (??? for potassium apparently)

A blanket (!!! Because Google said warmth)

And a whole notebook because he's now tracking your cycle himself

And then he'll sit beside you, eyes wide, completely pale like:

"Why does it hurt this much? Should we call someone? Are you dying?"

"No Rin. This is normal. My uterus is just throwing a tantrum."

He'll just stare at you like you just casually told him you live with daily torture.

You'd be half dying but also blushing because this man is SO serious about helping.

And he'd say something like:

"I'm going to fix it next month. I'll be prepared."

"Rin! That's not how estrogen works...."

[ariilovesmoney]

keeping this love in a photograph.

opening the photos he had kept hidden, sae looked over your sleeping figure— his wife of 35 years.

at first he thought the use of these pictures was unnecessary, they lived in a modern age after all. but when he opens the album, oh, how it felt so real to him now.

the first photo in the album was you and him on your fifth date; a classic private dinner that he had arranged that ended with him taking you somewhere else to steal a kiss.

“why are we her—? mm—!” his lips captured yours, behind the closed curtains; a silhouette of two lovers that catched one and the other with heart of gold.

his heart was beating slowly— but it’s rhythm like a song that records play; as he flipped another page, the photo showed his 21st birthday.

you kissed his cheek, surprising him just after he woke up; a small cake written ‘i love you’ decorated on top. “happy birthday sae,” a smile crept to his face. “good morning to you too.”

“hey, this means you can now drink legally.” you winked— “i mean, not that you drink at all.” you mumbled and an unexpected chuckle came out of him. “mm. thank you, my love.”

a paper swept is heard over the room as a picture of you holding up your engagement ring shot up; a note written beside it ‘bro proposed!! (went wet tho)’

that night was full of doubts of himself; he was scared. when he shouldn’t be, he’s your boyfriend after all. but he is— he is when he’s about to propose to you.

if he gets rejected; it’ll be at the activity you always wanted to do. so he rented a wooden boat, and when the moment is right, under the moonlight and the stars as it’s witness.

“will you marry me?” that made the boat shook as you threw yourself over him and the boat almost turned upside down— until he balanced it. unfortunately water still managed to splash over and hits you; he still went to hug you.

the pictures changed, and changed— your appearance in each one he fell a little more; and then the photo of their kids came; ‘my our, pride and joy.’ written beside it.

their oldest, already married now; blessed with two kids that he can proudly call his grandchildren, his second; the one who inherited his talents, grew up to being better than he ever was, and their youngest; still in college with endless achievements.

how he is just, so proud of them.

he is grateful, for this memories; and you that kept him alive.

©chevxyn — thank you for your support.

[ariilovesmoney]

Look, I’m just like you now! 💜🔥

[ariilovesmoney]

College Au! Xiao....

- you are also roomates

ps. this is male reader

Fucking him inside a cubicle at the campus bathrooms against the door where one loud moan would let everybody know what's happening inside. Using one hand to shove your fingers inside his mouth to keep him quiet and the other to hold his one leg up to keep him steady. Thrusting hard and fast into him as if it was your last fuck (which it isn't because we all know you'd continue once you get back to your shared dorm).

Xiao's eyes rolling back from the amount of pleasure he's receiving. Your dick fills him up so well making him cum one too many times. Once you remove your fingers from his mouth he throws out a bunch of words begging you to "Go fa- ngh faster please! ah!". Once you're close to cumming he'd once again beg you this time to cum inside him "Please cu-uh cum ah.. ngh cum inside me please please please!!".

You can't resist Xiao so you do as he pleases and you cum inside him, filling him up so good and excessively which makes some cum drop to the floor.

After calming down for a bit, you wear your clothes and help Xiao wear his and carry him out of the bathroom to bring him back to your shared dorm to further continue your onslaught on his tight ass.

[ariilovesmoney]

“ AND STILL, YOU CAME ”

FERAL XIAO — a beast who was never meant to be seen, and yet you found him . . .

gender neutral reader / feral xiao x reader / emotionally scarred / aggressive trauma response / desperate under the surface / he says he’ll kill you but you’re the only one who’s ever spoken gently to him / turning him soft

masterlist | intro post | carrd . . . a/n: been searching for a fic like this about xiao for so long, so I decided to just make it myself!! I think it's perfect with his lore. (btw dw!! part two of my last post is coming after this)

Ruins bore no name here. Time had long since scoured the stonework bare, ivy veining over toppled columns like bloodless threads on a withered corpse. What lingered of the ancient structure slumbered beneath the cliffs of Minlin, swallowed by bramble and a fog thick as mourning veils. Locals spoke of it in hushed tones, whispers of madness, of vanished travelers, of the god who once ruled here and went mad beneath the weight of his divinity. Even so, your footsteps carried you forward.

Wind stirred the trees restless, circling like breath from something snoring just out of sight. The lantern in your grasp flickered at your hip, casting unsteady shadows across the moss streaked walls. You hadn’t meant to stray this far from the trail, but the pull had been undeniable; an invisible string winding into your chest, plucking something deep behind your ribs. It wasn’t a voice. It was a hum, thrumming low against your heartbeat, and it asked only that you listen.

Soon, the corridor narrowed. Then came a breath, a sound so low and guttural that it was almost animalistic. Beyond the final archway, the air shifted, heavy with the scent of rust and ancient stone. When your fingers brushed the wall, dust fell away to reveal carvings: clawed talons, coiling beasts, a sigil wrapped in iron chains. Something had lived here, or died here, perhaps both.

The corridor opened into a cavern, hush settling over it, broken only by the slow drip of water and the soft glow of fungi clinging to the ceiling like scattered stars. Below, a shallow pool mirrored the pale light, sending ripples over iron bars sunken deep into the floor. Behind them, hunched in the furthest corner, was a man. Or what was left of one.

At first glance, you took him for a beast. Too lean, too sharp, limbs curled tight, hair falling in tangled, sage-dark knots across his face. Thick shackles clasped around his wrists, wrought from iron that shimmered with faint sigils. Seals, still active, still pulsing with containment. A muzzle was plastered over his mouth, forged from the same cursed metal. He didn’t move, but the weight of his gaze struck all the same, piercing the dark like a blade sliding clean between ribs.

A growl vibrated from his chest, ragged and low, somewhere between warning and wound. You startled, but didn’t back away. There was no true malice in the sound. Only pain. When he finally raised his head, you saw the color of his eyes—gold, but not the gentle hue of fireflies or autumn fields. Starless gold, fierce and ancient, the kind that remembered ruin, the kind that burned without warmth.

“Leave.” His voice scraped like gravel, coarse from disuse. “Go now. Before—” He choked on the words as his body shuddered, then lunged just far enough for the chains to snap taut and yank him backward. The force dragged him to his knees, spine arched, breath torn in broken bursts. Still, you did not flinch.

“You’re hurt.”

His chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, sweat glinting despite the chill. “I said go,” he snarled. The muzzle warped his words, saliva stringing at its edges. You took a step closer.

His entire frame recoiled like a wounded thing. He thrashed, slamming his shoulder against the bars, wild with panic. But in the midst of the fury, you saw something else. Not rage, not madness, but fear. His hands trembled where they met the ground, not from wrath, but restraint. And that tremor said more than any growl ever could.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you said gently.

“I will,” he grounded out through clenched teeth. “That’s what I do. That’s what he made me do. I—” His words faltered, voice cracking like splintering ice. “I don’t get to choose.”

“I believe you,” you whispered. “That you don’t want to.”

No reply came, just the rasp of breath and the soft clink of chains. But as you studied him, you began to see more than just shadow and weaponry. A jawline, high cheekbones half obscured by matted hair, the silver web of scars across his collarbone, thin and branching like frost on a window. He had once been something else. Someone else.

“You should hate me,” he said at last, voice hollow. “They all do. They scream when they see me. Or they don’t get the chance.”

“I don’t hate you.”

His head jerked, disbelief lighting his face like a spark. Anger, sorrow, and something else flashed in his eyes. “You should,” he said, almost a plea. “You have to.”

“What’s your name?” you asked.

The question hit him like a blow. “That’s not—names don’t—” A swallow. “I don’t have a name. Not anymore.”

“Then I’ll give you one.”

“No.” His voice broke. “No. Don’t. Don’t make me something I’m not.”

You knelt by the bars, closer now than anyone had dared in what felt like centuries. The space between you was thin, filled only with breath and stillness. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow, and maybe the day after that.”

His head whipped up. “Don’t.”

“I will.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I trust you not to.”

“You’re stupid,” he spat. “Naive. You think kindness will undo what I am? What he made me into?”

Your hand rested just inches from the rusted bars. “No,” you said. “But maybe it will remind you that you were more, once, and can be again.” A silence thicker than smoke settled between you. Then you stood, his breath caught, and you turned away.

“Wait,” he said, but too softly for you to hear. The word broke apart behind his teeth, something like a sob, or maybe it was only the wind through the cracks in the stone. He pressed his forehead to the ground once you were gone.

Prayed you would never return.

Prayed that you would.

It began again with footsteps. Softer this time—not the cautious tread of a stranger stumbling through forgotten ruins, but the quiet return of someone who remembered the way. They came like the first stirrings of spring through wintered trees, patient and inevitable, brushing against the silence with the grace of thawing snow.

He remained still in his chains. The memory of your voice lingered like the sweetness of a forgotten lullaby, one he had not permitted himself to dream of. Dreams were dangerous things, after all. He knew this better than anyone.

When you appeared at the entrance of his prison once more, light wrapped around your figure like a misplaced sunbeam breaking into a tomb. In your arms, a cloth bundle was cradled against your chest, tied with a ribbon the color of old blood. Red—like orders barked through gritted teeth, like shackles that seared his skin, like the stains on his conscience. Yet somehow, in your hands, the color seemed gentler. Like the ribbon of a child’s gift, not a soldier’s command.

“I brought you something,” you said, voice soft as dusk. “It’s not much.

He didn’t look at you. If he stayed still long enough, maybe you would vanish like all the other foolish ghosts who thought they could reach him. Maybe you'd realize what he was and leave him to rot among the stones and silence. But you were already kneeling, already unwrapping the bundle with fingers as careful as if you were handling something sacred. From the folds emerged a small wooden container, simple and worn. Steam curled from its seams.

“It’s Almond Tofu. My favourite. I thought you might like it too.”

He bared his teeth, slow and deliberate, the muzzle pressing against his cheekbones with the motion. “I told you to stay away.”

“And I told you I don’t listen very well,” you replied, calm as though he hadn’t just threatened to maim you.

“I could tear your eyes from your skull.”

“If you wanted to, you would’ve done it already.”

You stood, walked past the shattered threshold of his cage, ignoring his previous words. As though you weren’t walking into the belly of a creature who had once been made to devour dreams and leave behind husks. The metal of the muzzle clicked faintly as Xiao’s breath hitched, chains groaning beneath the sudden tension in his limbs.

He said nothing as you sat down beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed the boundary of his karmic debt. And then, without asking, you reached toward the clasp of the muzzle that had seared skin and spirit alike. He flinched, not from fear, but from disbelief.

It did not burn you.

Your fingers brushed the iron like it was no more dangerous than a breeze on stone. With a soft click, the clasp gave way. The muzzle slipped free and fell to the ground with a hollow sound that echoed louder than it should have. Xiao blinked. The air against his lips felt strange, wind against skin that hadn’t felt the sun in years. He said nothing, but the silence was no longer sharp.

You lifted a spoonful of the tofu, steam curling from the trembling surface. “Here.”

“I don’t eat human food,” he muttered, though his gaze followed the spoon with the reluctant intensity of a starving animal who refused to beg.

“Then pretend. Just one bite.”

He stared at you like you were made of thorns and light. Then, without breaking the stare, he leaned forward and took the bite. The taste bloomed on his tongue like a long buried memory, soft, sweet, subtle as snowfall. It was nothing like the raw meat the god used to feed him between commands. It was gentle, kind. As if food could carry emotion and this one had been made by someone who’d never once tasted cruelty. His brows drew together.

“Well?” you asked. Another beat of silence.

“...More.” A smile tugged at your lips, and you didn’t hide it.

The second bite came easier. Then the third. And by the fifth, he was sitting straighter, eyes no longer wary, but puzzled. He couldn’t understand why something so simple had shaken the dust off a corner of his soul he thought had died centuries ago. And when the last bite was gone, he looked at the empty container with the quiet devastation of someone realizing a miracle had a limit.

He looked at you then, truly looked, and hated that something in his chest gave way when he did.

You began to talk. Not of this prison or the god whose voice still echoed in his bones, but of the world beyond these walls. You painted it with your words, each one a brushstroke: ships that floated among clouds, skies blooming with lanterns during moonlit festivals, gardens that glowed like constellations, and markets alive with the scent of dumplings and the sound of laughter.

He didn’t interrupt. Not once. His eyes remained fixed on your face, as if the movement of your lips could become a lifeline. He drank in every word like a man parched, terrified to ask for more.

When you told him about the wind on the Jade Chamber’s terraces, his fingers twitched.

When you spoke of honey lotus pastries, his mouth parted ever so slightly, as though tasting them from memory he never had.

And when you said, barely above a whisper, “I’ll take you there one day,” he turned his head from you.

“You wont,” he said, but the words no longer bled bitterness. They sounded tired, soft.

He didn’t stop you when you placed the empty tofu dish beside his chains, didn’t growl when you stood, brushing dirt from your knees. Didn’t speak when you turned to leave, but his eyes clung to your back. When the echo of your footsteps began to fade into the cavern, his voice cracked into the silence.

“...Bring more tofu.” It was the first time in four hundred years he had asked for anything.

The chains didn’t feel quite as heavy that night.

you can support me on ko-fi !

[ariilovesmoney]

Hey just say the tokyo rev reuquest with smacking their butt lol could you do the same thing but in reverse 😏 same characters with: mikey, sanzu, kazutora, izana, sanzu timeksip

Thank u so much

tokyo rev smacking YOUR booty 😩✋💢🍑

a/n: ask, and you shall receive ;). this is such a hilarious concept and COMPLETELY on-brand for them. selected characters: mikey, sanzu, kazutora, izana reaction to you smacking THEIR booty

manjiro "mikey" sano *innocently* "what?" mikey acts like he doesn't know what you're talking about when you let out a loud, "hey!!!" while you cover your boom boom. his smirk he's trying to hide gives it away. "i'm just... appreciating." "by smacking my ass?" you say incredulously. with no hesitation he says, "yes." "there are other ways to show your 'appreciation' than touching me 24/7." you reply with faked exhasperation and an eye roll, but you're smiling. he then wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder with a whine, "can't help it babe." he nuzzles his face into your neck, his hands slipping down to your waist. he doesn't stop there. he doesn't speak a word, but his hands slide further down your form, cupping your ass with either hand. he lets out a shuttering sigh, his voice lowered. "so. fucking. soft." you swallow as he presses his body against you. clearing your throat, you mutter, "you good?" he answers with an open-mouthed kiss on your neck and a slow shake of his head. "i need to have you. right now. please."

kazutora hanemiya "haa..."

kazutora stares first. like, he's definitely thinking about it. imagining it, even. and if you catch him, he'll sniff and look away (but his cheeks are dusted pink). if you're completely oblivious, minutes will pass with his eyes completely fixated. he doesn't even blink. if he finally does smack your ass, it's honestly more of a tap. like, he can't help being gentle. he's lowkey scared you'll get mad at him. your head whips to him as he walks by, completely avoiding eye contact with you. "did you just... touch my butt?" his eyes are still averted when he swallows thickly and says, "maybe." your mouth breaks into a half-smile. "why?" he looks down. "because... it really—you just—" you step closer, forcing his eyes to meet yours. "i just what kazutora?" his breathing picks up at your proximity. "you're just really... i like the way you look." you laugh. "it seems like you were only fixed on one part." a blush creeps up his neck and he swallows again. "it's just really, really hard not to." feeling bold in his embarrassment, you grab his wrists and place them against your ass, subsequently eliciting a gasp from your boyfriend. "well then don't just stop there." you wink. he groans in response.

haruchiyo sanzu "sorry not sorry." the audacity of this man. one minute your stretching your arms up over your head with a sigh and the next sanzu's hand slaps against ass. hard. "ow! what the hell sanzu?!" you shout. "sorry not sorry. you shouldn't be seducing me like that if you don't want me to act on it," he smirks. "i was literally stretching." "yeah. it was really fucking hot. i got the full view." "you're such a perv." you scoff. he raises his hands up in defense. "hey, i'm just doing my due diligence. it's practically my job to touch you." scowling, you say, "i think i'll have a handprint on my ass now, thanks to you." grinning, he says, "can i check?" you groan, "stopppp i literally can't with you right now!" his eyes are light when he replies, "i know you love it. i mean, the sounds you made last night are all the proof i need." you're not actually mad per se, but he's actually doing the absolute most, so you stomp off, face flushed. "you're grounded until you're no longer in, like, fucking heat or something." he calls after you, "so no backshots tonight?" "GROUNDED."

izana kurokawa "been wanting to do that for awhile." he's the one you might not expect. like, he is the kind of guy that yes, is a little (a lot) wild, but when it comes to you, he's actually very lowkey. so it comes out of left field when you're standing in front of the mirror doing your makeup and his hand lands against your butt. if you've known him for awhile or have been dating him for a couple months, he might not always be vocal about it, but you'd know he's seriously dirty-minded. half the time when he's looking at you, he's mentally undressing you, stripping you down, picturing his hands exploring your figure. if you're perceptive enough, you can actually pinpoint the moment his pupils dilate and his eyes have that unmistakable edge of pure lust. "izana... you..." he blinks slowly. "been wanting to do that for awhile." you're in partial disbelief. "for real?" he raises an eyebrow like he can't believe you're even asking. "yes?" "but you're usually so...reserved." he blinks again. "doesn't mean i don't think about it." you can't resist the urge to ask, "how often?" "a lot." "what do you think about?" he swallows, his gaze wandering down your body. "lots of things." "like what?" you push further, your head tilting. his eyes meet yours again with determination and challenge. "keep asking and you'll find out."

a/n: lowkey idk if i'm just ooc-ing izana but like... hear me out lmao 💀 hope you enjoyed pookies

[ariilovesmoney]

DAMN BRUH, LOVED THIS SMM

the old version of you (michael kaiser x fem. reader)

summary: michael kaiser was a childhood friend. maybe teenhood. you guys went to the same high school, and at the time you were both really close. fame had changed him. it’s changed you. when the two of you rediscover each other as adults, how will things play out?

notes: sorry my stories are basically all the same nowadays lmao

chapter 1: rewritten

you’re casually walking around town, not much going on in your life. you desperately needed a break from work. the breeze felt nice on your body, and the music blasting in your ears matched the vibe outside. the colors of the city vibrated, and you were enjoying the time before accidentally bumping into a stranger. their shoulder hits yours, and you stumble backwards. 

“i’m so sorry! are you alri-“ you say, looking up at the stranger.

the familiar, sharp blue eyes stare down at you. his gaze lingers. your jaw drops. “i’m fine.” his jaw is tense, and he has no reaction.

“kaiser…?” you say, walking towards him. “it’s good to see you! how have you been-“

he ignores you, and continues walking. you blink once. twice. the audacity of this guy! you stand there for a second, staring at his back as he walks away without a word.

your old best friend. the one who used to wait outside your house every morning just to walk you to school. the one who made you playlists and swore he’d never let fame get to his head.

michael kaiser.

but this version of him? tall, cold, unreadable. like you were nothing but a speck in his path.

your stomach sinks, and for a second, it feels like high school all over again. the first time he stopped replying. the first time he blew you off to hang out with people who called you boring. the moment you realized he wasn’t coming back.

you grit your teeth and shake it off.

fine. if he wants to act like a stranger, you’ll let him.

you don’t expect to see him again.

but the universe is cruel like that.

a few days later, you’re sitting on a bench outside your usual bookstore, earbuds in, halfway through a drink, when you sense someone stop in front of you.

you glance up, and there he is.

kaiser.

hood up. hands in his pockets. like this is all casual. like he didn’t just cut you out of his life and walk past you like a ghost days ago.

“hey,” he says.

you blink slowly. pull out one earbud. “sorry. do i know you?”

his eyes narrow, just a little. “seriously?”

you tilt your head. “you don’t remember bumping into me the other day? oh wait, that’s right. you just walked off.”

he sighs, jaw tight. “look, i didn’t mean to be-”

“rude?” you cut in. “cold? like i didn’t exist?”

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

you stand.

“you’ve made it pretty clear, kaiser. i got the memo in high school. no need to double down now.”

“you’re still mad about that?” he asks, voice flat. too flat.

your laugh is dry. “i’m not mad. i just learned to stop wasting time on people who throw me away when it’s convenient.”

he flinches. it’s subtle, but you catch it.

“i didn’t throw you away.”

you stare at him. “then what would you call it?”

he doesn’t answer. because he can’t.

you walk past him without waiting for one.

but you feel the heat of his stare burning into your back. not proud. not amused. something else. something bitter.

maybe regret.

maybe not.

but either way, you keep walking. just like he did.

chapter 2: unwelcome

you hadn’t thought about michael kaiser all morning.

not once during the meeting you barely survived, or the ridiculous email chain you had to clean up, or even when you sat at your desk staring blankly at your calendar for twenty whole minutes.

you were doing fine. better than fine.

until he walked through the front doors of your office building like he had every right to be there.

you spot him immediately. leaning casually by reception like this isn’t the last place in the world he should be. sunglasses tucked into his shirt, hair messy in that effortless way that used to drive girls in your class insane.

but all you can see is the audacity.

he sees you. and smirks.

you don’t smile back.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you say, approaching him, arms crossed. your voice is tight. sharp. meant to cut.

“good to see you too,” he says, like this is just some normal visit. like he didn’t ghost you for years and treat you like a stranger days ago.

“no,” you snap. “you don’t get to act casual with me. what are you doing here, kaiser?”

he shrugs one shoulder, still too relaxed. “i wanted to talk. properly.”

“and barging into my workplace seemed like the right move?”

“you didn’t exactly give me your number,” he mutters.

“you used to have it,” you shoot back. “or did that get deleted along with the rest of me?”

that hits him. he looks away for a second, lips pressed into a thin line.

you hate that he still looks like him. the version of him you knew. the one who used to sit beside you on rooftops and swear he’d never change, not for anyone.

“i messed up,” he says, quietly.

you raise an eyebrow. “is that supposed to mean something?”

he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated now. “look, i didn’t handle things well. when everything started happening, football, germany, the media, it got messy. i didn’t know how to hold on to anything without it getting used against me.”

“so you dropped me,” you say, voice flat. “like i was some liability.”

his jaw clenches. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you scoff. “then maybe you shouldn’t have pretended i never existed.”

he goes quiet again.

you step back. “i don’t want to hear excuses, kaiser. i’ve heard enough silence from you to last a lifetime.”

he opens his mouth. probably to say something slick or dramatic, something that would’ve worked when you were sixteen. but you cut him off.

“leave.”

he freezes.

you look him straight in the eye. “you don’t get to show up out of nowhere and ask for a clean slate. i’m not interested.”

for a moment, he looks like he might argue. push back. flash that smug confidence that made the world fall for him.

but then his expression shifts. faint disappointment, a flicker of something almost real. and he nods once.

he turns and walks away without another word.

this time, you watch him go.

and you don’t feel sorry at all.

chapter 3: plastic

michael kaiser doesn’t do things without reason.

he scores because he’s supposed to. wins because that’s what they expect. smiles because it sells. walks away from people because that’s easier.

but lately, nothing feels easy.

especially not you.

he leans back in the leather seat of his car, eyes glued to the ceiling like it holds the answer he hasn’t been able to find since he walked out of your office.

why am i doing this?

you weren’t supposed to get under his skin. not anymore. not after all this time.

but the way you looked at him. like he was nothing but a stranger. it stung more than it should’ve.

and worse, he knew he deserved it.

still. he’d convinced himself he left you behind for a reason. football. europe. the future. you didn’t fit into that.

but now?

you’re all he can think about.

“you’ll be partnering with her for the charity feature,” his manager says, sliding a glossy packet across the table. “photos, press, interviews. just two days. smile, behave, make it sell.”

kaiser doesn’t even blink. “who?”

“(l/n).” his manager taps the page.

and there it is. your name. your face. right next to his.

of course.

he almost laughs.

you find out the same way. last minute, minimal context, and absolutely no room to back out.

your boss smiles like this is the opportunity of the year.

“kaiser’s involved,” she says, voice chipper. “that’ll bring in the attention. just keep it professional.”

you nod. once. tight. “sure.”

you’ll handle it.

just like he did.

the venue is painfully upscale. cameras flashing, polished floors, champagne you won’t drink. the press swarms around you the moment you step out of the car.

but you’re ready.

you came dressed in confidence, lips painted sharp, hair flawless, smile manufactured just right.

and when he turns around to face you, expression unreadable behind designer sunglasses, you meet him with the same energy.

“you clean up well,” you say coolly.

“i always do,” he replies, grin practiced. hollow.

you both know how to play this game.

after all, he taught you how.

the shoot goes by in slow motion. lights, angles, fake laughter. you’re posed like old friends, like two people who didn’t shatter something between them years ago. he brushes his hand against your lower back. you smile like it means nothing.

but under it all, the silence is deafening.

he watches you from the corner of his eye. the way you laugh on cue, tilt your head just enough for the camera, how you speak politely but distantly to the director. you’re perfect.

too perfect.

it catches him off guard.

you were always honest. open. a little messy, a little loud. you used to tell him when his ego got too big, when his jokes weren’t funny. now?

you’re unreadable.

just like him.

he hates it.

during a break, you sit across from him on opposite ends of the set. people flit around with cables and lights and coffee.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

but his jaw tightens. his fingers twitch against his thigh like he’s holding something back.

“you’re good at this,” he says finally.

you glance at him. “what? pretending?”

he nods. “yeah.”

you smile, all teeth. “well. you’d know.”

he looks at you, like he’s trying to find the version of you he used to know beneath the layers of plastic. the girl who used to sneak snacks into his locker. who used to laugh with her whole chest, not just her mouth.

but you keep the mask on.

because if he wants a fake version of you, that’s exactly what he’ll get.

chapter 4: blast to the past, back to the future

before the world screamed his name and threw their hearts at his feet, there was just michael.

and you.

you met in your first year of high school. he was reckless and brilliant, full of swagger he didn’t earn yet, but you liked that about him. he acted like the world already belonged to him. and he never minded when you teased him for it.

you were the one person who saw past the shine.

he used to hang around your desk after class, lean back in his chair like he had nowhere else to be. his notes were scribbled in the margins of your homework. his voice filled your phone late at night when he couldn’t sleep.

you were always there. for the bad games, the tryouts, the breakouts. for the first time someone asked him for a photo and he called you, laughing, saying “guess i’m famous now.”

and then,

the calls stopped.

the texts dried up.

he left you behind like it was nothing.

and now, he has the nerve to show up and ask if you ever think about it.

of course you do. every version of him that ever existed lives in your memory like an old scar.

but that doesn’t mean you forgive him.

the car ride to the after party is tense. quiet. kaiser sits beside you, just far enough not to touch.

“we’re expected to arrive together,” he says, like it’s a business deal.

you nod, tight-lipped. “yeah. of course.”

he’s dressed like the cover of a magazine. tailored black suit. subtle silver accessories. confident like breathing.

you hate that he still looks this good. hate it even more that he’s still him, under all the arrogance and silence.

he looks at you leaned back into the seat, one hand on the wheel. “you ever think about back then?”

you don’t turn. don’t flinch. just stare out the window.

“sometimes,” you answer. “not in a way that makes me smile.”

his mouth twitches like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t.

coward.

the after party is a haze of lights, laughter, and expensive perfume. glasses clink. people talk too loud. everything feels like it’s moving three seconds faster than your thoughts.

you slip into your role. effortless, elegant, untouchable.

kaiser’s beside you, doing the same. his grin is for the cameras. his jokes are for the sponsors. but when you catch him glancing at you between conversations, there’s something sharp behind it. something unsettled.

and then you feel a hand graze your lower back.

you turn. half-surprised, half-annoyed.

“hey,” says the man beside you. tall. sleek. perfectly pressed suit and a press badge clipped to his pocket. “you were amazing tonight.”

“thanks,” you reply, polite but guarded.

“i’m elias. i work with one of the major sports outlets in berlin. been following your design work on the charity side.”

you nod, unsure why he’s this close, but your smile holds. “appreciate it.”

elias leans in a little. too much.

you instinctively step back, but he follows.

“if you’re ever in europe, we should-“

his hand brushes your hip like it has a right to be there.

“she’s busy,” comes a voice from behind. sharp. clipped. unmistakable.

you turn.

kaiser.

his jaw is tense, eyes locked onto elias like a predator sizing up his target. he steps in, slow and deliberate, placing himself between you and elias like he owns the space around you.

elias straightens, cool smile sharpening. “and you are?”

kaiser’s lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “someone who knows she’s not yours to touch.”

“she didn’t seem to mind,” elias says casually, though there’s a flash of something darker in his eyes now. he takes a step forward. “if you’ve got a problem-”

“i do,” kaiser cuts in, stepping forward too.

they’re chest to chest now, tension so thick it’s suffocating. you can feel it radiating off both of them. arrogance, challenge, ego. the worst kind of masculine pride on the verge of something reckless.

you step in fast, pressing a hand between them.

“seriously?” you snap, voice low but firm. “what is this? a playground fight?”

they both freeze.

you glare at elias first. “back off. i can handle myself.”

then your eyes flick to kaiser, harder now. “and you. stay in your lane. i don’t need you playing bodyguard just because you feel guilty.”

neither says anything, but the air stays charged.

you let the silence stretch for a beat, then take a deep breath, straighten your posture, and shift your tone back to smooth indifference.

you place a hand on elias’s arm. “thank you for the compliment,” you say, polite and distant. “have a good night.”

he lingers one beat too long before backing off and disappearing into the crowd.

you don’t look at kaiser. not yet.

you just walk away, drink in hand, chin high, heels clicking against marble like a warning.

but you can still feel him behind you. watching. burning.

and this time, he doesn’t smile.

chapter 5: savior?

two weeks pass. two painfully long weeks where you keep your head down and your schedule full. anything to avoid thinking about him. anything to keep michael kaiser out of your head.

but the city doesn’t play fair.

the next press event is held at a rooftop lounge, the sky painted in golden haze as the sun sets. you’re dressed for success, poised and perfectly unreadable, the way you’ve learned to be. your presence is requested for coverage, and you already know he’ll be here. kaiser is everywhere these days. commercials, games, headlines.

and, unfortunately, your life.

you spot him the moment you arrive, surrounded by journalists and flashing cameras, that same effortless charisma curving his mouth. he hasn’t changed, not really. even if he pretends to be softer now, more polished, you still see it. the sharpness. the calculation behind his smile.

he glances your way once, and it’s like static crackling down your spine.

you look away first.

you’re halfway through a polite conversation with a magazine editor when a too-familiar voice slides in behind you.

“hey there,” elias says, stepping into your personal space like he owns it.

you flinch subtly, his fingers ghosting over your arm. casual, but unwelcome.

“elias,” you say through clenched teeth. “i’m working.”

“so serious,” he teases. “i thought we were friends.”

before you can respond, a new presence shifts in beside you, silent but impossible to ignore.

“hands off,” kaiser says flatly, his eyes narrowed at elias like he’s already picked a fight in his head.

elias raises a brow. “look who’s got a hero complex now.”

“you don’t want to test me,” kaiser says, tone sharper than ice. “not tonight.”

your body tenses. this is exactly what you didn’t want.

“both of you, shut up,” you snap, stepping between them. “i don’t have time for your little pissing contest. not again.”

they fall silent. for a beat.

and then, of course, kaiser turns on you instead.

“you always defend people like him?” he asks, voice low, accusing.

“what the hell does that mean?” you glare at him, heat blooming under your skin.

“you didn’t even flinch when he touched you,” he says. “but when i show up, you act like i set your life on fire.”

“maybe because you did,” you shoot back before you can stop yourself.

his expression shutters.

you inhale sharply, chest rising and falling. “you think just because you’re back, you get to insert yourself again? defend me? talk to me like we never stopped?”

“we were friends,” he says, jaw tight.

“we were,” you say coldly. “until you decided you were too famous to be seen with someone like me.”

silence stretches between you. raw, electric.

he looks at you like he wants to say something. like he’s searching for the version of you that once laughed at his dumb jokes in the school hallway. the one who knew him before the world did.

but she’s not here tonight.

you step back. “don’t make this harder than it has to be, kaiser.”

“too late,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

you don’t look back.

chapter 6: memory

silence.

after the argument, after the event, after the adrenaline drains out of your body, there’s nothing left but a long, aching quiet.

no texts. no apology. not even a passing glance as you left.

just silence.

and then, the buzz of your phone.

unknown number: can we talk?

you stare at the screen for a long moment. 

you: who is this?

unknown number: u know who this is.

your heart stops.

you don’t want to say yes.

but some part of you already has.

you: fine. where?

he meets you in the most unremarkable place. the side of an empty basketball court behind your old high school. it’s long after dark. the court lights buzz overhead, half of them flickering like they’re remembering something too.

he’s already there when you arrive.

sitting on the same bleachers where he once told you he wanted to go pro. where you once shared a bottle of soda and your biggest dreams.

he doesn’t say anything as you approach.

you sit down beside him. careful. neutral.

more silence.

he breaks it first. voice low.

“i thought if i ignored it long enough, it would stop hurting.”

you glance over. he’s staring straight ahead. not at you.

“what?” you ask, quietly.

“us,” he says. “what i did to you. what i lost.”

you don’t speak.

he exhales sharply. “i was stupid. selfish. i thought walking away was easier than holding on.”

“it was easier,” you say, calm but sharp. “you just didn’t think i’d remember.”

he flinches.

“you think i forgot the nights you called me crying after losses?” you continue, not cruel. just honest. “the way you used to fall asleep mid-sentence on the phone? how you’d bike across town just to tell me about a good game?”

his shoulders shake once.

“i didn’t forget,” you say softly. “but you did.”

his head drops into his hands.

you stay silent again. not to punish. just because you don’t know what else to say.

then.

a sound.

barely audible, raw and messy.

michael kaiser is crying.

for a moment, it shocks you.

then you reach out. almost instinctively, and run your fingers gently through his hair.

his breath hitches. you feel him lean into your touch.

your fingers move slowly, tracing soft circles at the base of his skull. you used to do this when he had migraines from overtraining. when he couldn’t fall asleep before games. when he was still just yours, and not the world’s.

he says nothing, but he melts under your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

after a long while, his voice cracks the quiet again.

“come over.”

you pause. “what?”

“my place,” he says. “like before. just for a bit. no cameras. no expectations.”

your hand stills. “why?”

he lifts his head, eyes rimmed with red, but steady now.

“because i feel like i can finally breathe when you’re there.”

you go.

you don’t ask why.

you don’t stop to make it make sense.

his apartment is clean but impersonal. trophies on the shelves, expensive decor, everything in its place. everything except him.

he doesn’t talk much. just offers you a hoodie and gestures to the couch.

you sit beside him, both of you tucked into the silence.

you’re flipping through channels when he speaks again.

“do you remember prom night?” he says.

you glance at him. “you mean the night you ditched me to go to some athlete’s after party?”

“no,” he says quickly. “the before part. when i showed up with roses. and you wore that navy dress.”

you look at him. surprised. “you remember that?”

he smiles, a little sad. “i remember everything.”

you say nothing. he shifts closer.

“you fell asleep on my shoulder that night,” he says. “i didn’t move for an hour.”

you turn your head, meet his eyes.

the space between you feels fragile.

you speak, barely above a whisper. “why now, kaiser?”

he looks at you. not through you. not past you. at you.

“because for the first time in years… i don’t want to pretend anymore.”

and you don’t know what clicks first.

the warmth of his palm over yours, or the way your forehead presses against his, soft and slow like forgiveness might live there.

he kisses you like he remembers everything he lost.

and you kiss him like you might still believe it’s not too late to start over.

chapter 7: secrets

you wake to sunlight.

soft and gold, pouring through unfamiliar windows.

the couch beneath you is firm, the blanket draped over your legs smells faintly of cedar and something sharper. maybe his cologne.

michael is still asleep beside you.

he’s slouched awkwardly, neck bent, arm resting just barely against yours. his lips are parted, hair messy and falling into his eyes. for a moment, he doesn’t look like kaiser. he just looks like michael. the boy you knew. the boy you thought you’d never see again.

your heart aches before you can stop it.

you should move. you should leave.

but you don’t.

you stay there, watching the rise and fall of his chest until his eyes flutter open.

he blinks, groggy, then sees you.

for a second, neither of you says anything.

then…

“you stayed,” he murmurs, voice raspy.

you nod, quiet. “i did.”

he smiles. tired. genuine.

you sit in the silence again, letting it wrap around you like something half-remembered.

eventually, you rise. he walks you to the door, hoodie still on your shoulders, and says nothing more than a quiet, “i’ll see you soon.”

and you almost believe him.

you don’t tell anyone.

you don’t need to.

because someone saw you. or maybe guessed. and now it’s spreading like wildfire.

kaiser spotted leaving event with former classmate. mystery woman identified.

reunion or romance?

kaiser’s secret past resurfaces.

every time you open your phone, it’s another headline. another photo. another whisper.

and the worst part?

he doesn’t deny it.

he doesn’t say a word.

not to the press.

not to you.

you run into him again at a promotional shoot two days later.

you’ve both been asked to participate in a panel. some kind of marketing stunt tying local creatives with athletes. your name was requested, they said. you didn’t think to ask by who.

he’s already there when you arrive.

he looks up the second you walk in. like he was waiting.

“we need to talk,” he says, barely above a whisper.

you hesitate, jaw tight. “do we?”

he takes a step closer. “they weren’t supposed to know. i didn’t tell anyone.”

“but you didn’t stop it either,” you snap.

his expression shifts. frustration creeps in. “you think i wanted this? i’ve been trying-”

“to what?” you cut in. “to fix everything without taking responsibility? to get close to me without owning what you did?”

“i am owning it,” he says, sharper now. “but it’s not just about the past anymore.”

you freeze.

he lowers his voice. “you matter to me. still. even now.”

your chest tightens. you don’t know what to do with that. what to say. how to believe it.

but before you can speak again, a voice cuts through the air.

“everything alright here?”

it’s the event coordinator. camera crew already setting up behind them.

you and kaiser stand in place. tense, too close, too charged.

he gives you one last look.

“we’re fine,” he says smoothly.

you echo it, mechanically. “we’re fine.”

but nothing feels fine.

you take your place at the table.

he sits beside you.

and for the next hour, the two of you perform. smiles, rehearsed answers, polite banter.

just like always.

just like before.

but beneath the surface, it simmers. the past. the present. the questions you’re both too afraid to ask out loud.

you don’t know what happens next.

but whatever it is, the world is watching now.

and neither of you can hide.

chapter 8: untrustworthy

it starts with the headlines.

first, they’re just annoying. little flashes of gossip in your periphery.

then, they grow teeth.

“kaiser’s mystery woman speaks out?”

“rumors fly as football star’s past resurfaces”

“a romance ten years in the making. ex-best friend or current flame?”

there are old photos circulating now. grainy snapshots from high school. you in his hoodie. him slung across your couch. blurry shots of prom, of that time you two got caught skipping class.

they don’t just remember. they dig.

your inbox fills with interview requests. comments explode under your posts. someone even shows up to your office pretending to be a client.

you block them all.

but it doesn’t stop.

what hurts the most, though, isn’t the press.

it’s him.

he’s gone quiet again.

no texts. no calls. no late-night apologies. just glimpses of him in headlines, at press conferences, in post-match interviews where he deflects like a pro.

the version of him you fought with on that rooftop, the one who cried in your hands and kissed you like he meant it. he’s nowhere to be found.

until one night.

you’re still at the office, eyes burning from hours of screen time, when your phone buzzes.

kaiser: i’m downstairs.

you don’t answer.

you don’t go down.

but you don’t block him either.

twenty minutes pass before he messages again.

kaiser: i brought coffee. the kind you used to like.

against your better judgment, you go.

he’s standing outside your building, baseball cap pulled low, a drink carrier in one hand. he looks up when he hears the door click.

you stop a few feet away.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, guarded.

he holds up the drinks like a peace offering. “you said you were working late.”

“you don’t even know what i like anymore,” you mutter.

“iced vanilla with oat milk,” he says immediately. “two pumps. light ice. still wrong?”

you stare at him. quiet.

you take the coffee.

you don’t say thank you.

what happens next isn’t immediate.

it’s slow.

messy.

he doesn’t show up every day, but sometimes he texts.

sometimes he waits for you outside your office.

sometimes you let him walk you home.

not because you’ve forgiven him, but because there’s something aching and unspoken in his eyes that mirrors what’s been sitting in your chest for years.

you talk. sort of.

he asks about your job. about your writing. about your cat, if she still sleeps on your stomach like she used to.

you ask nothing.

not yet.

and then one night, after a long event, some charity gala where you were both scheduled to appear—you end up in a car together. late. tired.

he’s sitting beside you, loosened tie, jaw clenched.

your head leans against the window. his shoulder brushes yours.

“you looked good tonight,” he says after a while. quietly. “not in the red carpet way. just… good.”

you don’t respond.

but you don’t pull away either.

“do you hate me?” he asks. not dramatic. not for pity. just… honest.

you close your eyes.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

he exhales. it sounds like a surrender.

behind the scenes, you start to see pieces of him again.

not the polished pro athlete. not the arrogant rising star.

just michael.

he takes off his mask in fragments. small smiles, old jokes, the way his eyes soften when you talk about things no one else remembers.

and slowly, carefully, you begin to let yourself laugh again.

but in public?

he’s kaiser again.

cocky. composed. camera-ready.

he keeps his distance. lets the press wonder. plays the part he’s always known how to play.

and you play yours, too.

stoic. unreadable. above it all.

until one day, he slips.

he touches your back as he passes you on set. barely noticeable. just a brush of fingers.

but the camera catches it.

and that night, it’s everywhere.

“kaiser and mystery girl. not so subtle anymore.”

“proof of romance?”

“is kaiser letting his guard down?”

you don’t hear from him for two days after that.

then, just as you start to wonder if it’s all crashing again, he shows up at your door.

no mask.

no headlines.

no excuses.

just him.

“can i come in?” he asks.

you look at him.

tired. confused. a little scared.

“yeah,” you say.

“you can.”

chapter 9: just like old times

it starts simple.

a shared look. a dumb joke. the kind of laughter that bubbles out of you before you can help it.

you’re sitting on the curb outside the venue, post-event high still buzzing through your veins, heels kicked off beside you. kaiser’s next to you, tie undone, jacket abandoned somewhere inside.

“remember when we ditched that assembly and you got caught by campus security?” he grins, eyes dancing.

“you got caught,” you correct him, poking his side. “i was halfway down the street with two sodas and your hoodie before they even noticed i was gone.”

he laughs. really laughs. head tipped back, completely unguarded.

you hadn’t realized how much you missed that sound.

you bump his shoulder with yours.

he bumps back.

and it feels like no time has passed at all.

after that, it’s easy to slip into the rhythm again.

you start texting like you used to. dumb memes. late-night thoughts. complaints about work.

he sends you voice notes.

you send him pictures of your takeout with captions like remember when you couldn’t cook rice?

you hang out at his place more. sometimes just to nap. sometimes just to be around him. you catch yourself smiling more. catch him smiling too. the soft kind, the rare kind. the one no camera’s ever caught.

one night, you both end up sprawled on his floor, sharing a blanket, watching some old anime you used to obsess over.

he turns his head to you, grinning. “you still cry during episode twelve?”

“shut up,” you mutter, already sniffling.

he chuckles, scooting closer. “some things never change.”

neither of you pull away.

the media catches on fast.

a blurry photo of you both leaving the same bakery. a clip of you at his game, biting your lip during the last ten seconds. a fan account posts a picture of him holding your hand in the back of a car.

they swarm.

but this time, neither of you respond.

no statements. no clarifications. no denials.

you don’t owe them your story.

what you have with michael, whatever it’s becoming, it’s not theirs to define.

he texts you the night a new headline drops:

kaiser: they’re calling us childhood sweethearts now.

kaiser: like we’re in some teen movie.

you snort, typing back.

you: could be worse. they could’ve used that photo where you look like a wet cat.

he sends back a selfie of him flipping you off with a stupid smile on his face.

and for the first time in a long time, you realize.

you’re happy.

quietly. deeply. in a way you hadn’t let yourself hope for.

you’re still figuring it out. still not sure where it’s going.

but for now?

you’re here.

and so is he.

chapter 10: sweet victory

you free tonight?

kaiser’s text pops up late in the afternoon, casual, but with that undertone. the kind he uses when he’s been thinking too long, too much.

you: why?

kaiser: my hair’s dead.

kaiser: and you’re the only one i trust not to fry it worse.

you laugh under your breath.

and you say yes.

his apartment is quieter than usual when you show up. less mess. fewer distractions. it smells faintly like coffee and your favorite detergent. the one you accidentally left behind the last time you stayed over.

“you weren’t lying,” you say, tugging a pale, dull strand of blue between your fingers.

“tragic, isn’t it?” he groans, falling dramatically into the kitchen chair. “my whole brand is suffering.”

you roll your eyes but smile anyway. “sit down. i’ll fix it.”

you spread the tools out. gloves, brush, dye bowl. he doesn’t move.

he watches you instead.

like he’s memorizing the moment.

when you finally touch his hair, your fingers threading gently through the strands, his eyes close. completely still. like it calms something in him.

“you always did this part slow,” he murmurs.

“you always fell asleep during it.”

“only because you were too gentle,” he says softly. “it was always you.”

you don’t say anything.

you keep going, brushing the color in with care, the rhythm easy. familiar.

he relaxes under your hands like he’s exhaling years of tension. like this. your hands, your quiet presence, is what brings him peace.

and when you rinse it out, towel drying the tips and brushing it back, his reflection smiles at you through the mirror.

he looks like himself again.

more than that, he looks happy.

“thanks,” he says. “for still doing this.”

you pause, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“you’re welcome.”

the next morning, the two of you step out together.

it’s a media event. something light, promotional. a casual press day with cameras and interviews and too many microphones.

but this time, you walk in side by side.

happy. proud. brave.

when a reporter asks, breathless, eyes wide: “so, can we finally get confirmation on the rumors?” kaiser doesn’t hesitate.

he just turns to you, one brow raised like he’s asking permission.

you nod.

and then he kisses you.

right there, in front of everyone.

it’s slow. certain. real.

the room bursts into camera flashes, reporters shouting, people gasping. but you don’t hear any of it.

his hands are warm on your waist. his lips are soft. he tastes like victory and something sweeter.

when you pull away, there’s a slight smirk on his lips. but his eyes, they’re soft. open. like he’s never been more sure of anything.

the photo goes viral within the hour.

captioned a million ways:

kaiser’s kiss seen around the world

michael kaiser confirms relationship with longtime friend

from high school to headline

but none of that matters.

not really.

because after the cameras shut off, after the event fades, after the world takes a breath,

he laces his fingers through yours.

and he whispers,

“stay with me, yeah?”

and this time,

you do.

[ariilovesmoney]

AFTERMATH!

links = broadcasting: previously on unknown's goofy smaus -> here bllk masterlist -> here

✮⋆˙ | asked by: anoymous. ✮⋆˙ | featuring: isagi yoichi, meguru bachira, hyoma chigiri, reo mikage, nagi seishiro, rin itoshi! ✮⋆˙ | cw: suggestive/crack/fluff content. fem!reader.

[ariilovesmoney]

sae itoshi in calvin klein boxers should be illegal.

normally, your boyfriend doesn't do photoshoots. he found the whole concept of posing in front of a camera for hours exhausting and pointless for his soccer career—why should he sit and do inherently nothing when he could be perfecting his soccer skills? working out? analyzing matches? anything else?

but, when his sweet girlfriend's photography internship happens to be at the same place his manager had received an offer for an exclusive shoot, sae decides he'll agree to be a model for them just this once, but only if you were one of the people taking his pictures.

after turning down some of the world's most luxurious brands simply out of spite, calvin klein was quick to agree to sae's terms and conditions without a second thought. maybe you were an old friend he was doing a favor for—no one really suspected you two were dating, but that was only because you two had decided to keep your relationship under wraps.

you're fiddling with your camera's settings as one of the other photographers describes what the photoshoot would mainly entail to sae—the man's pen taps against his clipboard as he tells sae what pieces he'd be promoting and what poses he should expect, and sae nods along wordlessly as everyone around you buzzes with excitement. it was rare for sae to accept brand deals, forget the ones that weren't even sports-related—so the photographers you'd be working with were exceptionally surprised, and it seemed like the whole room was buzzing with excitement.

sae was undeniably handsome. it didn't help that he was stupidly photogenic, too, meaning every pose he did was effortlessly irresistible—but, in turn, it meant every picture you got was perfection incarnate. subtly, from time to time, he'd shift his pose to be better directed towards your camera specifically, and you took every shot with a smile on your face.

after the summer line was done, it was time for calvin klein's classic boxers to be worn.

sae looked, in simple terms, drop-dead gorgeous. every contour of his body and muscles was highlighted and even further pronounced by the studio's lighting—and your boyfriend can practically feel the giddiness radiating off of you as you take a number of candid shots while everyone around you bustles to adjust the lights and camera positions around the room before they start shooting again.

"you know, my contract for this photoshoot didn't say anything about candid shots," sae muses, stopping in front of you with one hand perched on his hip and a raised brow, but the only response he gets from you is a cheeky grin.

click.

"mr. itoshi—i think they're ready for you now," you say sweetly, and sae looks over his shoulder before noticing the head photographer waving him over. he huffs, shaking his head and turning around to give you a look that says, 'i'll deal with you later.' it was a playful glance, one reserved only for you, and even as he's walking away—you take a picture of his back because holy shit, this studio's lighting made your boyfriend's build look like that of a greek god.

after a snack break and another forty-five minutes, the photoshoot concluded with twelve decided pictures of sae that would be released to the public for their campaign. a good portion of them were taken by you, and you were happy for the recognition and appreciation.

"that's a wrap! everyone say thank you to mr. itoshi for accepting our studio's offer!"

after a chorus of thank you's for your boyfriend and a few more words spoken with the director, he's ready to head home. sae had changed back into his own clothes by now, and while the people around you are getting ready to head out, sae approaches you while you finish up packing away your camera.

"good day?" he questions with a hum, and you peer up immediately at the sound of his voice. for a moment you don't respond, glancing around you to make sure no one was looking before you reach up and place a gentle peck onto his lips.

"the best! this photoshoot's my biggest project yet. thank you for coming, sae. really." you smile warmly, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as his eyes soften.

"come on, we're going home together."

you're out of the building in no time and back in sae's car before you know it. currently, you're curled up in the passenger seat beside him, flicking through all the shots you'd taken of him today.

"you're so handsome..." you murmur mindlessly, squinting your eyes as you connect your camera to your portable printer, patiently allowing it to print out the images for you as sae huffs.

"i'm well aware; you tell me every chance you get." he sighs, and you laugh under your breath, not really responding besides that as you continue looking through the images.

you were really happy when sae accepted the photoshoot offer—actually, you'd tackled him with quite the hug after you found out. he liked this side of you, the one that was so unconditionally happy just doing your thing. photography was a constant in your life—sae knows this. your instagram, private with no followers besides his own personal account, is a treasure. every memory and every moment in time is photographed by you. your posts made even the most mundane things look ethereal.

most of your pictures consisted of either sae, the sea, or some sort of moment from one of his games. you were sae's biggest supporter, and looking over at you in the passenger seat beside him—he can't help but stare. you look so cute smiling at his pictures like that, and the gentle breeze that comes from the open window of his car has your hair flowing around you like waves.

"y/n," he starts, and you hum in response.

sae doesn't say anything else. he merely pulls over his car onto the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out as you tilt your head in confusion. he walks around to your side of the car and opens the door for you.

"see that sunset?" he questions unceremoniously while pointing towards the beach across the road—you nod slowly, still terribly puzzled.

"teach me how to take a picture. i want to take one of you this time."

sae watches the gears turn in your head, and he knows he made the right decision asking you once your entire face lights up with the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"really?! you mean it? oh my gosh, this really is the best day ever! let's go, let's go! the sun's in the perfect position right now for taking a shot!"

sae listens intently to your instructions as you two lounge on the sand. you're explaining the main functions he'll need to use in order to take a picture, and he nods along, hoping he remembers all your words once it's time to take your picture.

"how about we practice first? here, try and take a shot of the sea right now, and let's see how you do!"

sae nods with a quiet hum, carefully taking the camera from you.

hold the camera steady, aim at the subject, make sure it's in focus, and then press the shutter button.

he stays completely still as he holds the camera, and your heart positively swoons watching sae. he looks adorable with his lips pressed together in concentration as he tries to take the perfect picture. you hear the familiar click of your camera and immediately scoot over beside him to look at it.

"oh wow, this is perfect! hey, are you trying to steal my job or something?!" you accuse, and to your surprise, sae laughs.

he's only ever known soccer—sae can't get the words out, but he hopes you can understand how much he appreciates you for being the one to show him new things in life he never had the chance to explore before.

"maybe i am. what then? now, you sit back, cariño. it's my turn."

sae has you splayed out on the sand, and he'd gathered a few seashells to arrange around your head like a halo. you're laughter is infectious, and he finds himself dipping down to give you a kiss every chance he gets.

soon enough, sae's hovering over you—focused and snapping picture after picture, moment after moment, and he can't remember a time in his life where he's ever felt this happy and soft. you smile for him, and despite having taken at least a dozen shots already, he wants to take more.

he'll print these photos of you, no doubt. he'll put them in his wallet, he'll make them his phone's wallpaper, he'll engrave them into his mind if he must—this moment was just that special to him.

well, maybe it wasn't the moment. it was more so your smile and the look in your eyes when you looked at sae.

"beautiful. you're beautiful. i love you so much, cariño.

[ariilovesmoney]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; the first words of your child will always be an important moment in your life—except it ended up being more unhinged than you had expected.

𝐟𝐭 ; isagi yoichi, itoshi sae

𝐜𝐰 ; afab!reader, swearing

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈

“yoichi babe, i love you and all and i’m just as hopeful as you, but aren’t you a little too eager…?” you sit down next to isagi on the carpet, his indigo eyes fixated on his daughter. her own indigo eyes stared right back.

“no, no, of course not. this is important. what she says for her first words are extremely important to determine her future and which one of us she’s more similar to.” yoichi muttered, his hand on his chin.

your daughter yomi babbled, giggling as she placed a hand on yoichi’s forehead. isagi’s eyes softened, a soft smile creeping to his lips. “she’s only 10 months old, and that’s usually the bare minimum of babies saying their first words. you probably shouldn’t—“

“clown.”

you nearly fell to the floor. you stared at your daughter, mouth hung wide open, and then glanced at yoichi, who looked mortified. “yomi, sweetie, say that again?” yoichi whispered, crawling forward to take her tiny hands into his.

“clown!” she exclaimed, more confidently this time. you were ready to faint, and yoichi looked ready to fall into a coma. “clown! clown!” yoichi sucked in a heavy breath, a dark aura forming around him. he furrowed his eyebrows as he picked her up.

“fuck,” he whispered. you snapped your head back.

“yoichi! no swearing in front of her!” you shrieked, taking her from his arms. “papa’s being mean right now. don’t learn from him.” you booped her noise with your finger, isagi beginning to mutter to himself.

“was she rewatching my neo egoist league pxg match? or did that one time letting kaiser talk to her influence her too much? maybe bachira had told her about it or something…” isagi shook his head. “hey, maybe we should let her see less of bachira.”

“yoichi,” you sighed. “it’s fine. plus, you’re the one who called kaiser a clown in the first place.” isagi’s head slammed back to face you.

“he called me a clown first!” you hummed at his stammering, patting yomi’s head as she gives you a wide smile.

“clown!” she said again brightly. isagi cringed.

“no no,” he huffed. “it’s okay when i say it, and that’s because kaiser is an assho—uh, jerk. but yomi, you’re still too sweet and you have no one mean to you. you shouldn’t say that.” yomi blinked up at him again.

“clown…?” yomi squeaked. isagi shook his head.

“no. no clown.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“sae, sae! come here! i think she’s gonna say her first words!” you exclaimed. sae walked over to your daughter’s nursery room, a bored expression painting his voice, although you could see him recording with his phone.

he sat down on the floor with you, your daughter saki staring up at sae with her bright teal eyes and horrifyingly long underlashes. she reached out for him, babbling nonsense. sae picked her up, and saki reached for his hair. a small smile spread across sae’s lips.

“how lukewarm,” he muttered, watching as his daughter grabbed at his hair and tried eating it. you patted her hair, saki’s smile brightening your mood.

“loowarm!”

your hand dropped. you stared at your daughter, ready to cry. “saki, what did you just say?” she looked at you, giving you a wide smile as she reached for you.

“loowarm!” she wiggled out of sae’s arms and crawled into yours, finding your hair much more interesting as she began to munch on the strands. you froze, staring at sae, who had recorded the entire interaction on his phone.

“itoshi. fucking. sae.” you whispered. sae flicked your forehead.

“no swearing in front of saki, remember?” you hated how amused he looked at the situation. you narrowed your eyes.

“sae! you don’t understand how annoying this is. out of everything…it could have been mama. mommy. ma. amma. papa. daddy. pa. appa. anything. but ‘lukewarm?’” a long sigh was drawn from your lips.

“not lukewarm. ‘loowarm.’” he corrected. a vein popped from your forehead.

“we both know she was trying to say lukewarm!” you exclaimed, hitting sae softly on the arm repeatedly. “i hate you so much! agh, out of everything, it had to be lukewarm! i wish she could have said mama or papa or something.” you dreaded.

sae hit your arm back gently. “i’m giving you another kid tonight. let’s see if that one says something you want then.” he stated, the corner of his lips twitching just a bit. your face flushed.

“i hate you so much. you’re the worst.” you buried his face into his shoulder.

“you say that as you bury your face into my arm.” sae clapped back. but he patted your head anyways. saki grabbed and reached for you, grabbing your shirt.

“mama, mama.” she babbled, teal eyes bright. you scowled.

of course her second word were what you wanted her first to be.

[ariilovesmoney]

“How They React When You Get Kidnapped or Taken Hostage” // Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Hanma, Wakasa, Kokonoi, Draken, Izana

Synopsis: You never thought your day would end like this — tied up, bruised, and praying they'd find you in time. You're hurt, barely hanging on, but then… he shows up. His footsteps echo like thunder, his voice cuts through the silence like a blade, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore. Each one of them reacts differently — rage, panic, deadly silence — but they all have one thing in common: They'll burn the world down to get you back.

TW: idnapping, injury, emotional distress, violence (rescue scenes), blood. Reader is hurt but survives.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

The metal door groans open under Mikey’s boot.

Dust and darkness spill out. His footsteps echo in the silence, slow and deliberate — almost too calm. But his eyes are on fire. Focused. Unforgiving.

There’s blood on his hands already. He barely remembers the last five minutes. He just followed the trail of bodies like breadcrumbs — the men responsible already broken or dead.

And then he sees you.

Slumped in a chair, bound by rope, head hanging forward like a broken doll. Your legs are scraped, knees bruised from being dragged, and your face— Mikey’s heart stops.

Your lip is split. One eye is swollen shut. There’s blood trailing down your temple, drying into your hair. And worst of all — you’re not moving. Not even flinching at the sound of his entrance.

His breath catches in his throat.

“…Y/N?”

He whispers it, tentative, like saying your name might make you disappear. When you don’t react, panic surges through him — sharp and fast, like a punch to the gut.

“No. No, no—” He drops to his knees in front of you, trembling hands reaching to cup your face.

You’re cold.

Your skin is pale beneath the bruises. There’s a pulse, but it’s faint — fluttering like a dying flame. And for the first time in a long, long time, Mikey feels helpless. Like the world is crumbling beneath him again.

“I’m here. I found you,” he says, voice cracking as his thumb brushes the dried blood on your cheek. “Open your eyes. Please…”

Still nothing.

His voice lowers, breaking with each word. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t do this. Not you. Not after everything. I can’t—” He presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t lose you too.”

And then — the softest sound.

You whimper. A tiny groan slips from your lips as your eyelids flutter. Your head lolls slightly toward him. Your voice is barely a breath:

“…Mikey…?”

Time stops.

He pulls back just enough to see your eyes — barely open, dazed, but alive. Alive. And looking at him. You’re breathing. You’re here.

Relief slams into him like a tidal wave. His shoulders shake. He lets out a choked sound — not quite a sob, but something close — and wraps his arms around you, gently easing the ropes off your wrists.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your bloodied cheek. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You flinch at first, too sore to move, but then you relax. Your trembling hands cling to the front of his jacket.

“I thought…” you whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t find me.”

Mikey closes his eyes, his voice low and ragged. “I would’ve torn the whole city apart to find you. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

His hands stroke over your back, grounding you both. You lean into his chest, exhausted, your body finally giving in to the safety he offers.

“…Hurts,” you murmur against him.

“I know. I know.” His hand threads through your hair carefully, trying not to touch the wounds. “We’re gonna get you out of here. You’ll be okay. I swear.”

He pulls back just a little — enough to see your face again. Your eyes, glazed with pain but full of trust. And for a moment, everything slows.

You’re alive. You’re his. And he almost lost you.

“I thought I was too late,” he admits, voice barely audible. “I thought I’d walk in and find you—”

You cut him off with the barest shake of your head. “You came. That’s all that matters.”

His gaze lingers on your battered face. You’re still bleeding, still trembling. You shouldn’t be beautiful like this — but you are. Even broken, even bruised. His thumb traces the edge of your jaw, feather-light.

And then, slowly, hesitantly — he leans in.

His lips brush yours with agonizing gentleness. A kiss that’s barely there, trembling with everything he can’t say. It tastes like blood and desperation and something dangerously close to love.

When he pulls back, your forehead rests against his.

“You’re never leaving my side again,” he whispers. “Not even for a second.”

And for the first time in days, you manage a faint smile.

“…Sounds good to me.”

_____________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The blade is still warm in his hand when he kicks the final door open.

His boots splash through blood — none of it yours, not yet. His breath is uneven, his pupils blown wide, high on adrenaline and the kind of rage that never cools. The air is thick with metal, sweat, and rot.

He already killed them all. But it’s not enough. Not until he knows you're okay.

Then he sees you.

Tied to a rusty pipe, half-conscious, barely breathing. Your head is tipped sideways, your face unrecognizable beneath bruises and dried blood. Your shirt is torn, one shoe missing. You look…

Small.

For a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“…Oh,” he exhales, voice strangled. His sword clatters to the floor.

He drops to his knees beside you, fingers trembling as they hover just above your skin — afraid to touch. Afraid you’ll be cold.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” he murmurs. “C’mon, doll. Eyes open. You can’t be quiet on me now. You’re the only voice I hear right.”

No reaction.

He swallows hard, then reaches up and gently tilts your face toward him. Your skin is too pale. Your lip is split. The corner of your mouth has dried blood he can’t stop staring at.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, broken. “They ruined you.”

Something inside him fractures.

“They looked at you like you were nothing. Put their hands on you like they had the right.” His tone shifts — quiet and terrifying. “I should’ve made them beg longer.”

He reaches behind you, unfastening the chains with hands that shake more than they should.

You fall forward. Straight into him.

His arms catch you instantly, carefully pulling you into his lap. Your head falls against his shoulder, limp. A whimper escapes your lips — barely there, but real.

His chest seizes. “You’re still here,” he whispers. “You’re still with me. I thought—”

You blink. Slowly. Dazed.

“…Haru…?”

The sound of your voice undoes him.

His hand cups the back of your head, gently pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. You didn’t think I’d let them take you, did you?” His voice wavers. “I don’t care what I have to burn down — I always find you.”

You shiver in his arms.

“I couldn’t scream,” you whisper, throat raw. “I tried. I thought maybe you wouldn’t come this time.”

His jaw clenches.

“Don’t say that,” he says tightly. “Don’t ever say that.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — taking in every wound like he’s committing them to memory. His thumb brushes lightly under your eye.

“I would’ve torn the sky apart to find you. You don’t understand what you mean to me.”

Your eyes flutter half-shut. “I just wanted to go home…”

“I know, baby. I know. We will. We will.”

And then, like something inside him breaks loose, he leans down — and kisses you.

Not desperate. Not demanding. Just… reverent. Like he’s trying to kiss the bruises away. His lips ghost over yours, careful of your injuries. It’s soft. Painfully so. Like he’s holding something sacred.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispers against your lips. “No one touches you again. Not without losing something they’ll never get back.”

You sigh, half-conscious, head tucked into his chest. And as you drift off, he stays there — arms locked tight around you, blade still close by — whispering promises you might never hear.

But he means every one of them.

__________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

“You know, this rope is really uncomfortable,” you chirp, twisting your wrists a little. “Like, I know you're trying to be scary and all, but have you heard of padded cuffs? Or maybe, I don’t know — not kidnapping people?”

Your captor groans.

“Oh! And another thing — you seriously need to rethink your cologne. It smells like expired regret and cheap energy drinks. No offense.”

More groaning.

You smile sweetly. “Too much?”

He slams a fist into the wall beside you, just missing your face. You don’t flinch.

“That’s rude,” you mutter, tilting your head. “Ran never misses. Maybe ask him for tips when he gets here.”

“You really think your boyfriend is gonna find you?” he snaps, pacing. “You talk a lot for someone who’s tied up.”

“I talk a lot in general, but yeah. Especially when I’m nervous. Or bored. And right now? Buddy, I’m both.”

There’s a crack from the hallway.

The door bursts open.

And there he is.

______________________________________________________________

Dressed in black, hair tied back lazily, expression unreadable. His purple eyes sweep over the scene — the ropes on your wrists, the bruises on your cheek, the blood at your temple.

And for just one second, something feral flashes in his gaze.

He doesn't even look at the man who took you before striking. It’s over in seconds — a baton swing to the kneecap, a crack of ribs, a low, venomous, "You touched the wrong f*cking girl."

Then silence.

He turns back to you.

And for a moment, he doesn’t move. He just looks.

You're battered, but you're grinning at him like this is all just an inconvenience — like you didn’t just spend hours tied up, waiting.

“Hey, baby,” you beam. “You came! Took you long enough. I was just giving this guy a full breakdown of his bad life choices—”

He strides over in two steps, kneels down, and cups your face in both hands.

His voice is low, tight. “Are you hurt anywhere serious?”

“Mm, maybe a mild concussion, definitely bruised pride, but nothing broken! Also, that guy is super weak. I could’ve taken him with one arm, but I figured I’d save my strength for when you got—”

He kisses you.

Hard, fast, and too much all at once — like he needs to make sure you’re real. Like he’s been holding his breath since you disappeared.

You freeze for half a second, then melt into it, grinning against his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You never shut up, do you?” he mutters, breathless.

You giggle, eyes bright. “Nope.”

His thumb traces the bruised skin on your cheek. He frowns, visibly softening.

“I thought—” He swallows. “When I saw the blood on your shirt, I thought maybe… maybe I was too late.”

Your smile fades a little. “Hey. You weren’t. I knew you’d come. Told him that, too.”

Ran closes his eyes. Exhales shakily. Then opens them and smirks again, a little more like himself.

“Remind me to thank you properly later. After we get you out of this dump.”

“Oh! Can I request something sparkly? Or food? Or both?”

He starts untying your wrists, rolling his eyes with affection. “You’re unbelievable.”

You lean your weight into him the second your hands are free. “And you love it.”

He lifts you easily, arms under your legs and back. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I do.”

You grin. “Aww, you’re such a softie. So what are you gonna do to the guy?”

Ran’s voice is smooth as silk. “You don’t want to know.”

“…Cool.”

____________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The smell of stale smoke and cold concrete hits him the second he steps inside the rundown warehouse. The air feels thick — heavy with the remnants of violence. His heart pounds so loud he’s sure you’ll hear it if you’re still conscious.

Rindou’s eyes dart around the dim room, sharp and alert, searching for any sign of you. Every muscle in his body tightens, the usual loud bravado nowhere to be seen. This wasn’t a game or a fight to be won for glory. This was about you — and that thought burns hotter than any fight he’s ever been in.

And then, there you are.

Slumped in a metal chair, your wrists bound with coarse rope. Your clothes are torn and stained with dirt and blood, bruises mottling your skin like dark, ugly flowers. Your head tilts slightly as if your body is too tired to hold itself up fully. But the moment your eyes catch his, a flicker of your usual spirit shines through.

“Oi, Rindou,” you say, voice hoarse but unmistakably teasing, “You’re late.”

The corner of his mouth twitches — a mix of relief and frustration. Relief that you’re alive, and frustration that you were hurt at all. Without another word, he steps forward, the sound of his boots echoing sharply in the empty space. His hands are rough as he cuts through the ropes, but his touch is careful when he pulls you up into his arms.

“You idiot,” he growls low, voice thick with something he rarely shows: raw emotion. His hands shake just a little as they grip your waist, steadying you. “What the hell did they do to you?”

You lean your head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. “Nothing they didn’t get a lecture about,” you murmur with a weak smile, “And a few broken fingers.”

Rindou’s jaw tightens, anger flaring in his eyes like a wildfire. He wants to rip through whoever did this, make them regret ever laying a finger on you. But for now, his focus is on you — on making sure you’re still here, still breathing.

He presses his palms against your bruised cheek, thumbs tracing the tender skin as if he’s memorizing every mark. His voice drops to a low, fierce whisper, barely more than a breath.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

You reach up, fingers brushing over his scarred knuckles. “I’m stubborn,” you say softly, “Someone’s gotta be.”

His lips twitch into a brief, shaky smile, and he lets out a low laugh that’s almost a sigh.

“You’re stubborn as hell,” he repeats, pulling you closer. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Then, before you can say anything else, he leans down and presses a slow, tender kiss to your bruised forehead — gentle and full of everything he can’t say aloud. It’s a promise, a comfort, a fierce declaration that he’s here to protect you, no matter what.

For a moment, the harsh world outside fades away. There’s just you and him, tangled together in the cold silence. His arms tighten around you protectively, like if he lets go even for a second, you might disappear again.

You feel the tension in his body slowly ease, replaced by something gentler — something like hope. And as your eyes flutter closed, finally surrendering to exhaustion, you know that no matter what comes next, he’ll be there.

__________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

The moment Hanma steps into the grimy, flickering-light warehouse, his smirk is wide — cocky, amused, like he’s walking into a joke he’s about to win. The stale air smells of sweat and neglect, but that doesn’t slow him down. He moves with a lazy confidence, eyes scanning until they lock on you.

There you are — bruised, dirt-smudged, wrists bound with rough rope, but stubbornly blinking up at him with that spark that’s impossible to extinguish.

Hanma’s smirk deepens, amused but dangerous. “Well, well,” he drawls, stepping closer. “Look who got themselves into a real mess this time.”

You try to give him a playful grin, but the pain tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Hey, I’m multitasking — thought I’d spice up your day.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little rough. “You always did like to push it, didn’t you?”

Hanma crouches beside you, eyes sharp as he takes in the bruises blooming across your skin, the cuts along your arms. His fingers hover near your face, hesitant for just a moment before brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

“Who the hell did this to you?” His voice drops from teasing to dangerous — the kind that sends shivers down your spine.

You shrug weakly, trying to keep the mood light despite the pain. “Just some idiots who clearly didn’t get the memo.”

His grin twists into something darker. Suddenly, his hands tighten on your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Don’t joke about it. Tell me every damn thing.”

You breathe out the story — every shove, every insult, every mark they left on you. Hanma listens, jaw clenched tighter and tighter, his wild eyes burning with barely contained rage.

When you finish, Hanma’s smile vanishes. His hands move swiftly, pulling out a knife and slicing through the ropes binding your wrists. The rope falls away, and immediately, he pulls you into his chest, almost fiercely.

“You’ve got a mouth on you — good,” he murmurs, voice rough but laced with relief. Then, without warning, he bends his head and captures your lips with his own.

It’s a fierce, possessive kiss — his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer like he’s never letting go. There’s no room for doubt in it; it’s raw, urgent, demanding.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath ragged. “If you ever get caught like this again,” he warns lowly, “I won’t be so amused.”

You laugh, breathless, leaning into him. “I’m counting on you.”

Hanma’s grin returns — wild, but softer now. “Good. Because you’re mine, and I’m not losing you over some dumbass fools.”

His arms tighten around you protectively, and for the first time since he arrived, you feel the chaos inside him settle — replaced by a fierce, unbreakable promise.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

The warehouse was cold and empty except for the faint hum of a flickering overhead light. Wakasa’s footsteps echoed steadily as he approached, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp and focused. The news of your kidnapping had hit him hard, but he knew panic wouldn’t help. Instead, he relied on his quiet resolve, his calculated mind working through every possibility until he found you.

When he finally saw you — slumped in a metal chair, wrists bound with rough rope, bruises dark and angry across your skin — his heart clenched even though he kept his expression calm. You looked exhausted, your body trembling slightly with fatigue and pain. But despite everything, when your eyes met his, that stubborn spark he knew so well flickered through.

“Hey,” Wakasa said softly, his voice the gentlest thing in the harsh silence. “You held on.”

You gave a small, weary smile. “Had to… couldn’t wait forever.”

Without a word, he pulled out a small, precise blade from his pocket and knelt beside you. His hands moved with practiced care, cutting through the ropes slowly, as if he didn’t want to rush or startle you. When your wrists were finally free, he cradled your hands in his, rubbing gently to soothe the raw skin.

He pulled you into his arms carefully, supporting your weight as you leaned against him, the warmth of his body grounding you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone anymore.

“Where does it hurt the most?” Wakasa asked quietly, his voice low and calm, not demanding but simply wanting to understand.

You touched a dark bruise along your ribs, wincing. “Here… and my side aches.”

His fingers traced the bruised skin, tender but firm. He brushed away dirt and grime with surprising gentleness, inspecting every cut and scrape like he was memorizing them—like every mark was a reminder of what you’d endured, and a promise he’d never let it happen again.

“I was scared,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Wakasa tightened his arms around you, the fierceness in his eyes breaking through his calm facade for just a moment. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m here now. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while I’m around.”

Leaning down, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple — a kiss that spoke volumes. It was a silent vow, a promise to protect you with everything he had, a grounding touch that made the world outside feel less threatening.

You closed your eyes against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his presence. For the first time since the nightmare began, you felt safe.

Wakasa’s voice was a quiet murmur against your hair, steady and sure. “We’ll get you out of this. And those who did this? They’ll regret it.”

You squeezed his arm weakly, finding strength in his unwavering calm. The battle wasn’t over, but with him here — calm, protective, unshakable — you knew you could face whatever came next.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kokonoi Hajime:

The cold, sterile silence of the warehouse was broken only by the sharp click of Kokonoi’s polished shoes as he strode inside. His eyes — sharp, calculating, unreadable — immediately found you, slumped and bruised, bound in rough rope. The harsh fluorescent light cast stark shadows, but Kokonoi’s gaze was unwavering, cold as ice but burning beneath the surface with quiet fury.

For a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the ruthless businessman facade cracked — a flicker of something raw and urgent flared behind his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by the calm, controlled demeanor he always wore like armor.

“Quite the mess,” he said smoothly, voice clipped and precise, as if you were a project that had been mishandled. He crouched down to your level, his gaze flickering over every bruise and cut with clinical precision. “You’ve been through hell.”

You tried to smile — a weak attempt to lighten the tension — but it faltered under his intense scrutiny.

Without hesitation, Kokonoi produced a sleek, razor-sharp knife from a hidden pocket. The blade gleamed in the cold light as he expertly sliced through the ropes binding your wrists. His movements were quick, efficient — no room for hesitation or sentimentality.

As soon as you were free, he pulled you into a steadying embrace, one arm firm around your waist, the other cradling your head. His touch was cool but deliberate, controlled — a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded.

“You’re not a victim,” he said firmly, voice low but commanding. “I won’t allow anyone to treat you like one. From now on, you’re under my protection. I will handle this… ruthlessly.”

His eyes bore into yours, the cold steel replaced by something more intense, more personal. “Focus on healing,” he instructed, “and leave everything else to me.”

You leaned into him, your body weak but desperate for the calm strength he radiated. Kokonoi’s hand moved to cup your cheek, fingers tracing the contours of your bruised skin with an unexpected gentleness.

Then, almost without warning, he bent his head and pressed a slow, possessive kiss to your forehead — a kiss full of unspoken promises and fierce protectiveness. It was brief but heavy with meaning.

When you looked up at him, his expression softened just slightly, and he brushed his thumb over your lips before capturing them in a deeper, more urgent kiss. His lips were firm and commanding, a silent declaration that you belonged to him now — and that he would stop at nothing to keep you safe.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath warm and steady.

“No one will hurt you again,” Kokonoi whispered, voice rough with restrained emotion. “I swear it.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ken "Draken" Ryuguji:

Draken’s steps pounded like thunder as he stormed through the grim alleyways leading to the warehouse. Every moment since hearing you were kidnapped had twisted into a raw ache in his chest, a raging fire he couldn’t douse with logic or patience. All he could think about was finding you — alive — and bringing you home.

When the heavy metal door creaked open under his furious shove, his breath hitched. There you were — bruised, battered, your wrists bound and your body trembling from exhaustion and pain. His heart clenched painfully, a wild mix of relief and rage crashing over him.

“Y/N!” His voice tore out, hoarse and desperate, filled with a raw urgency that shook the cold, silent room.

You looked up, blinking against the dim light, your usual strength faint but still burning within you. The sound of your name shattered Draken’s last shred of control. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened to a fierce storm.

Without a second thought, he lunged forward and ripped the ropes from your wrists, his hands trembling as he freed you. He didn’t care about the mess — the blood, the dirt, the pain. All that mattered was you. He swept you up into his arms, holding you close as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

His breath hitched as he pressed his forehead to yours, his voice cracking. “Thank God… you’re okay. You’re really okay.”

A desperate, shaky laugh escaped his lips, tears threatening to spill. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay? I nearly lost it.”

You whispered weakly, trying to calm him, “I’m here… I’m fine.”

But Draken wasn’t convinced. His hands gripped your shoulders, not roughly but with fierce determination. “No,” he said quietly but firmly. “You’re not fine. And I’m not letting you say that.”

His eyes searched yours — wild, desperate, but overflowing with relief. Then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he crushed his lips to yours in a desperate, needy kiss. It was raw and unfiltered — a mix of relief, love, and all the pent-up emotion spilling out at once.

His arms tightened around you as he kissed you again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Please… don’t ever leave me like that.”

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged. His wild eyes softened, the storm calming into an unbreakable promise.

“You’re mine,” he whispered fiercely. “And I’ll protect you no matter what.”

You felt the strength of his vow in every beat of his heart — a fierce, unyielding force that promised you’d never have to face darkness alone again.

_______________________________________________________________

Izana Kurokawa:

The abandoned hospital’s sterile corridors were silent except for the faint buzz of malfunctioning lights and the distant drip of water echoing through the hollow halls. Izana moved through the cold, peeling walls with a precision that betrayed none of the turmoil brewing beneath his calm surface. Every step was deliberate, each breath measured, but inside, his thoughts raced with the worst fears he had tried so desperately to suppress.

When he finally reached the dimly lit room where you were held, his sharp eyes immediately found you — bruised, dirty, wrists still marked from the cruel bindings, slumped against a rusted chair beside a broken window. The sight struck him like a physical blow, a cold rush of helplessness that he quickly buried under layers of cold calculation.

His face remained impassive, but his fingers clenched into tight fists at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to snap, to lose control — but Izana didn’t let himself. Instead, he calmly pulled a small, sharp blade from inside his coat and cut through the ropes with swift efficiency, his hands trembling just slightly as they brushed against your sore skin.

As soon as your wrists were free, he gently cupped your face, his thumb trailing over a bruise near your temple. “Speak,” he ordered quietly, voice low but with a barely contained edge of desperation. “Are you alive?”

You nodded weakly, and that faint movement sent a flood of relief surging through him, almost breaking his mask of control. His eyes darkened, the usual icy calm replaced by something raw and fierce, but he forced himself to remain steady.

Kneeling down to your level, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch soft but possessive. Then, with a tenderness that surprised even himself, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple — a kiss full of unspoken promises and fierce protectiveness.

His breath was warm against your skin as he whispered, “You’re mine. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it.”

Still holding your face, Izana closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing yours in a brief, firm kiss. It was an assertion, a grounding touch — a reminder that despite everything, you were here, with him, safe for the moment.

You shivered slightly, and he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist, steadying you against the tremors of pain and exhaustion. His forehead rested against yours as he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, almost desperate — as if trying to convey everything his words could not.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, and the storm behind his eyes was barely contained. “I won’t let anyone take you from me,” he promised, voice low and unwavering. “No one.”

Izana’s arms held you protectively, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked by the fierce, burning need to keep you safe — and the quiet, vulnerable relief that you were still here.

[ariilovesmoney]

Mikey, Kazutora, Izana and Waka's headcanons with a fem reader who gets hurt because she receives a blow meant for them and ends up in hospital

Tokyo Revengers ~Receiving a blow meant for them~

Manga/anime: Tokyo Revengers

Warnings: nothing

(Y/N): your name

(S/O): significant other

Mikey, Kazutora and Izana's headcanons are set in the 2005 timeline, Waka's in that of 2008, when he's in Brahman. Happy reading!

Premise

(S/O) didn't want his girlfriend (Y/N) to attend his gang's fights as a spectator: she would be at risk of getting hurt, and he wouldn't be able to be there to protect her, not to mention the rival gangs would have affiliated her with him, and she would have been in even more danger!

However, that day (Y/N) insisted on coming to watch him so much he had no choice but to agree to bring her with him, so, while fighting, he involuntarily continuously searches for her figure, checking she's still safe and sound.

His action, though, is making him less attentive than usual, which is why he doesn't notice a member of the gang he's fighting approaching him with a knife in his hand, determined to kill him or seriously injure him.

(Y/N) notices them instead and, without thinking twice, she throws herself headlong into the fray, placing herself in front of (S/O) and thus being seriously injured by the knife, which pierces her right side.

S. Manjiro (Mikey)

His eyes will widen, becoming like saucers, and he'll remain still, muttering your name, when you receive the blow

As soon as your legs begin to give way due to the serious wound, though, he'll force his body to move, diving to catch you to prevent you from falling to the ground, desperately screaming your name

For the first time his gang will see him so shocked, angry and desperate: on one hand he'll have an expression of horror mixed with pain on his face, on the other his eyes and his arms and hands will tremble from the deep anger that will pervade him

In fact, he'll be so angry he'll really want to kill, or at least violently beat, who hurts you; he'll also be furious with himself for not having protected you as he had promised himself

He'll stay with you in the hospital and refuse to leave you (Draken will have to drag him out by force to make sure he eats and gets at least a few hours of sleep) and, as soon as you wake up after your operation, he'll promise you he'll never let you get hurt like that again with a face so serious you'll hardly recognize him

H. Kazutora

His reaction will be twofold: either he'll freeze, totally paralyzed, or he'll go completely mad

If the first happens, he'll act that way because his brain will be fully realizing what has happened: he'll be so shocked he'll freeze, fearing he's lost what's most precious to him, namely you

In the event the second happens, there's a huge risk he'll be so angry with the person who hurts you he'll even kill them

In any case, whatever his reaction, there will be a moment when he'll believe you're dead and, after the anger and shock, the tears will come: he'll burst into tears, desperately holding your body close to him, until he notices you're still breathing, and then he'll immediately abandon the fight, rushing you to the hospital

For the entire time you're there, he'll refuse to leave you, and the first thing he'll say to you when you wake up after your operation is completed will be: "Please, please, don't terrify me like that anymore, don't do it again... Don't leave me: I won't survive if you aren't here, I'll go crazy..."

K. Izana

He'll madden, no one can dissuade me from this idea: for him you're his queen, and no one, no one should ever dare to lay hands on you

He'll order his subordinates to capture who hurts you, while he'll rush you to the hospital, telling you not to die in a voice so thin you'll believe you imagined it in your haze due to your wound

He'll remain outside the operating room until he has the assurance you're okay, nervous and worried about your health and angry with who hurts you, with himself for having let you get hurt, with you for having convinced him to let you attend the fight

As soon as he's certain about your health, he'll rush to your attacker, wanting to make him pay dearly for having touched you: his entire gang will be even more terrified of him than they were before and will think twice before having any thoughts about you

Then he'll go to the hospital again when Kakucho, who he'll have ordered to watch over you and to notify him as soon as you wake up, calls him; for the first time you'll see him so vulnerable, as he'll hug you softly and whisper to you to let him get hurt if that would have allowed you to be safe

I. Wakasa (Waka)

It'll be the first time someone sees him so shocked: he'll lose his proverbial stoicism as soon as he sees you fall in front of him; he'll be totally panicked, he'll beg you not to die while holding you close to him ("Princess, please, stay with me, don't close your eyes!")

He'll rush you to the hospital on his motorbike, getting honked at by a lot of cars due to his speed and reckless overtaking

When Senju, Takeomi and Benkei arrive there, they'll find him totally destroyed, almost in tears and with his head in his hands: he'll be desperate, fearing of having lost you, the person he loves more than himself, due to his own fault, out of a stupid fight he let you witness and a stupid mistake that caused you to be hurt instead of him

They'll do everything they can to calm him down and reassure him, but all their attempts will fail, since he won't find peace until he knows your operation has been successful and you'll be fine

As soon as he can, he'll rush to see you, and for the first and also last time you'll hear him begging you to never do something like that again, promising you he'll never let anyone hurt you again, admitting he loves you more than anything

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

[ariilovesmoney]

Tokyo Revenger Headcanons as lil treat (for me)

Romantic Fluff? gn!reader. all characters are 18+.

Characters: Mikey, Shinichiro, Chifuyu, Baji, Kazutora, Izana, Souya, Nahoya (this is partially self indulgent...) (

POV: they have a crush on you and you ask them if they want a "kiss". Their reactions when you hand them a hershey kiss.

Mikey (Manjiro Sano)

-the speed at which Mikey responds with a blunt "yes" to your question "do you want a kiss?" would be alarming to most.

-you dont notice, you know how enthusiastic he is about snacks. bro loves sweet little treats. (you are unaware of his feelings)

-when you hold out a piece of candy Mikey is stunned for a moment. he has to pause and recollect himself internally.

-part of him his still pretty excited because fuck yeah a sweet treat!!!!

-the other is like damn... i wanted a lil smooch.

-he sighs before taking the chocolate and looking at it for a few seconds.

-he then quickly kisses you on the cheek and nonchalantly throws the chocolate in his mouth.

-you look at him confused before touching your cheek.

you: what was that for?????

mikey: payback.

Shinichiro Sano

-this man looks at you with so much hope in his eyes as you ask "do you want a kiss?"

-after asking you out 20 something times, and being rejected each time, are you finally coming around?!?!

-that hope is quickly shattered when you hold up a chocolate kiss, all while still scrolling through your phone and not looking at him.

-this was actually worse than any other blatant date rejection he faced from you.

-he huffs in disappointment as he snatches the piece of chocolate from you and eats it.

-you notice how he snatches it and finally look at him, one eyebrow raised. you let out a light chuckle.

-he looks away from you so you don't see the light blush across his cheeks.

-bro can't catch a break here.....

Shinichiro: you do this on purpose, don't you?

you: yeah.

Chifuyu Matsuno

-dude has been in love with you forever and normally puts on this tough persona.

-this quickly fades when you do anything cute lol.

-he has the most flustered look on his face when you ask him "do you want a kiss?" and smile at him.

-losing his marbles internally, trying not to literally pass out.

-all he can stammer out is a weak "u-uhh... s-sure?"

-he closes his eyes and waits to feel your lips against his.

-is thoroughly confused when he feels a piece of aluminum wrapped candy.

-he looks at the kiss and is disappointed but not upset.

-he takes it and tries to compose himself while chewing it, he looks away as his cheeks are still tinted pink.

-you smirk and actually end up giving him a quick smooch on the cheek.

Chifuyu: can't do it anymore. i need to marry you right now...

you: i will allow you the pleasure of marrying me, but only if you answer my riddles three.

Chifuyu: on second thought

Keisuke Baji

-as you are sitting there eating chocolate kisses you turn to Baji and ask "do you want a kiss?"

-he eyes the bag of chocolates and responds "fuck yeah!" with that grin.

-you uno reverse this mf and give him a kiss on the cheek.

-he stares at you for a moment before glancing back and forth between you and the chocolates

-"dont fuck with me like that give me some damn chocolate" he says as he snatches the bag and now refuses to share.

-you keep trying to grab the bag back but he keeps holding it out of reach, you just pout and whine.

-eventually you have to play dirty and bite his arm.

-he is oblivious to his feelings until he yelps in pain but also... kinda likes it...

Baji: hold up... do that again.

you: um... why?

Baji: science... and stuff.

you: ...didnt you fail science.

Kazutora Hanemiya

-you love your personal space. Kazutora also loves your personal space.

-you have never known peace since meeting him, now is no different.

-you're eating a bag of chocolate kisses next to you alone while reading and sitting under a tree.

-this guy will pick up the candy and sit in its place, press his side firmly against you and place the bag in his lap.

-you give an annoyed sigh as you look at him before grabbing more candy.

-"whatcha reading?" he'd ask as he unwraps some pieces and tosses them in his mouth.

-"how to mind my business 101. h-hey!! i didnt say you could have some!" you say as you snatch the bag.

-you place the bag on your other side and take pieces from it.

-he doesnt like this bc tf??? sharing is caring bitch, whats yours is his and whats his is... well, also his. he doesnt share.

-he stares for a moment before using his hand to cup your cheek and make you face him.

-as you attempt to protest he gently kisses you on the lips, holding it for a few moments.

-as he pulls away and looks at your blushing face, he holds up the candy bag he snatched and holds it on the other side of himself and eats candy, like nothing happened.

-you huff a mumbled "i hate you"

-as you attempt to go back to reading your book, he places his free hand on your inner thigh.

-he likes to hold your attention.

you: can you go ten minutes without touching me???

Kazutora: can you stop reading glorified porn?

you: can you get your dad to love you?

Kazutora: ...

Kazutora: i'll get you.

Izana Kurokawa

-you love teasing and playing pranks, though they never go as planned with him.

-"do you want a kiss?" as you look at the man sitting next to you on the couch, his arm resting over the back of the couch as you watched a movie.

-"no, thanks." he says without sparing you a glance, your expression turns to confusion. "huh?"

-"i said no, thanks." you just stare at him for several moments disappointed and frustrated.

-he turns to you and smiles. "was that the wrong answer?" you nod.

-"was i supposed to say yes?" you nod once more with a smile.

-"is it so you can give me a piece of chocolate while im expecting an intimate moment?"

-you frown and slowly do a thumbs down and shake your head.

-you looked back to the tv and watched as you were disappointed.

-he sighs and decides to play along.

Izana: why yes, i would love a kiss.

you: yay!!! *hands him a chocolate kiss*

Izana: oh man, wasnt expecting this, i thought you were going to kiss me. on the mouth. perhaps with tongue.

you: booooo 👎🏻

Izana: also the chocolates half melted.

you: punishment.

Izana: for?

you: crimes against humanity.

Souya Kawata (Angry)

-this guy loves you so so so much and is so shy and soft about it. he doesnt know how or when to tell you.

-you know he does, you just give him time to get the courage to ask you out.

-you decide to play the prank, and you ask "do you want a kiss?"

-he immediately blushes, he looks so nervous and happy at the same time.

-the way he slowly nods with pure hope in his eyes and heart would give anyone a reason to live.

-you look into this literal angels eyes and cannot bring yourself to play the prank.

-if you broke his heart in this moment and made him even remotely sad, the guilt would eat you alive.

-you end up giving him an actual kiss on the lips, short, soft, and sweet.

-he is blushing so hard and looking at you like you are an angel from heaven.

-you look away flustered as you just handed him the whole bag of chocolates.

-you bought them for yourself and for the prank but now you have to hand everything you own to him.

Souya: uh... thanks...

you: dont mention it.

Souya: are you mad...?

you: i will give you every bit of my being right here and right now.

Souya: ...???

Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

-Nahoya likes making playful jabs at you.

-you get mixed signals from him, does he wanna marry you or fist fight you?

-probably both.

-you werent paying much attention as he sat at the other end of the couch from you.

-you, him, and souya are roommates. you all hang out occasionally.

-you are peacefully eating chocolate kisses and chilling while playing on your switch.

-"are ya winnin, son?" he asks playfully.

-"yeah, dad." you retort.

-"thats 'daddy' to you, sweetheart."

-"and im about to commit patricide." you snip playfully.

-he chuckles before scooting to watch you play mario kart.

-"you suck at this game." "eat my foot" "not into that." "murder is still on the table here, Nahoya."

-he then starts tapping at buttons on your switch while you are playing.

-you end up losing and glare at him. he chuckles at you as if he won this round.

-you hold up the bag of kisses in an attempt to bribe him to leave you alone.

you: you want a kiss?

Nahoya: with or without tongue?

you: i bite.

Nahoya: kinky.

you: IM GOING TO KILL YOU

[ariilovesmoney]

rah i loved both the lil pregnancy texts theyre so cute i love ur writing could we possibly see that prompt w kaiser ❓😽

pregnant reader x husband kaiser

[ariilovesmoney]

the press. —itoshi sae

synopsis. he knew that wasn’t all he lost — he lost you too. and after losing what mattered most, itoshi sae finds himself cornered by the press — cameras flashing, questions cutting too deep. he should’ve been there. but he wasn’t. and now, nothing will ever be the same again.

cw. long drabble, child loss, traumatic birth, grief, emotional breakdown, hospital setting, intrusive media, guilt, implied depression.

wc. 0.5k words, not proofread.

itoshi sae hates the press.

hates the flash of cameras. hates the crowd of paparazzi hounding him like vultures. hates the microphones shoved into his face — like weapons — breaking through every boundary, clawing into his personal life.

today, he truly, deeply loathed them.

because today, he had to leave you.

he couldn’t stay by your side, couldn’t hold your hand or whisper that everything would be okay. couldn’t be there when your fingers trembled or when the machines beeped too loudly for comfort. his career — his goddamn career — dragged him away.

they said if he didn’t show, it would be a breach of contract. multi-million-dollar losses. lawsuits. damage that couldn’t be undone. he didn’t care — not really. but he knew you would. knew you’d tell him to go. so he did, and he hated himself for it.

during the match, his head wasn’t even in it.

his body moved, sure. he ran, passed, scored. but his mind? it was somewhere else. stuck in a sterile hospital room where you lay — pale, exhausted, broken in ways no one else could see.

so he played like a madman — no strategy, no finesse — just rage.

every time the ball touched his foot, he drove it like a bullet. every goal, every scream, every sprint, was a desperate prayer for the clock to move faster. because the bigger the lead, the sooner it’d all end.

he didn’t care about the win.

he just wanted to go back to you.

but when the final whistle blew, and relief didn’t come — only more fury, more weight — he walked straight off the pitch. ignored the interviews. ignored the congratulations.

and then he saw them.

the press, waiting for him outside like a pack of wolves.

flashbulbs exploded. questions flew. bodies pressed and pushing against each other.

and he hated it. hated all of it. hated them.

“enough,” he said, voice low, shaking. “i’m not answering anything.”

but they didn’t back off.

they never did.

“itoshi sae, what made you play today, knowing your wife’s in hospital?”

“rumours say she nearly died during childbirth. was it worth it?”

“is it true she lost the baby?”

silence.

a breath.

then — he snapped.

shoved past them. didn’t care who he hit. didn’t care who fell. he just needed to get out.

his manager didn’t ask questions. just drove. fast.

and when sae reached the hospital — when he saw you lying there, barely able to keep your eyes open, smiling for his sake despite everything you’d just been through.

he fell to his knees beside you. dropped his forehead against your hand, holding it tightly like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

and he cried.

quiet, shattering sobs. tears that burned. a grief so deep, it hollowed him out.

because he should’ve been there.

not on a pitch. not in front of cameras. not answering questions that felt like knives. not having strangers with cameras and microphones turning this tragedy into headlines — like it was just another weather report.

he should’ve been with you.

© all written works are created and owned by @sinsxo. do not plagiarise, modify, repost or translate any of my content on other platforms under any circumstances.

all images, aside from the dividers, do not belong to me. credit belongs to their original creators on pinterest & xhs.

[ariilovesmoney]

PLSS PLS DO WHERE THEY SEE READER REPOST A VIDEO WITH THE #ihatemybf TYPA THING PUH LEASE

also don’t forget to stay hydrated 🙏

UNREPOST THAT RIGHT NOW.. -you're reposting hateful bf videos

THIS includes : texts genre: crack NOTE: heheheh ALSO TY I AM HYDRATED my bestfriend is my 2000ml water bottle (it sometimes downs me bc i also drink it when im laying down)

PAIRINGS: ISAGI, BACHIRA, NAGI, REO, RIN, SAE, SHIDOU, AIKU, CHIGIRI

IMRAESPACE masterlist