starxanemone

[starxanemone]

luckiest fan. —blue lock

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

synopsis. your interactions with them may have gone viral, but what the world doesn’t see is what happens after the cameras stop rolling. the notifications, the dms, and the quiet moves they make.

cw. drabble, cussing, fan interaction stuff, lighthearted fic.

wc. 1k words, not proofread.

part 1 & part 2 here!

isagi yoichi ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

the world may have seen isagi yoichi’s fan interactions with you — helping you pick up the phone you dropped, and taking a selfie with you after his team qualified for the semi-finals. it was a heartwarming and sweet gesture from him. people reposted it with captions like “wholesome king” or “i want what they have.”

but that was only the surface of it.

no one saw the notification that popped up on your phone when he liked the instagram story you posted — the one where you thanked him for being so kind, paired with the selfie he'd taken of you two.

and no one saw the reply to your story either.

isag1yoichi replied to your story.

isag1yoichi you're welcome :) glad the pic turned out well

you stared at your screen with your mouth open, taking a couple minutes to run laps around your room before responding.

you omg you ?!?!?!??!?!?!? you you were awesome on the field!!

isag1yoichi haha thanks :D glad you came again

you it was worth it! semi finals next, right?

isag1yoichi yeah! isag1yoichi are you coming?

you if i can get a ticket LOL

isag1yoichi maybe this will help

attached was a photo of a jersey.

his jersey.

with his signature on it.

isag1yoichi got you a ticket too, just pick it up at the ticket window. left your name with the staff :)

you WHAT you THANK YOU!!!

after jumping around out of joy for a few minutes, you laid on your bed, back flat against the mattress and stared at the ceiling like your soul just left your body.

itoshi rin ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you didn’t tag him in your instagram posts. you just posted casually — photos of your outfit, the view from your seat, a pic of the gift bag you handed him, and your poor isagi banner that got stepped on (accidentally).

then you forgot about it — forgot that you even posted anything until you were mentioned in an article that featured you and rin with the headline: “a mysteriously soft interaction from the usually cold itoshi rin.”

your instagram handle was there. his was too.

a few hours later, a notification lit up your screen.

itoshi_rin liked your post.

then:

itoshi_rin sent you a message.

itoshi_rin thanks for the protein bars. never thought the day i could eat them again would come

you hoyl fcuk you i mean you you’re welcome you but wtf

itoshi_rin you coming to the next match?

you yeah

itoshi_rin great. make sure you cheer for the correct player this time

you hey i am cheering for the right player

itoshi_rin clearly not itoshi_rin make sure your banner has my face on it itoshi_rin and try not to drop it

you why you will you sign it?

itoshi_rin if you’ll be my protein bar supplier, then yes itoshi_rin or teach me your ways at least

you only iffffffffff you you get me isagi’s signature too

itoshi_rin lame.

you so you won’t? you then im not cheering for you

itoshi_rin add your number to the deal then i will

you OMFG???????????????????

and guess who showed up to the stadium with a rin banner instead of their isagi one.

itoshi sae ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

you posted an instagram story of the banner that he signed. both of it — the one he ruined and — nevermind, he ruined both.

the first time he signed ruined your banner, a viral article came out, talking about itoshi sae’s “dry humour” and “hidden playfulness”.

you thought it was just pure pettiness.

but two can play that game, so naturally, you fought pettiness with pettiness.

you got a signature on his own banner so you could sell it.

but he ruined it once again.

you posted it on you instagram story anyway, with the caption: “might sell this for 5 digits. who wants it 😋😋 #profitoffpettyboys”

then you tagged him. as a joke.

and he replied.

itoshisae_10 seriously?

you stared at the message, panicking.

you wth you WTH you WHY DID U ACTUALLY REPLY

itoshisae_10 ? itoshisae_10 am i not allowed to interact with fans now?

you WELL U NEVER DO you seems like u didnt expect that me to sell it huh you shouldve signed it properly if you wanted me to keep it you mustve hurt your ego ☺️

itoshisae_10 next time, make a better one. itoshisae_10 maybe i’ll give you a proper autograph that you can sell.

you wait actually?? you like actually? you no ykw you i dont want your autograph anyway

then he sent you a photo of his jersey with a signature on it.

itoshisae_10 shame. itoshisae_10 could’ve earned 6 digits from this. itoshisae_10 if you show up, that is

you weren’t sure what surprised you more. that he actually replied to your story and offered you a signed jersey or that you were now crafting a new banner for the same man who ruined your last two.

nagi seishiro ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

nagi seishiro doesn’t really go on social media unless he has to, and he definitely doesn’t track articles or read his own press. he thinks it’s too much work — unnecessary work.

but he did bring candy to the next match.

so when he saw you again, waving from the stands, grinning like you’d just won the lottery, he blinked slowly and made his way over.

“you,” he mumbled.

you grinned. “me.”

he pulled out a bunch of different candies out of his pocket and handed it over. “for you.”

you looked surprised. “really?”

he shrugged. “you gave me good candy. figured i should give you something back.”

you laughed, feeling touched. “thank you!”

he mumbled something that sounded vaguely like you’re welcome before walking off — hands in his pockets, head tilted back, yawning.

that night, you posted the candy on your story.

nagi gave me candy 🥹💕 #luckiestfanever

you tagged him, not expecting anything.

but a few minutes later, a notification popped up.

nagiseishiro replied to your story.

nagiseishiro did u like it?

you @#$$@%!???? you YES I LOVED IT you thank you :))

nagiseishiro ok cool nagiseishiro what flavour do you want next time?

you NEXT TIME?!??! 😭

nagiseishiro idk

you im not picky with the flavours, anything works!

nagiseishiro ok nagiseishiro same time next match?

you fhbajijhfsjkqwpokisjk you i mean of course!!

and that was how your casual matchday tradition began.

somewhere in between, it became something more.

taglist. tagging everyone who wanted a part 3, thanks for your support! @lexiestea13 @itoshiabi @chewiebee @pinkytoxichearts

© 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.

[starxanemone]

Alexis ness is everything i want in a man ‼️ when is it my turn 👹

[starxanemone]

bunny iglesias sees you sitting near the sidelines at a spain match, and before the victorious fc barcha departs the pitch, he takes his bunny cap off and places it on your head with a wink.

he tells you, in spanish, that he’s gonna get it back from you later.

[starxanemone]

Thank fuck, my semester's finally ended. My brain's about to explode. This is how I feel rn:

I ranked first in the entire department for physiological psychology!! let me flex, idk who to tell this achievement to T^T

I'll also try to get back to writing soon! I've already listed some ideas in my notes app.

[starxanemone]

HOW WELL I THINK I'D GET ALONG WITH BLLK CHARACTERS

just a little self-indulgent idea bc as much as i love all of them, realistically, i don't believe i'd actually get along with every single one of them lol. also, my takes are extremely centered around my personality, so yeah.

NAGI SEISHIRO — (4/10) i would appreciate his existence... from afar. my rigid ass can't work with him. he's a funny personality tho, i give him that.

CHIGIRI HYOMA — (3/10) he's canonically moody and i'm argumentative. would love to bond over self care tho bc i take that very seriously.

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE — (10/10) respectful, feminist king. would totally want to befriend this guy. wish i had an older brother like him.

ISAGI YOICHI — (10/10) i feel he's the type of guy who can give mentally stimulating conversations. also, he's a nice kid (when he's not spouting slurs left and right on the field).

BACHIRA MEGURU — (7/10) i like this guy, but i'd only be able to handle his energy once every two weeks.

ITOSHI RIN — (5/10) i'm ngl we have similar work ethic, so i feel we'd at least agree in that aspect, but he's always moody so...

REO MIKAGE — (7/10) he seems easy to get along with and fun to talk to, but i subtract three points bc eat the rich.

BAROU SHOEI — (8/10) surprisingly, i think we'd get along. i love clean & organized people. so long as he doesn't tell me what to do.

HIORI YO — (9/10) our lives are the same.

KARASU TABITO — (8/10) fellow psychology enthusiast. he tends to speak pretty insensitively from time to time tho.

YUKIMIYA KENYU — (6/10) idk, there's something about his fake (? idk how to explain it) smile and politeness that'll turn me off a bit ngl. part of it feels comes across as a facade.

OTOYA EITA — (7/10) i'd hate his womanizing behavior, but at the same time, i feel like we'd be good friends. his behavior is funny too.

NIKO IKKI — (9/10) my smart child. he's so relatable. i was (still am) a nerd back in high school.

TSURUGI ZANTETSU — (8/10) i usually can't stand stupidity (tho i'd argue he's not actually stupid, just having trouble learning), but he's the good kinda "stupid" bc he's willing to learn instead of staying ignorant.

ALEXIS NESS — (9/10) i like my men like alexis ness.

MICHAEL KAISER — (5/10) he's so cocky and his haircut sucks, but he's also a psychology fanatic so we could argue about sigmund freud and why i prefer other proponents.

ITOSHI SAE — (3/10) what even is there to talk about with this guy? i got 0 knowledge on soccer and this guy only knows soccer so...

OLIVER AIKU — (6/10) i really don't like womanizers fr, but as a friend, he seems chill. seems like the type of friend who's decent at listening and giving advice idk why but i get that vibe.

DON LORENZO — (7/10) his eating habits and his teeth will throw me off, but we certainly don't play about bar/club hopping.

EGO JINPACHI — (1/10) i don't like him. idc u won't be able to convince me to like him. i give him one point bc he put a blanket over anri tho.

ANRI TEIERI — (7/10) as much as i love her, i feel like the way she allows herself to be treated by ego like a maid would piss me off lmao. girl u better start acting like the boss bitch u are.

[starxanemone]

[starxanemone]

As a psychology student, i hate brian

we've all done it

[starxanemone]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎

sae + kaiser + shidou + ness + rin + isagi + nagi + reo x f reader

sae makes the bed before he leaves.

he wakes up early. before the sun, before the world stirs, before even the first of his four alarms has the chance to buzz. he’s built like that, disciplined with every second accounted for. training waits for no one, and sae itoshi doesn’t wait either.

he moves quietly in the mornings, all silent footsteps and half lidded yawns, the kind of stillness that comes from years of knowing exactly what needs to be done. his body remembers before his mind even catches up, coffee, stretches, get dressed.

but you, of course, are the exception to every one of his carefully constructed habits. the small detour in his list.

you’re still sprawled across the bed like a starfish, half wrapped in the duvet, cheek squished into his pillow with your mouth slightly open. your hair’s a mess, your legs are a messier tangle of limbs, and you’re wearing one of his hoodies that he brought three sizes too big.

you look ridiculous. soft and adorable, and sae hates how much it makes his heart ache.

he lets you sleep. he always lets you sleep.

but he also makes the bed every morning. no excuses. no matter what. even with you in it.

“move,” he murmurs, already tugging on one corner of the blanket, patting your hip with a touch that’s way gentler than his tone. “lift up.”

you groan, something inhuman and definitely not a real word. he sighs like this happens every morning. because it does.

“you’re drooling on my pillow. again.”

your hand flops up to smear half across your mouth, shielding your shame while you roll sluggishly to the side. sae takes the opportunity, quickly so you can resume your sleep, to fluff the pillow, tug the sheets flat, and fold a corner of the comforter neatly under your waist like a hotel staffer who somehow fell into domestic life.

“turn this way,” he mutters, nudging your shoulder. “no, the other way. blanket’s uneven.”

he’s all low grumbles and soft touches, moving you around like you’re made of glass. a frown tugs at his lips the whole time, but his hands are gentle, straightening and smoothing over the fabric like it matters more than it should.

when you’re finally cocooned the way he likes, snug, somewhat symmetrical, warm, he leans in and presses a quiet kiss to your temple. “sleep. i’ll be back before lunch.”

your voice is barely a whisper, slurred with sleep, muffled by the pillow. “bring food.”

he scoffs under his breath. “as long as you don’t get crumbs in my bed.”

you always do.

and he always brings your favorite snack anyway.

kaiser brings flowers for the whole family.

it started the first time he came over.

michael kaiser, self proclaimed egoist, golden boy of the field, the kind of guy who walked like the world owed him something and smiled like he already had it all, showed up at your front door with three bouquets in hand.

not one. not two. three.

he stood there like it was the most casual thing ever, shoulder leaned against the frame, grin a little too cocky, hair perfectly messy like he’d spent forever making it look like he didn’t try.

the first bouquet was for you, obviously. he handed it over with a dramatic little bow and a wink, the arrangement bold and romantic, soft pink peonies nestled between full, velvety red roses, tied together with a satin ribbon. classic. a little flashy, sure, but unmistakably him. he watched your expression like it was a match he was trying to win, waiting for your eyes to light up. and they did.

but then he straightened up and pulled out the second bouquet. a softer one, lavender, baby’s breath, white tulips. no over the top color this time, and handed it, with an almost sheepish smirk, to your mom.

“figured it’d be rude to only bring flowers for the prettiest girl here,” he said smoothly, voice dipped in charm. “so i brought some for the queen, too.”

your mom had blinked, surprised, and then laughed, soft and flustered while taking them from him and running off to find a vase.

and the third? that one was the smallest. the wrapping paper was cartoon themed, covered in stars and hearts. inside was tiny pops of bright color, mini sunflowers, marigolds, something dyed blue that probably wasn’t natural but was meant to be fun.

he crouched in front of your little sister to hand it to her directly, grinning that crooked, boyish grin that made him look five years younger.

“for the cutest princess i’ve ever seen.” he told her like it was a secret just for her. and when she covered her face and squealed, he only laughed and ruffled her hair, gentle and playful.

after that, it became routine.

evey time he came over, three beautiful bouquets.

he never made a show of it. didn’t brag, didn’t explain. he just slipped inside like he belonged there, bouquets in one hand, the other reaching for yours, eyes glinting with that same effortless confidence. like it was normal to charm your entire household on the way to your heart.

you’d tease him sometimes, grinning as you passed him in the hallway, whispering under your breath, “trying to win the whole family, michael?”

and he’d kiss your forehead, hands curling around your waist as he leaned in close enough that only you could hear him say,

“i already won yours. just making sure the rest of the kingdom approves.”

shidou paints your nails.

well, he demands to paint your nails. bursts into your room with a giant tote bag slung over his shoulder, overflowing with nail polish bottles, rhinestones in tiny plastic cases, glitter, mini uv lamps, and like, five different top coats he doesn’t even need. he’s grinning like he just looted a beauty supply store and got away with it. like you’re his first client of the day and he’s booked out until next year.

“sit,” he commands, plopping onto the floor and patting his lap like it’s your throne. “it’s nail day, baby.”

you eye him warily, climbing down off the bed anyway. it’s shidou, after all, loud, explosive, a walking red flag with more red cards than you can count. chaos is in his blood. if anyone was going to spill nail polish on the carpet or glue rhinestones to your elbow by accident, it’d be him.

but the second you settle in his lap, legs across his, hands offered out in front of you like an offering, he changes.

his voice quiets. his grin softens.

he picks out a color, sometimes asking, sometimes deciding for you, and his brows pull together in focus as he opens the bottle. he holds your fingers delicately, like they’re something fragile, his thumb resting beneath yours while his other hand starts to paint.

and he’s good. surprisingly good. sure, his hands still twitch sometimes, years of high speed tackles and clenched fists leaving their mark, but his grip is steady when it counts. the polish goes on smooth, not a single smudge. and when you move, even just a little, maybe to breathe, maybe to say something, he immediately clicks his tongue.

“stop moving,” he mumbles, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. “i’m trying to make you pretty.”

you lift a brow at him. “i’m already pretty.”

he snorts, but doesn’t look up. “duh. i’m just making you even more pretty.”

every time, he makes sure your nails match his, down to the last detail.

once it was matte black with silver tips. another time, pastel pink with little hearts he painstakingly dotted on with a toothpick. one week it was neon green flames and he called it your “power couple arc,” posing dramatically in front of your mirror like the two of you were about to drop a mixtape.

when he finishes, he always holds your hands up like they’re sacred. like he’s unveiling a work of art. his art.

“damn, we look good,” he says, eyes shining as he admires your matching sets. “wanna go push people over at the skating rink?”

you laugh. because how could you not?

and then he kisses your fingers, soft, almost gently, like the same mouth hasn’t yelled at a ref for twenty minutes or talked shit to half his team.

because yeah, shidou is a menace. reckless and violent and so unpredictable.

but when it’s just you and him, tangled up on the floor with glitter all over his sweatpants and your nails drying in the lamplight, he’s just a boy who likes painting your nails.

ness is always touching you.

dating him means you’re never really alone. not even for a second.

he doesn’t like space. not when it comes to you. even in silence, even when there’s no conversation to fill the gaps, his hands always find their way back to you, like they’re on autopilot, like his body’s forgotten how to exist without yours tethered to it.

you could be lying on the couch, half asleep, curled up on his chest while something plays on the tv that neither of you are really watching. the light flickers, scenes change, but his attention isn’t on the screen. it’s on the way your breathing evens out, the soft weight of your body against his, the warmth that seeps into his skin just from having you close.

and without hesitation, without even thinking, his hand slips beneath your shirt, not for anything suggestive. no teasing, no games. just to feel you. to trace slow, sleepy little circles against your spine with the pads of his fingers, like memorizing the shape of you helps him stay sane.

he always hums when he does it, something low and almost tuneless, head resting against yours, his eyes falling shut like he could fall asleep right then and there. because in that moment, you’re his. his anchor. his whole world slowed down into something soft and manageable.

out in public, he’s no different.

you’re standing in the middle of the freezer aisle at the store, trying to compare the price of two different brands of fish fingers, and ness is behind you, pressed flush against your back like he belongs there. both arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and then, as if that’s not close enough, he slides his hands into the pockets of your coat, lacing his fingers with yours even through the fabric.

“it’s cold…” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear, breath warm against your skin. but you know better. he’s not cold. he just missed touching you. he always does.

you barely flinch. you don’t even look up. because this? this is just ness being ness.

he gets twitchy when he can’t touch you.

not in a dramatic way, he doesn’t whine or throw a tantrum, but he fidgets. tugs gently at your sleeve, loops a finger through your belt, reaches for the hem of your hoodie and walks behind you with his hand curled in the fabric like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep that small connection.

he doesn’t say it, but you feel it. in every little squeeze. every tug. every time he absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, over and over and over.

and yeah, it’s cute. mostly.

a little clingy. a little possessive. maybe even too much, depending on who you ask.

you’ve caught him glaring at strangers before. people who bump into you too hard, who stare too long, who so much as brush against your shoulder in a crowd. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a scene, but the way his jaw tightens, the way his grip on your hand gets firmer, it’s all there.

but then you look up at him and you smile. and all that tension melts.

because for him, nothing else matters when you’re smiling.

sometimes, completely out of nowhere, when his hand is resting on your hip or just under the hem of your shirt, he’ll whisper, “don’t pull away.”

his voice is soft, almost pleading.

“just let me hold you. please.”

and there’s something in it, something unspoken. like he really believes you’ll vanish if he lets go. like the world spins too fast and you’re the only thing that keeps him steady.

but you don’t mind.

because every circle he draws on your back with his fingertip, every hand slipped into your coat pocket, every gentle touch when no one’s looking, it’s his way of saying he loves you.

over and over again.

rin always buys you snacks.

his shopping cart always looks like a weird battle between someone who takes their training dead seriously and someone who eats like they’ve been left unattended in a convenience store.

he knows what he needs to buy as be steers through the aisles. he just grabs what he needs, checks the labels for protein content and sugar, and tosses it into the cart without checking the pricing.

protein powder that smells like chemicals but costs as much as three cartons of eggs. those energy drinks with ridiculous names like “focus rage” or “max charge” or “ultra zero venom”, like they’re going to give him superpowers. packs of plain grilled chicken. greek yogurt with zero fat, zero sugar, zero fun. rows of protein bars with chalky textures and flavor names that sound like lies.

he doesn’t even blink at the bland tastes. he just stocks up like a soldier prepping for war.

and then, every time, like it’s muscle memory, right before he heads to the checkout, he stops. just for a second.

his hand is on the cart handle, foot already starting to turn, but he doesn’t move. his eyes flick sideways toward the snack aisle.

he doesn’t sigh, doesn’t make much of a show of it. just slowly veers the cart over like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just change course because something reminded him of you, and he’ll know you’ll get that craving at 2am when he’s trying to sleep.

and without a word, he reaches out and grabs the loudest, most obnoxiously colored bag of corn chips he can find. your favorite kind. the ones that leave orange dust on your fingers and taste like plastic and artificial flavouring. not baked, definitely not healthy, not even pretending to be good for you.

he doesn’t check the label, doesn’t pretend he might share them. he just tosses them into the cart along with all his high performance, peak athlete fuel like they belong there.

when back at his apartment, he unloads everything with his usual stiffness. lines up the cold stuff in the fridge like a little army, all color coded, and pushes the pantry door closed with his foot.

and then he sets the bag of chips on your side of the table. doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at you. just leaves them there, half buried under a bag of rice and a carton of eggs.

you always smile. sometimes say “thanks.” sometimes kiss his cheek. he always shrugs like it’s nothing.

“you forget to buy them,” he mutters, barely above a whisper. “so i remembered.”

his face stays neutral, but his ears go a little pink.

and that’s it. that’s all he says.

because he won’t admit it, not out loud. not yet. but he notices what you like. he pays attention, even when it looks like he’s not. and he remembers, every single time.

isagi dresses up nice for you.

he had always been a “throw on whatever’s clean” kind of guy. oversized hoodies, plain t shirts, soccer pants with grass stains, and the same pair of sneakers he wore everywhere, rain or shine. it wasn’t that he didn’t care about how he looked, he just never thought it mattered all that much. clothes were just… clothes. something to cover him up so he could get to practice, or the store, or wherever he needed to be without getting cold.

but that changed after he started dating you.

he still remembers one of your first dates. he showed up in his usual chill outfit, gray hoodie, joggers, no real thought behind it, and then he saw you. standing there waiting for him, looking like something out of a movie. skin glowing in the late afternoon light, your clothes were cute and put together, your scent soft and sweet as you leaned in for a hug.

and in that moment, isagi felt… underdressed. painfully so. like a side character in someone else’s story. like he didn’t belong next to you.

you didn’t say anything about it. you were warm and kind, smiling like nothing was wrong, but his mind kept spinning. you were beautiful, and he wanted to match you. not because you ever asked him to, not because you cared about status or outfits or brands, but because he wanted to show you that you mattered. that being with you made him want to try. to be better. to be the kind of guy you could look at and think, yeah, he’s mine.

so, he started putting in effort.

slowly, at first. a nicer shirt. jeans that actually fit right. sneakers that weren’t torn up. he started googling “casual date outfits” at midnight and watching tutorials on how to style his hair. he’d stand in front of the mirror, fiddling with a comb for twenty minutes, trying to get it to lay just right.

when he overheard you telling someone that clear lip gloss looked cute on guys, he went out and bought one, hiding it in his drawer like it was some deep secret. he dabbed on a little cologne, just enough to smell good if you got close, but not too strong. he didn’t want to overdo it, he just wanted you to notice.

and the first time he showed up like that, button down shirt, clean black slacks, his hair actually styled, you blinked at him in surprise. your eyes lit up, and then you smiled, all warm and soft and proud.

“you look good.” you said, reaching out to straighten his collar.

he ducked his head immediately, ears turning pink, mumbling something like “it’s nothing,” but inside, his heart was pounding. your smile made all the fuss worth it. suddenly, all those minutes in front of the mirror didn’t feel stupid at all.

now, every time you two go out, he shows up looking polished. still isagi, but cleaned up in a way that’s intentional. for you. always for you. he pretends it’s no big deal, says things like “i just threw this on,” but you always catch him peeking at your face when you first see him, like he’s searching for that spark in your eyes. that little smile. that approval.

did you notice? did you think he looked good?

because for you, he wants to be someone you can be proud of. someone who fits beside you in every way.

someone who shows, even in the smallest things, just how much he cares.

nagi has you on his lap while he games.

he’s never really been the type to share. not his snacks, especially not the good ones he stashed behind the cereal boxes. not his phone charger, unless you pried it out of his hands. and definitely not his gaming setup, which he treated with the kind of care usually reserved for sacred artifacts. it was his zone. . his quiet, comfy little world where he didn’t have to talk too much or try too hard.

but you? you were the one exception to every rule he ever made.

the first time it happened, you thought he was messing around. he was already slouched in his chair, headset tilted halfway off his head, finger idly clicking through a loading screen when he looked up and said, “c’mere,” voice low and lazy, like he couldn’t be bothered to speak louder. he pat his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world, and when you hesitated, he just gave a soft, drawn out sigh, tugged you gently down into his arms like you were made to be there.

your legs fit across his, his arm curling loosely around your waist. he didn’t pause his game, didn’t adjust anything, just held you, controller still in one hand like it was second nature now, like you were part of the setup.

after that, it became a routine. when he booted up his system, he’d automatically tilt the mic so it could catch both your voices. if his teammates were being annoying, talking too much, playing like idiots, he’d lean close and murmur, “angel, tell them they suck.” like he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself.

and you would. all smiles and giggles. “yo, you guys are actual trash. maybe click the uninstall button?”

he’d laugh every time, breathy and slow, and mute the mic just long enough to nuzzle into your shoulder and mumble, “so cute…” like he was falling asleep mid sentence, voice warm and soft, laced with affection only you got to hear.

when it came to crate openings, he always passed you the mouse. didn’t matter if it was a rare drop, or some ultra limited skin he’d been saving up for. didn’t matter if you had terrible luck or if you accidentally clicked the wrong tier. he didn’t even blink. he’d just lean back, cheek pressed against your shoulder, arms still draped around your waist, and say something like, “your hands are lucky… or maybe i just like watching you click stuff… dunno.”

sometimes he’d half doze like that, head tilted against you while the screen lit up with explosions and loot animations, his breathing slow and silent, but if you shifted too far or started to get up, he’d whine just a little, pulling you back down with cold fingers.

“…don’t go. you’re comfy.. stay.”

and even in the middle of intense matches, when he was wide awake and locked in, his touch never left you. one hand still on the controller, the other resting under your shirt, palm flat against the warmth of your skin. not in a dirty way, just there. soft and real.

“kinda makes me play better when you’re here,” he mumbled once, voice soft and muffled against your shoulder, like he was confessing a secret he didn’t know how to say out loud. he’s never been good with words. “feels easier. like… mm, dunno. just nicer.”

he was lazy, slow, always halfasleep, like the world was asking too much of him.

but when you were in his lap, calling out his kills and opening his crates, he didn’t mind putting in the effort. not for the game.

for you. always for you.

reo makes you give him a fashion show.

his favorite tradition, one he swears he’ll never get tired of, is the post shopping fashion show.

it happens every time. you come back from a shopping trip (usually with him), arms weighed down by sleek black bags with gold embossed logos, the kind of bags that make people stare. reo always takes them from you, grinning like a kid on christmas morning, but the second you’re inside his apartment, his spacious, sunlit, and stupidly expensive apartment, he flops onto the couch like he just ran a marathon.

he spreads out like a king. one arm slung over the back of the couch, legs wide, designer hoodie riding up just a little at his waist. he’s already got his phone out, camera app open, thumb hovering over the screen. his purple eyes are lazy but lit up, amusement curling at his lips.

“alright, babe,” he says, voice smooth and teasing, like he’s about to be spoiled. “impress me.”

and god, you always do.

you step out of his room wearing the first outfit, tags still on, fabric clinging in all the right places. before you can even say anything, the camera shutter starts going off, reo already leaning forward, angling his phone, snapping pictures like he’s backstage at fashion week.

“yeahhh,” he breathes, grinning, “that’s the one. wear that next week when i take you to dinner.”

you try to act nonchalant, rolling your eyes, adjusting a cuffs, but he catches the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. because he’s not playing around, not at all. he hypes you up with that soft, easy charm of his. not loud, not fake. just warm, like he genuinely believes you’re the most beautiful thing in the world and wants to make sure you know it too.

sometimes he puts his phone down. doesn’t say anything for a second, just watches you. his cheek resting on his knuckles, that dreamy, love struck look stealing over his face. the one he never bothers to hide.

“you look good in literally everything,” he says quietly, eyes dragging down your body and back up again. “like unfair good. how’d i get so lucky?”

you laugh, try to brush it off, but he’s already grabbing the phone again.

“wait, turn around,” he says, gesturing. “let me see the back. yeah, there, hold that pose.”

he takes photos of every look. seriously. all of them. he saves them in a locked album on his phone, titles it something stupid like “my baby’s runway”, and scrolls through it when you’re not around. sometimes he’ll set one as his lockscreen and just smile every time it lights up. doesn’t even try to hide it.

“i’m gonna frame this one,” he tells you one night, holding up a blurry pic of you mid spin, laughing in one of his designer jackets. “i’m serious. right next to my diplomas.”

you roll your eyes, but he just shrugs, like it makes perfect sense.

“fashion week could never,” he says, stretching out again, watching you disappear into the bedroom for your next change. “this is your week. every week is your week.”

he’s cocky, yeah. always has been. rich, too, old money, trust funds, family estate and all that. but with you, none of it’s about flexing. it’s not about showing off what he has. it’s about showing off you. because he’s proud. because he loves you. because you’re his favorite view in the world, no matter what you’re wearing.

but he’s not complaining when it’s a little tight, a little short, a little dangerous.

he just grins, leans back, and says, “how am i supposed to let you leave the house dressed like that?”

spoiler, he doesn’t.

[starxanemone]

I'm so not satisfied with how my dashboard looks like ughhh imma edit it later

[starxanemone]

your honor, it's nagireo in another universe !!!!

the personalities fit. let's just pretend that shakipiyo doesn't call gudetama his sibling lmao

[starxanemone]

Whenever I hear someone say "the woke mob" I have to stop myself from laughing because even today all I can think of is this fucking tweet

[starxanemone]

Oh wait... ness was the one who chopped his hair... oops

i idolize kaiser for the sole reason that he bagged ness. bc how did u and ur choppy ass hair accomplish that ???

[starxanemone]

Aran appreciation🤍

[starxanemone]

crushing on oblivious! bllk guys

part two (๑´ㅂ`๑)

characters: michael kaiser, ness, nanase, kunigami

this contains: reader is lowk like barbie. so many different jobs lmao.. anyways, lot of fluff and gn! reader :P oh, and reader is smoking a cigarette in ness’s one.. sorry it was the best thing i could think of hehe.. and in kunigami’s one you’re a cosplayer! :3

extra: yes, i really like michael kaiser, how could you tell?

kaiser doesn’t care about you. you’re just some random lowlife who sits around near the stadium to eat lunch. who eats in such a grimy place, anyways? and why are you so loyal to that bench? despite these questions, kaiser pays no attention to you. not until he catches sight of you one day. it’s only then, when he realises— you’re a freaking journalist. you’re writing away with one hand, the other clutching onto a fork as you balance your hunger with work. the man approaches, raising an eyebrow as you seem to stiffen. he says nothing, half relishing in the way you suddenly look so.. awkward. he grunts in slight annoyance as you stand back up, quickly walking away from him— leaving your beloved journal behind, only your lunch in hand as you practically speed down the street. he debates following after you, his slim hand reaching to pick up your journal. it’s cute, he notes; not something that he’d use, but he supposes that it suits you. the next time kaiser sees you, you’re at the same bench. looking around for your journal, he figures. he chuckles inwardly as a yelp escapes your lips— took you long enough to realise he was behind you. how can a journalist be so scatterbrained? well, it’s lucky that he was holding onto your little journal. “here,” he says, lips curling into a charming smile. that smile falters when you snatch the journal back from him, making yet another quick retreat. over the next few days, you don’t visit that usual bench. part of him wonders if he scared you off— he laughs at the thought, stepping out of the main building. kaiser feels.. oddly surprised when he sees you back on that bench. your eyes meet, and you give him a strange look. you really are strange, kaiser thinks to himself. the same thought crosses his mind when he sees you at one of his games— oh, right. you’re a journalist. but when you give him that familiar strange look, he finds himself hoping that you came for a different reason. not that he thinks you would, anyways— you’re always running off like a mouse.

ness thinks that you’re really cool. you seem to be a super bit fan of soccer— ‘cause he always sees you at his games! he never gets close enough to even think of saying something to you— but he really wishes he can one day. when that day actually does roll around, though, ness freezes. you’re in the car park of the stadium, leaning against a wall with a cigarette perched between your lips. you exhale slowly, the smoke drifting out through the night air and he swears his cheeks have turned red. you are so cool, he thinks to himself. “you need something?” you ask, your gaze drifting to meet with his— wow, you’re so much prettier up close. ness shakes his head, looking back at you. “..do you want one?” you raise an eyebrow at the man, and for a moment, he stands there in slight confusion. does he want a cigarette? normally, he would deny it as soon as possible. but now, he finds himself nodding hesitantly and stepping closer. his cheeks only flush further as you lean towards him, pushing off of the wall and plucking the cigarette out of your lips. wait, wait— this isn’t what he agreed to! what was he thinking, anyways!? he’s never smoked before! his eyes widen, but when he sees you smile, your expression brightening just a little, he relaxes. “if you wanted to talk you could just say so.” you say, looking back at the man, and he swears you’re dangerous. after that incident, he’d find himself looking out for you after matches— and he wonders if you’re waiting for him, or maybe if you like watching his games. should he say something? he smacks himself mentally for even thinking that, and smiles brightly as he approaches you again. you’re probably just very interested in soccer.

nanase doesn’t know what to feel about you. after training, he likes to visit the cafe down the street. you work there, and he’s discovered that you’re really good at making coffee. you draw cute little flowers and hearts on his cup sometimes, and nanase thinks his heart flutters when he notices it! you look so good, too— and, and— you’re standing in front of him again, holding a notepad in your hand, nodding slightly as he orders. he knows that you know he’s going to get the same as usual. you’re somehow always the one to serve him, but he’s not mad. in fact, he thinks he likes it. he feels weird when you return after a little while, and he feels even weirder after you leave. nanase gets these weird feelings around you, but he’s not sure why. maybe it’s the way you smile at him, or the cute drawings. or maybe he’s just overthinking this and you’re nice to everyone! yeah, that’s what it is. but when he sees your number scribbled onto his receipt with a heart beside it, his knees practically buckle. is it casual? is this casual!?

kunigami saw you for the first time at the gym— well, it was you, but you were cosplaying one of your favourite characters. when he stepped inside, he really didn’t expect to see (character) standing right in front of him getting ready to work out. the next time he saw you was after training one night. he was walking down a street, footsteps heavy against the pavement and his shoulders sagging before he hears.. heavier footsteps? he turns around, and flinches slightly at the sight of you— in full armour with a massive sword in your arms. he blinks back at you for a moment, slightly confused. “are you.. okay?” stupud question, but he’s curious. you nod, giving him a cute little peace sign and he thinks your demeanour is much from the outfit you’re wearing. you seem quite.. shy, almost. which is funny for a person in full armour. he lifts a hand, gesturing to his face for you to pull of the helmet. you comply, feeling your heart race just a little— you really didn’t expect to run into kunigami tonight. you came back from a con, feeling tired and super heavy— definitely not ready to talk to your secret crush. you look back at the man, and the.. strangely shy expression on your face is very out of place. you both stand there awkwardly for a few moments, before you quickly put your helmet back on and walk past him, saying something about “being in a hurry.” after that interaction, kinigami’s scrolling on tiktok; and he nearly drops his phone when he comes across your account. ah, so you’re a cosplayer; he clicks onto your profile, deciding he’d like to see some of your recent posts. what did you mean by saying “just ran into my crush in cosplay nobody talk to me” on your newest video? he wonders how many other people you ran into tonight.

[starxanemone]

i idolize kaiser for the sole reason that he bagged ness. bc how did u and ur choppy ass hair accomplish that ???

[starxanemone]

tsubakino in honour of the current arc!

[starxanemone]

I do not fear. Losers have always been my type since I was a wee little kid