reina ♡ aiki's luv

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢, before all else, blames himself. even if he clearly is not the one at fault, or even if his level of guilt in the situation is not be high in the least. he only sees what he has done wrong, and fully puts himself responsible. he apologizes for the smallest of things, even ones of out his control, just hoping that he would be forgiven. the entire match, he was being marked by hugo—the mvp of the match and arguably the best ng11 we’ve seen—yet still blamed himself for a bad performance when he was in the locker room.

𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐮 is impossibly rational, perceptive, which solves the issue quickly. after the situation, he observes reactions first before deciding on what is a good time to talk about what went wrong. he talks about the issue, lets others talk about the issue, and they both reach a compromise. issues should be solved, not lingered upon. he doesn’t point fingers, only address problems. in the locker room, he never put the blame on anyone, only acknowledging that ego’s philosophy is not working anymore rather than dwelling on their loss.

𝐫𝐢𝐧 doesn’t acknowledge his faults. nor does he try to find a solution to the problem. he waits for others to make the first move. he’s too prideful to admit he’s wrong, even when he knows that he was the one at fault. he takes breaks, wallowing in his own emotions regardless of how much he needs to find a solution—because rin is just so emotionally unstable and so irrational. when shidou called him out for selling that goal, rin knew that shidou was talking to him and that he lost. yet still, rin just fought and fought and didn’t apologize.

In the quiet hills above a sun-warmed coastal town in Spain, ancient olive trees stood like silent guardians under the endless sky. You often wandered there at dusk, a mortal man with a steady heart and an artist’s eye. Your worn sketchbook captured the way moonlight painted the leaves silver. The world felt vast and lonely on some nights, yet the stars and old stones kept you company.

That evening the air hung heavy with the scent of earth and sea. A sudden unnatural storm rolled in, clouds swallowing the moon for a few breathless minutes before they parted again. You nearly turned back when you saw him.

Beneath a gnarled olive tree and half-hidden by low branches lay a man of breathtaking beauty. He was tall, well over six feet, with an athletic yet elegantly proportioned frame that spoke of divine grace. His hair was a cascade of golden blond, short and neatly tapered at the sides but longer and luxuriously tousled on top.

Soft bangs swept gracefully across the left side of his face, framing high cheekbones, a refined jawline, and full lips curved in unconscious repose. His skin was flawless, pale with a subtle golden undertone that glowed faintly under the returning moonlight. Simple clothes clung to his powerful form: a black shirt stretched across broad shoulders and a defined chest, trousers dusted with otherworldly soil.

Faint iridescent silver wings edged in ethereal gold lay folded tightly against his back, dimmed as if drained by whatever force had brought him low. He looked like a fallen celestial prince: beautiful, commanding, and dangerously vulnerable. His beauty was a trap, ancient and effortless, designed to lure even the most cautious souls into orbit around him.

You knelt beside him after only a moment of hesitation. Something in his perfect features pulled at you, an invisible thread that made leaving impossible. His breathing was shallow and his skin feverishly warm. Up close his presence hummed with ancient power, an intoxicating gravity that made the night itself seem to hold its breath. You checked for injuries and found none visible. “Hey. Can you hear me?” There was no response.

You could not leave him there. The pull of his beauty clouded your thoughts, turning concern into compulsion. With considerable effort you half-carried and half-dragged the stranger back to your modest stone house at the edge of the grove. His body felt heavier than any man’s, as though the stars themselves weighed upon him. Inside you laid him carefully on your bed, the only one in the small home. You brought water, cooled his brow with a damp cloth, and watched over him through the night. Your heart raced with concern and an inexplicable pull.

Hours later moonlight streamed through the window as he stirred. Those luminous green eyes opened slowly and locked onto yours with a sharpness that stole your breath. Arrogance flickered first, divine and magnetic. Then came surprise, followed by a softening curiosity as he registered your worried expression and the simple room around him.

“Where?” His voice was low and velvety, rich with an ancient Spanish lilt that resonated like a hymn from forgotten temples.

“You are in my home,” you said quietly while perched on the edge of the bed. “I found you passed out under the olive tree. Are you hurt? What happened?”

He sat up with fluid grace despite the evident strain. The movement caused a faint shimmer where his wings remained hidden from mortal sight. Leonardo Luna was the name he gave, delivered with a faint charismatic smirk that revealed perfect white teeth. He studied you intently. His golden hair fell artfully across his forehead while those striking green eyes traced your features as if committing them to eternal memory. “A mortal pulling a fallen god from the dirt. How unexpectedly charming.”

You chuckled softly and the tension eased. “God or not, you needed help. Stay until you are stronger. No one should wake up alone out there.”

Luna’s beautiful face softened further. The sharp elegance of his expression warmed with reluctant gratitude. That night he remained. He spoke sparingly at first, but his magnetic presence filled the space. His deep green gaze lingered on you and the way his long fingers brushed yours when he accepted the simple meal you offered. By morning strength had returned to his powerful frame, yet he made no move to leave. Instead he asked your name. He listened with genuine interest as you shared your quiet life sketching the stars and offered veiled fragments of his own: whispers of eternal night and solitary dominion that felt far too vivid.

Days blurred into gentle routine. Luna recovered under your roof. His divine arrogance showed in teasing remarks about your endearing mortal habits, always laced with that captivating smile. He moved with predatory grace yet helped in small ways: his tall athletic form reaching high shelves, a steady hand on your shoulder that lingered warmly. One rainy evening as you sat by the hearth he let a single magnificent silver wing unfurl partially. Its iridescent feathers were soft and glowing as they wrapped around your back like a protective embrace.

“You took in a stranger from the dark,” he murmured. His voice was intimate and low while those luminous green eyes fixed on yours with growing intensity. “Most would have fled from beauty like mine or the danger it hides.”

“I saw someone who needed me,” you replied while leaning into the warmth of feathers and the man beneath them.

Luna’s gaze held yours. The first tender sparks of something deeper ignited between you. His beauty had served as the perfect trap, drawing you in and binding you close before either of you understood the full depth of it. The god who had plummeted from the heavens had found unexpected sanctuary in a mortal’s kindness. In those striking features and powerful presence something profound was beginning to bloom.

He kept closer after that, as if the bond had already started to anchor his celestial heart to yours.

In the days that followed, Luna remained confined to your bed. His celestial body healed slowly, the fall from whatever divine realm had weakened him far more than he admitted. You tended to him with steady care, bringing fresh water, simple meals, and quiet company. The ancient stone house felt smaller with him in it, filled by his commanding presence and that effortless beauty that still pulled at you like a tide.

His luminous green eyes followed your every movement. The golden blond hair, artfully tousled against the pillow, framed a face that could stop hearts, yet now it carried a sharper edge. His full lips curved into smiles that blended affection with something possessive. The love between you had taken root quickly, tender and mutual. He would reach for your hand when you drew near, his long fingers warm and strong, murmuring your name in that velvety Spanish lilt like a sacred invocation. You found yourself drawn closer each time, leaning in for soft kisses that lingered, his athletic frame shifting under the sheets to make space for you beside him.

Yet the beauty that had first trapped you began to reveal its disturbing undercurrents.

One afternoon, as sunlight filtered weakly through the window, you tried to rise from the bed to fetch more herbs for his comfort. Luna’s hand shot out with surprising speed. His grip encircled your wrist, firm and unyielding, those perfect fingers pressing just enough to hold you in place without bruising. His green eyes locked onto yours, intense and shadowed.

“Stay,” he said, voice low and commanding. The arrogance of a god lingered there, but laced now with raw need. “I do not want you leaving my side. Not yet.”

You paused, heart quickening. The touch was warm, familiar from the growing intimacy, yet it carried a weight that made the air feel heavier. “Luna, I will only be a moment. You need rest, and I need to care for you properly.”

His smirk was charismatic as ever, but it did not reach the depths of his gaze. He tugged you gently back down onto the edge of the bed, his thumb tracing slow circles over your pulse point as if memorizing the rhythm of your life. “Care for me here. Right here. Your mortal kindness brought me in, but now it binds you close. I feel stronger with you near. Leave, and the weakness returns.”

The words were sweet on the surface, wrapped in the love that bloomed between you. You settled beside him again, letting him pull you against his broad chest. His free arm wrapped around you while the other still held your wrist. A single silver wing unfurled partially beneath the blankets, its iridescent feathers glowing faintly as they curved around your back. The wing surrounded you both in a private cocoon, soft yet possessive, blocking out the rest of the room. In that feathered embrace, he kissed you deeply, reverently, his body pressing close with divine hunger tempered by affection.

“I have wandered eternities alone,” he whispered against your lips, green eyes half-lidded and luminous. “You are the first to see me fallen and choose to stay. That choice chains us now, mi alma. Do not test it by stepping away.”

Disturbing as the intensity was, the love remained undeniable. You felt it in the way he listened when you spoke of your sketches, in the tender strokes of his fingers through your hair, in the vulnerable glimpses where his arrogance cracked to reveal genuine warmth. Yet the grip on your wrist never fully loosened. Even as night fell and you both drifted toward sleep, his hold persisted, a silent declaration that you belonged within his reach.

Outside the window, the olive groves whispered under the moon. Inside, the god in your bed grew more entangled with the man who had saved him. His beauty continued its quiet trap, drawing you deeper into his world of shadows and starlight. The hunger stirring beneath his elegant surface waited, patient for now, while love and possession intertwined like vines around an ancient tree.

He kept you close that night and the next, wings enveloping you both, his wrist grip a constant anchor. The bond tightened, beautiful and unsettling, as the Scion of the Eternal Night refused to let his mortal light slip away.

Days turned into a fragile rhythm inside the stone house. Luna’s grip on your wrist had become a constant, his luminous green eyes softening with affection even as his hold tightened whenever you shifted too far. The love between you burned steady and deep. He whispered endearments in that velvety voice, pulled you into kisses that made the world fade, and wrapped you in silver wings that felt like sanctuary. Yet the disturbing edge lingered in his refusal to let you stray, as if your absence might unravel him.

One morning you decided to leave briefly. The village below the hills had an orphan boy you had quietly watched over for months, a quiet child with wide eyes and no family left. You wanted to bring him home for a meal and some warmth, hoping the kindness that had drawn Luna to you might extend. “I will return soon,” you promised Luna, gently prying his fingers from your wrist. His beautiful face showed reluctance, golden blond hair falling across his forehead, but he released you with a lingering caress. “Do not linger, mi alma. This bed feels cold without you.”

You brought the boy back as the sun dipped lower. The child clutched your hand, excited by the promise of safety and stories. But when you stepped through the door the house stood silent and empty. The bed where Luna had lain for so long was abandoned. No sign of his powerful frame or the faint shimmer of hidden wings. Panic rose sharp and cold in your chest. The boy sensed it and looked up at you with worry.

“Stay right here,” you told the child firmly, guiding him to a chair by the hearth. “Do not move. I must find our guest. I will be back quickly.”

Heart pounding you ran out into the olive groves, calling Luna’s name under the gathering twilight. The trees twisted like silent witnesses as you pushed deeper, following an instinct that pulled toward a small clearing where the moonlight pooled strongest. There you found him.

Luna stood tall and elegant in the silver light, his athletic form outlined perfectly. His golden blond hair caught the glow, soft bangs framing those striking green eyes that now held a distant, curious gleam. One magnificent silver wing was half-unfurled, feathers shimmering. In his arms he cradled a human body, or what remained of one.

The corpse was mangled beyond repair and recognition. The limbs were twisted at grotesque angles one arm bent backward at the elbow with bone protruding through torn flesh in sharp, jagged shards; the legs splayed unnaturally, knees shattered and feet pointing in opposite directions as if the god had tested the limits of mortal joints with clinical detachment. The torso was caved inward, ribs crushed and sunken like a broken cage, dark blood pooling and soaking through what little remained of clothing. The head was the worst — features pulverized into an unrecognizable pulp of meat and bone fragments.

The jaw hung loose and detached on one side, teeth scattered across the ground like spilled pearls. Eyes that once held life were now burst and leaking, the skull partially collapsed under what must have been immense, experimental pressure. Blood matted the hair and streaked down in thick rivulets, some still fresh and glistening under the moonlight. The entire form was limp and ruined, a broken doll discarded after a god’s idle curiosity.

He had been toying with mortal life, trying to understand its fleeting spark, the way souls flickered and faded under divine hands. His divine arrogance had led him here while you were gone, seeking answers in the only way an eternal being might when love and hunger warred inside him.

You stumbled backward, boots catching on roots as horror clawed up your throat. Your back hit the rough bark of an olive tree, putting distance between you and the nightmare in his arms. “Luna… how could you?” The words came out choked, trembling with disbelief and rising anger. “That was a person. Someone with a life, with thoughts and fears and hopes. And you… you tore them apart like this? Just to experiment? How heartless can you be? I brought you into my home. I cared for you when you were fallen and weak. I loved you. And this is what you do the moment I step away?”

Luna looked up as you spoke, his full lips parting in a mix of surprise and something softer. The beauty that had trapped you remained flawless, even with crimson staining his pale golden skin and black shirt. He gently laid the ruined body down on the grass, the wet sound of it settling sickeningly soft. His luminous green eyes met yours across the clearing, magnetic and unwavering. “Mi alma,” he said, voice low and warm with genuine relief laced through the arrogance. “I did not mean for you to see this so soon. They were… an experiment. Mortals are so delicate. I only wished to comprehend what makes your heart beat so steadily for me.”

He took a slow step forward, wings beginning to spread wider, silver feathers glowing in the moonlight. You pressed harder against the tree, but he continued with that predatory grace, extending a bloodied hand. “Do not pull away. This changes nothing between us. Their life was brief and meaningless compared to what we share. I kept you close because your soul calls to me in ways no other does. Come back to the house. Bring the child if you must. I will keep you both safe within my reach. No more experiments. Only you.”

The love still flickered inside you, twisted and conflicted amid the horror. His beauty, that perfect trap of golden hair and emerald eyes, pulled at you even now. Yet the mangled remains on the ground screamed of the darkness beneath it all. Luna’s wings moved to surround the space between you, soft yet insistent, as if ready to cocoon you both and shut out the nightmare. He kept advancing, possessive and tender, the god unwilling to let his mortal light escape the bond that had formed.

your trip to france was in the middle of summer.

the hot june sun was beating down on your back, and your feet were dead from the tens of thousands of steps from that day. you were only two days in out of your three month long trip—if this was how it was going to be the entire time, you were truly going to die.

your eyes were glued to the tiles on the streets, not realizing you had bumped into someone until you felt a dull pain on your head. “oh shit—i’m so sorry.” you stammered, phone and earbud case falling out of your pockets.

you groaned, crouching down to reach for your dropped items, but someone handed them to you before you could even blink. you glanced up, meeting deep burgundy—nearly black—eyes. “thank you.” you met messy and long maroon hair and a deadpan expression.

“i’m in love with you.”

you nearly choked, blinking rapidly at the words that had just exited the redhead’s mouth. yet he still looked as if this was just another day in the office, expression unchanging. your entire face burned, eyes wide. passerby probably didn’t know you were going through every single chemical reaction possible internally.

“oh, uh, i, um, what?” you asked, mind malfunctioning. you were still crouching down awkwardly, as was the stranger. yes, the stranger. you had no idea who the hell this guy was, nor did you know his age or his name or anything about him.

you stood up stiffly, and the stranger did as well, wind blowing in his maroon hair perfectly. he looked like a model. “as i said, i’m in love with you.” his gaze was observant, quietly unraveling every feature of yours, every inch of your body. yet there was a tiny glimmer in his eye that told you this was more than just logic.

love at first sight, maybe? cute, but you weren’t interested. you were here for three months, and you were here to lock in (to eat all of the french pastries). plus, you had to go home anyway. you didn’t want heartbreak. “no thanks, i’m not interested, sorry.”

he raised an eyebrow. how the hell is this surprising to him? “oh, i see.” you almost let out a sigh of relief; maybe he’ll back off now. then you could forget this hot, tall, nice guy you met in france randomly.

“guess i’ll have to try harder to convince you then.”

excuse you?

your jaw went slack—how the hell were you supposed to respond to this? “no, genuinely, i don’t think you understand. i’m a tourist. i’m here for three months and i’m gone.” your french wasn’t perfect, but hopefully, you got the message across. “plus, i don’t know you. like, at all.”

at that point, a few passerby stopped to stare, noticing your discomfort. the stranger tilted his head. “i’m vivien hugo. i’m seventeen, a member of the french u20 football team, and i currently play for pxg’s u20 team, though i’ll be transferring to play for arsenal soon.”

so this guy was famous as well? and likely rich? the thought of going home was getting farther by the minute with hugo in front of you.

“and i’m also your future husband, so i suppose it is important for you to know me better.” goddamnit, did this guy have any friends growing up? you were already red in your cheeks, but at his comment, your entire face was probably redder than his hair.

“sure, buddy. whatever you say.” you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. “nice to meet you hugo. you live around here or something?” you were practically the same age, but since he was a pro player, he probably had his own living quarters.

“i do. i’m guessing you stay at a hotel?” he asked. you nodded.

“i’m not telling you which one.”

“i wasn’t interested in knowing anyway. we’ll meet again even without conventionally necessary information.

this guy was pissing you off. “alright. see you then, hugo.” paris was a city with far too many people for you both to meet again. that’d be ridiculous. with that, you turned your back on him and walked away.

of course, you just had to be wrong.

because when you left your hotel just two days later, your head ended up making impact with yet someone yet again. your earbud case and phone ended up falling out of your pockets again.

“i’m so sor—wait,” your eyes widened, mouth opening wide. “hugo?!” no way. there was absolutely no way such a coincidence could ever exist. and yet you were met with his familiar burgundy hair.

“oh, you’re staying at this hotel. my apartment complex is actually right next to it.” he pointed at the building next door, which you hadn’t even realized was an apartment complex until he said so. no fucking way.

“guess we’re fated after all. not that i doubted it in the first place.” hugo stated, picking up your case and phone casually.

“oh my days,” you breathed. “how?” you hated how steady his gaze was while you were having a meltdown. this guy, this creep, was stuck around you now!

“destiny.”

“not a good reason…”

“you can choose not to believe it, but we’re fated for each other.” hugo replied. “i was actually looking for you, but i suppose destiny decided to be kind and drop you right in front of me.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line. “okay, what is it?”

“you’re traveling alone, i assume. you’re also only here for three months, so i was just thinking that you might need a guide. i only have practice for a few hours five days a week anyway. it doesn’t matter to me.” hugo tilted his head.

“you want me to accept a stranger’s offer?” you asked. “sorry, i don’t have the survival instincts of a walnut. i barely know you.”

“it’s your decision. but just so you know, i am a celebrity by technicality. i have a reputation to uphold. i can’t just kidnap you or mistreat you. that’d be bad for the both of us.” hugo said. you had to admit, he did have logic in his argument. “again, your choice.”

your budget didn’t allow you to find a tour guide, so this was really your best shot. and despite stranger danger, you had to admit that your gut and instinct really sensed noting off about hugo.

“fine.” you sighed. “sure. i’ll do it. you can be my tour guide or my helper or whatever you wanna call it.”

“that’s a deal.”

you hated to admit it, but vivien was good company.

he was blunt and could be preachy at times, but the thing was that he was completely aware of the times he was being annoying…and he completely owned his it as well. you had to admit, he was pretty funny, even if his humor was unintentional most of the time.

when the final day came, vivien decided to bring you on a walk. it was the evening of a weekday, and the park was quiet. the sun was setting softly, and the loudest noise was a small breeze and crickets.

you sat on a swing, meanwhile vivien stood against the swing’s metal beam. you didn’t want to speak. what the hell were you supposed to say to him? you were probably never going to see him ever again.

“well?” vivien began.

“what do you mean, ‘well?’” you asked. he looked at you as if you got 1+1 wrong.

“do you love me?” he asked. you choked on air. “i told you when we first met that i was in love with you. that hasn’t changed, not at all. do you love me back?”

your cheeks dusted pink. “i, well,” you did. you loved him, definitely more than just a crush would ever account for. he was practically your only non-digital communication for the past three months.

but this was bound to end.

and you didn’t want to leave.

you didn’t answer, instead standing up from the swing and walking towards him. when you were in front of vivien, he tilted his head—which was perfect for what you were about to do next.

because your hands cupped both of his cheeks, and you brought his lips to yours without hesitation.

vivien reacted within milliseconds, bringing his hands to your waist and only pulling away to catch for his breath. his cheeks were scarlet, his mouth open for air, and pupils dilated, this was the most emotional you’d ever seen vivien.

and he was so, utterly, completely in love.

“stay here,” he whispered. “just stay with me. i can cover costs for everything. i’ll do anything for you if you just don’t leave.” his gaze softened. “marry me if you need to. just don’t go.”

a bitter smile made its way onto your face. “vivien,” you grazed your thumb across his cheek. “i wish i could, but you know, i’ve got a life to live. and i’ve got senior year waiting for me back home, and graduation, and my friends, and i’ve got so much ahead of me. i love you, vivien. i really do. but this was never meant to last long anyway. if someday we meet again, but in a place where we could be together for longer, i promise i’ll marry you.”

you didn’t expect to be met with dejection, and that wasn’t what you received in the least. because vivien looked more determined than ever.

“that’s a promise. no take backs.”

you kissed his cheek. “no take backs.”

even two years later, you can still vividly remember your plane ride home.

you didn’t cry in front of vivien. you forced yourself not to, not when he dropped you off at the airport or when he stayed with you all the way until you entered security check and he had to leave.

but you were absolutely bawling your eyes out on the plane ride. and it was pathetic, to get so emotional over a 3-month summer situationship over a boy you’d probably never see again.

but there was just something about vivien that you couldn’t get over.

senior year went and left faster than your previous summer. midterms, finals, winter break, midterms, ap testing, sat, act, finals, graduation.

the next summer just wasn’t the same without vivien. rather than go out every day and enjoy the sun, you instead rotted in bed and just scrolled on social media. you shouldn’t be so hung up over him. you shouldn’t even remember him.

yet you did.

you applied to 12 colleges, all within your home country except for one: a university in london.

though i’ll be transferring to play for arsenal soon.

you still remembered vivien’s words. you didn’t want to search him up; you didn’t want to see him without being able to love him. but if there was even the slightest chance that you could get into that university in london, then maybe, just maybe, fate was real.

the university in london was the only one you were accepted into.

so you packed your bags and left. only your freshman year of college was just lonely. you didn’t see vivien. not a single time. no hearing his name in the streets, no seeing him on billboards, nothing. and sure, you kept your grades up, but you were in an entirely different country with no friends.

even though your college was impossibly close to the arsenal headquarters, you were never once able to get tickets to any matches. they just sold out too quickly. football fans were scary.

you didn’t return home for the summer between freshman and sophomore year of college.

your fate was determined in the middle of summer.

the hot june sun was beating down on your back, and your feet were dead from the tens of thousands of steps from that day. you were only two days in out of your three month long summer break—if this was how it was going to be the entire time, you were truly going to die.

your eyes were glued to the tiles on the streets, not realizing you had bumped into someone until you felt a dull pain on your head. “oh shit—i’m so sor—“

this scene felt strangely familiar.

when you looked up, every single one of your dreams manifested.

because vivien hugo looked at you as if he saw an angel, and your earbud case and phone were the prayers that led him to you.

“i finally found you.”

© 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧, 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐢.

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။|||||။၊|။• this tiktok. holy invisible string theory…my girl looks SO in love on slide 3 omg

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 @/𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝-𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬!

ꕤ ⋆｡°‧ doing onazi’s hair…but he’s (very) tenderheaded!

Your boyfriend has been sporting the same hair style since the first day you’ve met him.

His trademark space buns were part of his identity at this point and you’d rarely see him without them, unless it's wash day and he has to let his hair out, otherwise his hair will be simply parted in the middle and tied in two separate buns.

However, for some reason, he decided to make a change in his style for once. You don’t know what inspired the sudden decision, but you still support it obviously and offered to help since you’re quite good with hair.

He showed you the reference picture. ‘It looks simple. It shouldn’t take too long’ you thought.

If only you knew how wrong you were…

What should’ve taken less than two or something hours has extended to nearly three because this boy won’t stop flinching and complaining whenever you touch his head.

“Oga, how do you want me to do your hair if you keep flinching all the time…”

“You’re making it hurt on purpose, aren’t you…”

“I’m literally just parting your hair, stop being dramatic,” He just kissed his teeth and looked down again. You had to start by doing the front of his head because his neck area was ‘too sensitive’ apparently, so you’re finishing the back of his head now.

After hours of pain and suffering — his words, not yours — you were finally done. Well, almost done. There were still at least ten braids left to go…why does this boy need to have this much hair, huh? You’re kind of jealous that he has that much hair, but you’re definitely not jealous of how tender his scalp is…Because he’s been acting as if you’re doing some sort of acupuncture on his head or something. You can’t help but smile at the thought of his teammates seeing him act this whiny right now.

“How many are left…”

“Two.”

“You’re lying again.”

“I’m not! I promise we’ll be done in a minute.”

Except you weren’t.

It took you another thirty minutes to finish because he kept on complaining again. Guess he should just stick with his usual hairstyle…it looks cuter on him anyways.

why does my skin start to burn?

BLLK boys react to you sending them a picture of your dog laying on your chest

A/N: yes I used the same pic in all of them, sue me. Also I was on ft again, yes

Characters: Nagi, Shidou, Otoya, Kaiser, Isagi

CW: suggestive ish

A/N: yes some characters got less because idgaf about them (ahem… Otoya)

i enjoyed drawing them so much

especially otoya, there's no explanation to that really 😭

summary: they find out you hang out or know their sister(s)

characters involved: vivien hugo, tabito karasu, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami, shuto sendou, aiku oliver, jingo raichi

warnings: i dont know?😭😭, maybe ooc, Sendou is over dramatic, cursing in jingo's

inspiration: me becuz im funny