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r/aita for having a grindr profile while in a relationship? u/shidouisdeepinside
a little context for the title. i (18m) absolutely love my partner LET THAT BE KNOWN. but i’ve had my grindr profile even before meeting them and i cannot just GET RID of it. there’s too many memories. besides, monogamy has always infringed on my rights of freedoms.
anyway, my partner found out a couple days ago. we were chilling in some restaurant as we waited for our order. i had to take a pee super badly so i went to the bathroom, leaving my phone at the table we were sitting at. well, upon getting back, my partner was gone, and all that was left was my phone. with an opened grindr notification . . .
at this point i was utterly confused. disoriented if u will . . . because how could i just be abandoned like that?
anyway i tried calling them. five times. and not once was my call picked up. i really am genuinely confused . . . i mean i get it might be “cheating” but also i don’t think so. it’s more like experimenting. my partner won’t let be talk to them AT ALL and this has been honestly eating at me for days.
reddit, tell me, am i the asshole here? i really dont think so . . .
| u/cheetahprint..chigiri: based off title alone you’re the asshole like tf
| u/isagiyoi.11: This is a crazy one . . . Honestly if I were you I’d just go back to being single. YTA
| u/saeitoshi10: 😂 yta
> u/shidouisdeepinside: well hey there peachie 👀 wna do sum strange for a piece of change?
> u/saeitoshi10: ?
| u/onazilovesyou: now if this isnt the saddest thing i’ve ever seen … yta 😟
| u/H_Buratsuta: It all depends on the length of the relationship. Data points suggest that around the 3 month mark is when partners become majorly attached and co-dependent. If the relationship has surpassed that margin, then I believe YTA. If not? NTA
| u/xxotoya.exx: preach about the monogamy thing like holyyyy 😩 u are NTA bcs u speak the truth
> u/shidouisdeepinside: WE TWINS u should come over 👀👀 jk lolz …. orrr??
| u/rinthedestroyer: ew yta u sound like a bug go die
> u/shidouisdeepinside: okay wtf who pissed on your pillow
| u/poof!itsness: Check out Michael Kaiser’s podcast for more advice ! :) “The Blue Rose Blooms Again”
| u/teddyknightnotbear: Click this Link for Free Shipping On all Orders
> u/iggybunny: aw man :( now my phone just has hentai ads
| u/reoreoreo03: theyre probably homophobic i’d suggest breaking up with them and embracing who u truly are #nta
| u/julianloki.therealest: LMFAOOOOO dude i think u gotta break ur shit cuz ts is too much… yta.. LMFAO STOP IM DYING LIKE WTF IS THIS
> u/itzcharleschevy: hey lokz
> u/julianloki.therealest: log off bruh
| u/bumblingbachirahehe: grindr is crazy. 🤪 . i suggest talking to a counselor maybe it’ll help!! 😜🤠🫶
| u/keepingitrealbyhugo.v: Breathe. You’re not a villain. You have a tenderness to you, I can sense it :). Honestly, you’re a vibe! ✨
> u/shidouisdeepinside: fucking bot this doesnt help
| u/Chris.Princeisonline: I support the gays!! <33333 I am NOT homophobic!!
> u/Noel_Noa: Who was saying you were? Performative.
NOTE: #babysfirstcommission! Thank you to the lovely person who commissioned this. Ik I put my listing up as 1.5k words and you can pay to add more but since this is the first one evah I had to double it + I got carried away and had too much fun lol. I hope you love it as much as I did writing it!
The camera flashes were blinding, reflecting off the shiny hardwood floor of the gymnasium.
You stood at the end of the court, the captain’s band tight around your arm, a heavy gold medal gleaming against your jersey.
You smoothed your kit and swiped the white towel over your neck. Trying to at least look presentable for the camera.
"And we are here with the tournament MVP!" the sports reporter announced, shoving a microphone towards you as the cameraman angled for a close-up. "An incredible performance today! You were just… absolutely unmatched out there. But your journey hasn't been a straight line, has it? Rumor says that early in your high school career, you suffered an injury so severe that doctors weren't sure you'd ever play at this level again."
The reporter leaned in, her eyes wide, you're not sure if it was because of genuine interest or just for another good scoop. "As one of the best players in the nation right now, looking back... was there a moment where you had doubted yourself? Or a moment where you thought your dream was over? And how on earth did you overcome it?"
You blinked, the roar of the crowd suddenly fading into a distant hum. Your hand instinctively went down to your knee, feeling nothing but the faint cushion of your kneepad. The scar underneath the fabric started feeling warm.
You gave a light chuckle, a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.
"Yeah uh," you said softly into the microphone, your eyes drifting away from the camera and up toward the stands, searching the crowd until you spotted a very familiar shock of bright pink hair waving wildly in the front row. "There was a time when I thought I was done for good. It did happen and you know, I fell into a really bad place. I mean… I thought my worst nightmare had come true, and I didn't think I'd ever have the strength to stand on a court again, let alone go to Nationals."
You took a deep breath, the memories flooding back with clarity.
—
The gym had never felt so loud, and at the same time so completely empty.
You could still hear the echo of it—that awful, sickening *crack* in your knee right before you hit the hardwood.
One moment you were soaring, meeting the ball at the apex of your jump, ready to send it streaming down your line of vision. The next, gravity fucking you up.
The doctor’s office a day later had been suffocating. The old man that smelled too much like cigarettes used big, clinical words like *anterior cruciate ligament* and *reconstruction*, but all you heard was the subtext: *You’re an idiot, and you’re done playing. For a long, long time. Maybe forever.*
Now, you sat on your bed, staring blankly at the trophies and the volleyball resting in the corner of your room. It looked like a museum attraction. A relic of a past life, it might as well be collecting dust now.
The rest of the world was moving on. Your teammates were still practicing, their sneakers squeaking on the court, their laughter echoing through the gym after school. But you? You were trapped in a body that felt like a broken cage.
A deep, heavy grayness had settled over your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to care, and even harder to do anything but stare at the wall.
You could feel that familiar stinging sensation coming up into your nose and migrating to your eyes.
Suddenly, your bedroom window rattled making you flinch. It was an aggressive, rhythmic thumping, followed by a loud, muffled shout.
"Hey! Open up before I kick the glass in!"
You didn't even have to look to know who it was. Ryusei Shidou.
To literally anyone else, Shidou was a local natural disaster. He was the terrifying demon on the soccer team who spoke in very inappropriate metaphors, picked fights for the thrill of it, and drove the teachers (and you) to the brink of insanity. People avoided him like the actual plague. They thought he was a freak, a loose cannon, and way too much to handle.
But, as corny as it sounded, they didn’t know him like you did. They don’t know about the scrawny, hyperactive kid who had climbed up a tree to rescue your stuck volleyball ten years ago, only to fall out of it backward, landing flat on his face, laughing hysterically with the ball clutched to his chest. You ended up having to nurse his scratches. You’ve basically been inseparable ever since.
With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself across the bed, your bulky knee brace clicking awkwardly with every movement. You unlocked the window and pushed it open.
Shidou practically exploded into your room, smelling of sweat and the crisp evening air. He was still wearing his school uniform, though the shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing his tanned chest, and his tie was nowhere to be found.
"Man, you took forever!" he complained, tossing a plastic convenience store bag onto your desk. He swung his legs over the sill and dropped into your room so fluidly it made you a little envious.
Darn his freakish flexibility.
Then, his eyes dropped to your leg.
The manic energy in his face didn't vanish, but you could tell he was going to say something. He never was the one to follow the suggestion of ‘think before you talk’. The sharp, jagged edges of his usual expression softened into something else.
"How's the leg feeling, champ?" he asked, throwing himself onto the floor right at your feet, leaning his back against your bed.
"It's fine," you lied softly, wincing as you crawled back under your blankets. "Just... hurts."
"Liar," Shidou snorted, leaning his head back against your mattress so he could look up at you upside down. His vibrant, violet eyes locked onto yours. "You look like a deflated balloon. Where’s that look you get when you’re about to spike a ball into some poor loser’s face? I don't like you like this. It’s lame and it’s so not like my queen."
"Then leave," you muttered, pulling the blanket up to your chin, turning your face away from him. "Go back to football. Go score a goal or fight someone."
You half expected him to snap back, to get annoyed and storm out. Your Shidou didn't do 'sad.' He didn't do 'quiet.'
Instead, the room went still. The only sound was the distant hum of the streets outside your house.
Then, you felt the mattress dip. He crawled up onto the bed, moving as gentle as Shidou could, and slid under the covers right next to you.
"Get out, Ryusei," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm not in the mood."
"No way," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its usual mocking edge. He reached out, his large, calloused hand grabbing your shoulder and firmly, but gently, rolling you over so you were forced to look at him. "You think you can just shut down and not talk to me? We’ve been a team since we were brats. You think I'm gonna let you drown in your own head?"
Seeing the rare concern in his eyes might’ve been the breaking point. The dam you had built up over the past week—the brave face you wore for your parents, the polite 'I'm doing okay!' texts you sent your teammates—shattered completely.
A sob tore from your throat, violent and ugly.
"It's over, Ryusei," you wept, hiding your face in your hands as the tears finally poured out. "The doctor said... he said even after all the rehab, I might not be able to jump like I used to. I won't be the same. Volleyball was the only thing I was good at. It’s all I wanted to do. Now I’m just... I’m nothing. I’m stuck here while everyone else gets to play."
The thought of never feeling that perfect contact of the ball against your palms, of never hearing the roar of the crowd, it made you feel fucked up.
Shidou didn't say *'it'll be fine.'* He didn't offer empty platitudes because he knew, better than anyone, what sports meant. To Shidou, playing football was like breathing; it was his 'explosion.' He knew that losing your sport wasn't just an injury—it was like losing a limb, hell, all of your limbs, a piece of your soul.
Instead of talking, he reached out and hauled you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms completely around you. He pulled you flush against him, burying his face in your hair. He held you so tightly it almost hurt, an anchor in the middle of your emotional turmoil.
"Don’t go crazy on me now, and don’t be a dumbass. You're not nothing, got that?" he said into your hair, his voice vibrating against you. "Don't you ever say that stupid shit again, or I'll actually kick your ass.”
You turned around and wept into his open shirt, your tears wetting his collarbone, your fingers gripping the fabric of his uniform like a lifeline. Shidou held you, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, his long fingers gently untangling the knots in your hair. He rocked you slightly, a rhythmic, soothing motion that contrasted wildly with his usual nature.
"Let it out," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Explode if you gotta. Do it until you can't breathe. But don't think you're gonna be like this forever. You're just... on an intermission! And I'm staying right here until the curtains go up again, yeah?"
—
For the next few weeks, the dark cloud didn't magically disappear, but Shidou made sure it couldn't completely swallow you.
He became a constant, looming fixture in your life, even more than before. Which was impressive.
The rest of the school watched in slight bewilderment as the Ryusei Shidou—the guy who got suspended for getting into a fist fight with an opposing player and left them with a broken nose, and a split lip—patiently carrying your school bag every single day, walking at a snail's pace down the hallways to match your slow, limping gait.
If anyone happens to stare too long at your brace or whisper, Shidou would eye them down and flash a fanged grin, his eyes wild, making them scramble away.
"Ryusei, you're scaring the freshmen," you mumbled one afternoon as you sat on the bench by the school courtyard, watching him rifle through the bag he had brought.
"How’re they gonna learn how it goes ‘round here?" he replied cheerfully, pulling out a container of homemade pudding. He’d practically threatened his own mom to teach him how to make it because you had mentioned offhand that you missed sweet things.
He sat down next to you, scooped up a big spoonful, and shoved it right in front of your face. "Open up. Say *ahh~*."
"I can feed myself, I'm injured, not paralyzed. Jeez." you flushed, your cheeks burning as a few students walked past.
"Shut up and eat it, or I'll force-feed you," he grinned, his fangs peeking out.
You rolled your eyes but complied, taking the bite. It was surprisingly delicious—sweet, and smooth. "Woah, this is really good. You actually didn't poison it. Y’know if football doesn’t work out you could just do this."
"Right?!" Shidou beamed, his entire face lighting up with that childlike, manic joy that always made your heart do a stupid little flip. "I'm a genius~"
But the best part about Shidou wasn't just the sweets or the protection. It was the fact that he refused to let you give up on your body.
Every evening, he would come over to your house. He would pull your desk chair over, sit you down, and carefully help you through your physical therapy exercises. When your muscles burned and you wanted to cry from the frustration of not being able to do a simple straight-leg raise, Shidou would be right there on the floor with you.
"Five more! Come on!" he’d yell, acting like a crazed personal trainer. "Show that knee who's boss, I know you got more in you. You were moving so quick earlier tryna hit me for those chips."
"You idiot, they were mine! Fuck… this hurts…" you whined slightly, tears pricking your eyes.
"I know babe. Pain is just proof that your body’s fighting to explode again!" He grabbed your ankle, his touch suddenly very gentle, helping guide your leg through the final repetitions. "Good. Perfect. Look at that. You got it down."
When you finished, exhausted and trembling, he would lift you up effortlessly and carry you back to bed. He'd wrap your knee in an ice pack, prop it up on pillows, and then crawl right next to you, pulling you into his side. Then he’d continue to talk your ears off about any mundane thing that happened to him.
It almost made you feel like you could find some semblance of peace despite everything.
—
Months passed, and you could maybe feel the suffocating depression slowly begin to lift, replaced by stubborn determination. You couldn't jump yet, and you couldn't play in tournaments, but you were walking without a limp, and you could jog. You were getting your life back.
One Saturday evening, Shidou dragged you out to the deserted park near your house. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant shades of purple, pink, and yellow.
He was holding a brand-new volleyball.
"What are we doing here, Ryusei?" you asked, leaning against a bench.
Shidou spun the ball on his finger, a small smile on his face—the kind of smile he only ever showed you. "You've been doing your boring rehab exercises for months. It's time for a real test.” He whined. “I’m not gonna make you do any jumping, or crazy running. But just... feel the ball okay."
He tossed the ball lightly from hand to hand, then stepped back, tossing it high into the air toward you.
Instinct took over and your feet planted firmly on the ground. You brought your forearms together, creating a platform. As the ball came down, you absorbed the impact, passing it smoothly back to him.
*Smack.*
The sound echoed through the quiet park. It was clean, and oh so missed.
Shidou caught the ball, his eyes wide and glittering with an intense light. "Yeah, you feel that?! You still got it~" He sung.
You stared at your hands. They were slightly red from the impact. A wild, bubbly feeling burst in your chest—the first real spark of joy you had felt about volleyball in what felt like an eternity. Proof that you were still you.
Shidou dropped the ball, letting it bounce away into the grass. In three large strides, he crossed the distance between you and grabbed your face in his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. His face was inches from yours. "I told you didn’t I?" he whispered. You’ve never heard him this quiet. His forehead now came to rest gently against yours. "You're a miracle worker. Besides, you should know better than to doubt me, I’m your number one fan after all.”
You let out a watery laugh, wrapping your hands around his wrists, holding him close. "You're so dumb, Ryusei."
"And you love it," he grinned, his lips brushing against yours in a short but sweet kiss that tasted like the summer air. God you could punch him right about now. Knowing him he’ll probably like it so you refrain.
—
"...So, to answer your question," you said, bringing your focus back to the flashbulbs and the microphone. "Whenever I doubted myself, he was there to set me straight.” The reporter looked visibly moved, her hand over her heart. "Wow... that’s incredible. A truly incredible bond. I hear that Blue Lock is heating up right now, is he here today to watch you qualify for nationals?"
You smiled, looking right back up to the stands.
Up in the front row, Shidou was currently standing on top of his seat, completely ignoring the security guards yelling at him to get down. He had a massive, fanged grin stretched across his face, his eyes closed from his smile. You could see his jacket being tugged down by another boy with blond hair and grey ends, with an obscene cowlick that looked equally as excited, maybe even more.
Shidou cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed obscenities over the roar of the stadium. Something along the lines of, “THAT’S MY GIRL! YOU’RE THE SHIT! FUCK ‘EM UP!”
You could see the surrounding crowd shifted away from the pair in slight alarm, completely baffled by his explosive energy, but you just let out a loud, breathless laugh.
"Yeah," you told the reporter, your heart swelling to the point of bursting as you waved back up at him. "He's right there. He hasn't missed a single game. But that means I have to watch his match next time." You laughed.
—
Igarashi slammed his locker shut, looking around the room with a deep frown. “Does anyone know where that blond antenna freak went? Couldn’t find him this morning.”
Karasu, who was lazily tying his cleats on the bench, didn't even look up as he answered. “He went out, took Charles with him.”
"Ok… to where?" Igarashi asked, rubbing the back of his neck. It was weird enough that Shidou had managed to sneak out of the facility, but taking the French prodigy with him made it ten times more suspicious.
"Some volleyball game," Karasu shrugged, leaning back. "He was saying something about it being his girlfriend’s game."
Igarashi blinked once, then twice. “Wait what. Girlfriend? You're pulling my leg right?”
“Nah man,” Karasu snorted, a smirk playing on his lips. "He was serious. Said she was the number-one player in the country and he can’t miss it or his ‘cells would degenerate’ or whatever crazy crap he always says."
"Dude, someone call him!" Raichi yelled, veins piping up on his forehead.
"No way, you do it," Karasu countered instantly, holding his hands up defensively. "Remember the last time we tried to take his phone when he was on that call..."
The memory flashed vividly in their minds: Shidou, sitting in the corner of the lounge, talking to someone on his phone. He was ignored by the rest of the room until Igaguri tried to prank him (it was a dare). The events that had followed, resulted in a cracked wall and a very traumatized monk.
"Shit, you're right," Igarashi muttered, shivering and quickly backing away from the idea.
Meanwhile, miles away in the roaring Tokyo stadium, Charles was currently holding a box of tissues and a giant, sparkly pink banner, looking less excited than Shidou but nonetheless still smiling, while Shidou stood atop his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs for his girl on the court.
May I request: the Blue Lock men's reactions when you find their first grey hair.
Especially Chigiri, because I just know this dude will have a total meltdown.
LMAOO YES 🫶 thank you sm for the request!
when they find a grey hair ;
blue lock x gn!reader
chigiri hyoma
-> “and then i was all like—ow! did you just pull my hair?” “just a grey one!” you explain as you rub the spot where you pulled the hair out
-> but chigiri is not done with this conversation. “a what?” “a grey hair! you’ve had one before, right?” “a grey.. hair..” “… hyoma?”
-> he is on his feet, forehead nearly touching the mirror as he runs rampant fingers through his hair. “i’m.. a grey… i might pass out, y/n.” “please don’t pass out, hyoma.”
aryu jyubei
-> you’d be peacefully playing with aryu’s long hair when you notice something, causing your hand to pause. “don’t freak out.”
-> he freaks out. “WHAT?! IS IT DANDRUFF?? BALDING?? oh god, please don’t say lice—“ “NO, no lice. just a little grey hair.”
-> he cries
barou shouei
-> you’re happily helping him re-dye his red streaks when you find a couple grey hairs
-> “hm, that’s weird…” “what?” “oh, nothing. just a few grey hairs here—“ “a few WHAT?!”
-> once you calmly explain to him that it’s normal for some guys to grey early, he calms down a bit. “we can dye those red, too. at least you’re not balding!”
mikage reo
-> “i’m gonna throw up.” “you’re not going to throw up.” “ohhhh god, i’m gonna throw UP.”
-> you smack the back of his head. “you dye your hair anyway! you’ll live!” “… oh right :)”
bachira meguru
-> blinks at you. “a what?” “a grey hair. don’t worry, i can pluck it for you.”
-> does a slow turn between you and his reflection in your mirror. “but i’m too young to be old :)”
-> “you’re not old, hun, it’s just a grey—“ “can you help me open a retirement account, y/n?” “brother What.”
itoshi rin
-> “i found a grey hair.”
-> he just sighs, unfazed. “of course you did. the stress of carrying this entire team—“ “okay,” “—is causing me to go grey.” “yeah, yeah. let’s get you to bed, old man.”
Including!
Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki, Toge Inumaki, Yuta Okkotsu, and Maki Zen'in
m.list
No warnings needed other than potential ooc. I was gonna do this w the adults, but I genuinely almost threw up imagining grown-ass men acting like that
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⋆₊° wait, so the girl you were talking to ended up being a guy?
( 〄 internet girl / katseye )
You had gone into this thinking: making friends online, yay! Surely nothing surprising or mind-boggling is going to result from this.
Big fat red buzzer.
〄 y/nnie : hello! r u chigiri? my friend kunigami gave me ur number
〄 reddemon : yea u must be y/n then
〄 y/nnie : yep! that's me
〄 y/nnie : kunigami mentioned you were fast?
〄 reddemon : not to brag but i was the fastest kid on my junior high's soccer team
〄 reddemon : so yeah im fast
〄 y/nnie : thats so cool! ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
〄 y/nnie : i wish i had a talent like that lol (╥﹏╥)
〄 reddemon : its cool but i kinda tore my acl in a past match
〄 reddemon : so like if i injure it again i kinda can't play soccer ever again.
〄 y/nnie : oh
〄 y/nnie : damn
〄 reddemon : wait sorry i didn't mean to trauma dump all over you
〄 y/nnie : NO NO its fine haha
〄 y/nnie : but i think it's pretty brave that you're still playing despite that risk
〄 reddemon : thanks ♡
Though you had been sweating bullets the entire time, Chigiri seemed pretty chill. Not to mention, having a talent like that was pretty cool. You stared up at your ceiling, unable to contain the grin making it's way onto your face.
You should thank Kunigami later on.
Conversation with Chigiri flowed naturally. The two of you talked about the most random things, and it just... worked. For some reason. Like, you both had an hour-long conversation that somehow warped itself from usernames to hair.
〄 y/nnie : I was curious
〄 y/nnie : whats the story behind ur user?
〄 reddemon : well people used to call me a speed demon and i have red hair
〄 reddemon : hence the name 'reddemon'
〄 y/nnie : woah that's cool asf!
〄 reddemon : ty
〄 y/nnie : can I see your hair?
〄 reddemon : yea sure why not
〄 reddemon :
〄 y/nnie : wtf
〄 y/nnie : FACE CARD SO GOOD IT MADE ME FORGET ABOUT THE ACL TEAR
〄 reddemon : son...
〄 y/nnie : wait was that too personal ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
〄 reddemon : no that was hilarious
〄 reddemon : you're funny plz dont go bald
Because of this, you had immediately assumed Chigiri was a girl. Yes, not your finest moment. Of course, you knew guys could be feminine, duh, but you and Chigiri flowed so well together that you thought: oh, this must be a fellow girlie!
〄 y/nnie : chigiriiii~ we should meet up
〄 y/nnie : im gonna be in tokyo this weekend
〄 reddemon : omg yea we should link up
〄 reddemon : i know a cute cafe we can meet up at
〄 reddemon : what about noon this saturday?
〄 y/nnie : ill be there!^^
You put on your cutest outfit, applied some lip gloss, and headed over to the cafe Chigiri recommended. Once there, you looked around for that familiar mop of red hair...
Ah! There she was! Chigiri sat at a table, scrolling on her phone with a disinterested look. But once she noticed you, she perked up and waved. You made your way over and sat down in front of her.
"Hi! It's so nice to see you in person." You chirped.
Chigiri, somehow, looked even more gorgeous in person than she did on camera. Her ruby hair was styled elegantly with the strands falling gracefully on her shoulders. Her fair skin was clear, her eyelashes were graceful curtains over her lidded eyes...
“Oh, hey! You must be Y/N.” Wow, even her voice was pretty. You sat there, transfixed by her beauty for a minute, before she snapped you out of your daze.
The two of you talked about how life was going, and the conversation was great... Then the waiter came over.
The waiter looked Chigiri up and down, then his face went pink. He took your order and quickly scrambled off. You thought it was pretty cute at first.
Then he came back with your food.
He looked over to Chigiri, shyly, "Um. You're really pretty."
Chigiri raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, "Thank you."
"I was, um, wondering if I could get your number?"
You watched intently, curious about how Chigiri would react. Maybe she'd let him down gently, maybe she'd give him her number, maybe she'd even—
"I'm a man." Chigiri deadpanned. You could swear his (not her) voice dipped a bit lower while saying that.
You did not consider that reply whatsoever.
The poor waiter's face flushed red, and he apologized profusely before going to the kitchen to probably, I don't know, die in embarrassment.
After he left, you couldn't even eat your food because you were still reeling from the fact that this beautiful human in front of you was a guy.
Chigiri looked up, innocently, "What?"
You stammered out, "I—I—You're—"
He slowly blinked in confusion before realization set over his features, "Oh shit. You thought I was a girl too." You nod quickly.
A beat. And then you both burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
"It's fine. I get that a lot," He wipes away the tears threatening to bubble up from his laughter. "My teammates even call me princess."
"That's fitting." You blurt out without thinking, "Because you're... um... really, really pretty. Like 'I forgot how to speak' pretty." Your cheeks turn pink.
"If I didn't know better, I would've thought you had a crush on me."
"What? Pfft— no!" Yes.
A year later, you were curled up on your couch as Chigiri looked around for something he could use to tie his hair back. You waved a black hair tie in your hand, grinning.
He walked over to take it, but you pulled him over you when he tried to reach for it. He scowled but didn't pull away as he muttered, "You joke too much."
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inspired by this clip of ronaldo bc it genuinely cracks me up - cw: fem reader, suggestive
you're no stranger to your boyfriend kaiser showing you off. michael doesn’t generally even like people, let alone love them, so the fact that he’s dating you really is a big deal to him. sure, he’s not the perfect boyfriend. he can be mean and he can come off as somewhat uncaring sometimes, but you know he loves you terribly, utterly and completely. you know it, and his fans know too.
ever since you two went public, his instagram page has been filled to the brim with pictures of you, maybe even to the point of exhaustion. his tough-boy instagram dumps are suddenly softened by candids of you laughing softly, or pictures of you two together. he does it to show you that he loves you, and he chose you, and that fuuuuuck is he proud to date a pretty girl like you.
so his fans have learned to know and love you as he does, and you’ve grown accustomed to their little comments, to that tiny, far presence in your life. after all, it’s michael you really care about. and he’s absolutely nuts about you, even though he tries to act like he doesn’t care. (he’s scared of all the warm, soft feelings he feels for you - but he tries his best.)
this balance has been more or less there for a while now.
that is, until you wake up one morning with your phone absolutely drowning in notifications, people tagging you nonstop. the second you see this, your heart drops, because something really bad must’ve happened.
instead, the comments just look… nice? amused, even?
confused, you gaze at your sleeping boyfriend next to you. he looks like a little angel, those unfairly pretty lashes of his casting a shadow on his cheeks, lips ever so slightly parted as he’s still deep into slumber, his hair all over the place. you almost feel bad for waking him. still, it comes out of your mouth so naturally.
“mihya, what did you do?”
he tosses a bit, stirs half-awake with a groan of protest.
“nothing,”
he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, eyes still closed. his arm wraps around your waist, trying to pull you down, “just come back to sleep, bunny.”
but you don’t. and there it is, that one single video everybody keeps tagging you in. and it’s… just your boyfriend? speaking in an interview?
naturally, you play it. it’s a very short clip, and there he is, your handsome boyfriend sitting with his legs spread and his elbow on the armrest as he talks about the hat trick he scored.
“yeah, yeah,” he nods, “i think i did a great job. of course i did. it felt pretty fucking great.”
“i bet it did,” the interviewer nodded, “what do you think, was it better than sex?”
michael’s brows shoot up in surprise, as if the question has him genuinely taken aback - because it does. it probably seems to him oh so incredibly unthinkable to fathom anything being better than having sex with you. his pretty baby blues widen ever so slightly - nobody but you would probably catch it - and he frowns. then, he shakes his head, that shit-eating grin of his making its way on his face.
“absolutely not. not with my girl, no.” a beat. “my god…”
he sighs, long and hard, and he seems to slip away for a second, as if he’s picturing you in front of him - maybe all sprawled out for him, maybe on your knees, maybe in his lap, who knows - and he smiles. genuinely smiles, as if the thought of you makes him flustered, his tattooed hand coming to cover his mouth.
he mumbles your name once, then shakes his head, fortunately remembering that yes, he is still in the middle of an interview.
the clip ends.
the second it does, you turn to him. you try to look angry, but you actually are kinda flattered and a bit flustered, a light flush staining your cheeks. he’s fully awake now, eyes fluttering open to stare at you, and he gives you a tiny, amused smirk.
“michael kaiser.”
“what? it’s the truth.”
you sigh, shaking your head - except it’s very, very hard to act annoyed when he’s right there next to you, tangled in the sheets like a prince, now finally staring at you. he’s not in the middle of an interview, he doesn’t have to imagine anything. there you are. all his. his big hands reach for you, a softness in his fingertips that’s only reserved for you making you immediately melt when you feel the warmth of his digits graze the skin beneath your shirt.
needless to say, both your phone and your anger are quickly discarded, and michael can confirm once again that what he said in his interview is nothing but the truth.
@yamsfrecklvs ★ ash’s note: okay guys hear me out - before any of you calls the nickname bunny cringe i’ll have you know that ‘hase’ (lit. bunny) is a very popular nickname in german and it’s the only one that doesn’t make my skin crawl ?? i love liebling and schatz but i wanted something different okay?????? k bye
! NSFW, minors DNI ! ➙ explicit sexual content, fem!reader, oral sex, penetration, orgasm denial, degradation.
As you just arrived to Michael’s penthouse, you notice how unusual he was acting that night.
"Did the train give you trouble?" he asks.
"It was late," you say, keeping your eyes on his chest rather than his eyes. It lets you gain more courage. "The tracks were frozen near the station."
"Poor thing." The words are soft, almost sweet, but his mouth is curved into that familiar, smirk that could only mean he’s planned something. He reaches down, his long, pale fingers tangling into your hair at the nape of your neck, with enough pressure to force your head back until you have no choice but to look at him. "You look quite pathetic when you’re cold, you know that? Like a small bird that’s fallen out of its nest into the mud."
"Michael—"
"Shh." He presses his thumb against your lower lip, stopping the word before it can leave your mouth. His skin smells of expensive soap he probably used after his session at the training ground.
He leans down, his breath warm against your cheek, his lips brushing the tip of your ear so lightly it makes a shiver run straight down your spine.
He doesn't give you permission to get up from the couch. Instead, he drops his hand from your hair and takes two steps backward, sinking onto the heavy sofa opposite you. He spreads his legs wide, his robe parting to reveal the lean muscle of his thighs, and leans back on his elbows, looking down at you with a heavy, lazy curiosity.
"Well?" he says.
You know what he wants. You don't wait for him to ask a second time, because his patience is a luxury that costs too much to lose. You slide off the leather cushion, your knees hitting the cold concrete floor with a small, dull sound. The contrast between the chilled floor and the heat radiating from his body makes you come to your senses. You crawl the short distance between the sofa and his feet, your palms flat against the stone. When you reach his knees, you stop, looking up through your eyelashes. He’s watching you with a detached gaze, and finally he gives you a command.
"Show me how much you missed me, Schatz." You reach out, your hands slightly unsteady as you part the silk of his robe. He isn't wearing anything underneath. He’s already semi-erect, his length thick and pale against the darker fabric of the robe, the skin smooth and burning. You wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft, feeling him pulsing under your palm. As soon as your fingers tighten, you hear his breath hitch, almost an imperceptible sigh that lets you know he’s paying attention.
"Slow," he murmurs, his hand coming down to rest on the top of your head, his fingers threading loosely through your hair. "don't rush it.” he continues. You slowly lower your head, your lips parting as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. He tastes salty, and intensely sharp, but his cleanness clearly evident. You use your tongue to swirl around the tip, coating him in saliva before you slide your mouth down an inch, then two. Your throat squeezes slightly against the thickness and, above you, Kaiser lets out a long, slow breath through his teeth. His hand in your hair tightens, his knuckles pressing into your scalp as he guides the movement.
"Ah... that’s it," he purrs. His tone is calm, almost too calm, enough to make you question if he really meant it.
But the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch forward into your mouth, was enough to prove you wrong.
"Look at you, so eager. Do you honestly like being on your knees for me that much?". You don't answer, you can't. You take him deeper, your nose touching the base of his length. You work your tongue up and down the sensitive skin of his dick, your hand pumping the base in sync with the rhythm of your mouth. Kaiser’s grip on your hair hardens even more. He’s no longer looking at the room; his eyes are fixed entirely on your face, watching your cheeks get full of him and the way your eyes water from the depth of him.
"Oh... look at those wet eyes," he mocks softly, his voice dropping an octave. He uses his other hand to pinch your chin, forcing your head to stay perfectly still while his thumb strokes your wet lower lip. "Is it too big for you, Schatz? Does it hurt your little throat?"
You try to shake your head, but he doesn't let you.
"Poor baby," he sighs, his thumbs wiping away a tear from the corner of your eye. His expression is a perfect imitation of pity: his eyebrows slightly drawn together, his mouth curved in a sympathetic pout, but his eyes are amused. "Can't you even handle this much? And here I thought you were strong enough to be my plaything."
To prove his point, he drives his hips forward suddenly, forcing himself another inch into your mouth until your throat locks up entirely and a muffled gag escapes you. You clutch at his thighs, your fingers digging into the hard, solid muscle to steady yourself as your vision blurs with tears.
He holds you there for three seconds, long enough for your heart to hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird. Then, just as panic starts to set in, he pulls back slowly, leaving you shivering and gasping for air on the floor, a thin string of saliva connecting his wet tip to your chin.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with the first real signs of arousal. He reaches down and smears the wetness across your cheek with his thumb. "See? You’re much prettier when you’re quiet and cooperative."
Before you can recover your breath, Kaiser stands up, his hand still tangled in your hair, dragging you to your feet along with him. "Come," he says, already moving toward the bedroom.
The room is larger than most apartments, and he wastes no seconds to throw you onto the large mattress. It’s firmer than you expect, the linen cool against your bare skin as you quickly scramble backward until your spine hits the heavy leather headboard. You’re shivering now, not from the cold, but from anticipation.
Kaiser stands at the foot of the bed, sliding his robe off.
He climbs onto the bed, his movements slow and predatory, his knees caging your hips before you even realize he’s moved. His fingers reach down to undo the buttons of your shirt with an agonizing, deliberate slowness. When you’re completely naked beneath him, he doesn't immediately touch you. He observes.
"You're shaking, baby," he says, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your collarbone. His touch is light, almost feather-like, but it makes you hitch your breath. "Are you afraid of me?"
"No," you lie, your voice cracking slightly.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against your shins where they’re pressed under his thighs. "Liar. You’re terrified. You love it."
He leans forward, his chest pressing down against yours, pinning you flat into the mattress. His hands slide up to frame your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips are squished together.
"Let’s see how long you can last tonight before you start begging," he whispers against your lips.
He doesn't wait for your response. He drops his hand between your legs, his fingers finding your wet folds. You’re already slick from watching him, from the anticipation of what he always does to you, and he lets out a soft, pleased grunt as his middle finger slides easily into your heat.
"Oh... look at that," he says, his mouth close to your ear. "So wet for me already. Did you think about me today while you were sitting on the train? Did you think about what I’d do to you if you were late?"
"Michael..." You arch your back as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it with a controlled pressure that makes your hips twitch involuntarily.
"Shut up," he commands, his fingers moving faster now, sliding in and out of you while his thumb stays firmly planted against your sensitive bulb. "I didn't say you could speak."
You start to feel the climax building at the base of your stomach, but you’re not the only one who notices.
"You’re getting close, aren't you?" Kaiser asks, but not long after he stops his fingers completely.
You freeze, your body tense from the sudden lack of movement. "Michael... please."
"Please what?" He tilts his head, his face a picture of innocent confusion. "Did you want something, baby? Tell me."
"Don't stop," you whine, your hips giving a pathetic, small tilt upward to try and find his hand again. "Please, Michael."
"Oh... poor baby," he croons, "Look at you... so desperate for a little sensation. Can't you even control your own body. It’s really quite tragic." He slides his hand out of you completely, leaning back to look down at you. "You don't get to come yet," he says, his voice flat and demanding. "You come when I tell you to."
"Look at me," he remarks.
You open your eyes, your vision slightly blurry from the tears of frustration.
He repositions himself, guiding the head of his shaft against your hole. "Please, Michael... now." you purr.
"Say it nicely."
"Please... let me have you. Inside me."
He grins. “Since you asked so sweetly..."
He drives into you in one rough thrust.
The size of him stretches you, filling you up so good that you let out a loud scream against his shoulder. He doesn't give you time to adjust. He immediately begins to move, his strokes deep and punishing, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy rhythm that echoes through the quiet room. “Du bist so eng, Schatz”.
You don't understand the words, but you don’t really need to, he’s no longer entirely in control of himself.
"Michael... oh god, Michael," you chant, your fingers finally finding his waist, digging into his hips as you try to match his frantic pace.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough. "Don't look away from me."
You look up into his face. He looks terrifying. His eyes are wide, the pupils blown out until there’s only a thin rim of blue left around the edges. The sweat from his forehead drips onto your chest.
He reaches down, his hand wrapping around your throat, not to choke you, but to keep you pinned onto the mattress.
"You’re mine," he growls. You can feel your walls tightening around him, clamping down on his cock with every thrust.
"Ah... scheiße," he curses, his pace becoming unmatchable now, his hips slamming into you with a speed that makes your brain go entirely white. "Don't you dare come yet... wait for me...”
"I can't," you cry out, your head tossing from side to side against his hand. "Michael, I can't... please..."
"Yes, you can," he snarls.
However, your body seems to don’t have a choice. Your body rebels against his command, the muscles of your pussy contracting into a violent spasm. As your climax hits him, his control vanishes entirely.
He releases your throat, his hands going down to grip your hips with a strength that will leave dark bruises on your skin by morning. He pulls you up against his pelvis, burying himself into you to the root with one last, massive thrust. You can feel the hot, thick jet of his cum hitting your interior wall, filling you to the brim.
He lets out a long, shuddering groan that turns into a low whine against your neck, his face burying into your shoulder.
word count: around 2000
First time on tumblr, kinda nervous…(•˕ •マ.ᐟ If you have any requests feel free to ask!!
𝜗𝜚 baby!Megumi can crawl, you promise! but… maybe Toji needs a little help believing.
more like this
The floor around your knelt form is scattered with baby toys; tiny stuffed bunnies lie like fluffed up casualties next to plastic teething rings and a few wooden building blocks. Megumi is currently holding them, clutched tightly in chubby hands, as he babbles nonsense down to the carpet.
“I’m telling you, he can!” You protest up at your husband as he sits on the couch. “He can crawl, I’ve seen him do it before.”
Toji looks lazily from you- his persistent, stubborn wife- to Megumi’s chunky form as he struggles to balance himself to sit. There’s a thin sparkle of drool pooling at the corner of his babbling mouth and his feet rest aimlessly like he isn’t aware they’re attached to him yet.
“I ain’t buying it. He can barely sit upright without falling-“ Toji says, affectionately messing up Megumi’s already spiky head, “he cannot crawl, I’m telling you, you’re seeing things.”
You huff. Megumi’s little trail of drool is wiped away motherly, then you’re pulling your son to sit on your lap; his chunky weight is comforting as he slumps into your arms.
“Gumi,” you say to him very seriously, like he’s a business associate you’re negotiating with and not a happy little baby, “I know you can crawl. Show dad, okay?” He smiles gummily and reaches for you as you plop him back onto the rug, firmly on his stomach. “See, Ji? He’s reaching for me already, and- oh.”
Megumi rolls. Just once, his face squished against the floor as Toji laughs when he struggles to keep the momentum going long enough for a second roll- but then Megumi seems to figure it out, kicking determinedly.
You giggle. “He’s fast.”
Toji rolls his eyes. “He’s gettin’ bored.”
Megumi isn’t- he doesn’t stop rolling, and you have to snatch him back up before he hits his little head on the coffee table. The clutter on top jangles as you bang your elbow instead, wincing as you hand Megumi to flop about in Toji’s strong arms instead.
You groan and move a plush frog out of the way to slump defeatedly against Toji’s shoulder, Megumi babbling and reaching for your face. “I’m serious, he can crawl.”
Toji snorts. “Yeah, right. Although…” he says thoughtfully, bouncing Megumi up and down casually while his son hysterically laughs, “the potential was there.”
Toji is seriously convinced you’re lying to his face. Every time you send him a frantic message, a blurry photo of Megumi lying flat on his pudgy face with the caption “he stopped crawling at the last second :(“ he genuinely thinks you’re joking.
Like, fully joking, that this is an elaborate scheme you thought would be funny to play on him where he’s the setup and Megumi’s basic motor skills are the punchline that stays invisible.
“I think he just doesn’t like you.” You sigh one evening, watching Toji’s verdant eyes lazily flick across Megumi as he sleeps peacefully on your chest. “Seriously, he does it all the time when you’re out! He’s just… being calculated about it.”
Quietly guffawing, Toji rises to his feet. You, simultaneously, arch one of your eyebrows. “If you’re going to the shop, buy another loaf of bread. You keep eating it all.”
Toji nods, kisses your forehead- and Megumi’s, a little gentler- then leaves. Megumi blinks groggily awake from his nap and you smile. “Hi, gumi.” You whisper, “are you gonna crawl for me?”
Megumi yawns and slides onto the couch.
Toji barely makes it out the driveway before he realises he’s forgotten his wallet; after wasting ten minutes futilely searching his pockets, he accepts it must still be in the house.
Groaning, the gravel crunches beneath his feet while he mutters under his breath. “Always forgetting somethin’, could swear I had it in my hand-“
Toji stops in the doorway, staring in nothing less than utter shock at the scene in front of him. He looks gobsmacked, words failing him as he stares into the hallway where you’re crouched at the far end, facing him.
Megumi is crawling. And not just a little, either- he’s fully engrossed, tiny palms smacking against the floor as his feet drag behind him in his pyjamas. “Oh my god.”
You snap up finally at the sound of your husband’s voice, a smug grin playing across your lips. “I told you he could do it.” Your son slowly turns around on the floor, staring a little annoyedly up at his dad like he’s ruined all his fun and ploy to pretend his legs don’t work correctly.
Toji crosses the hallway in around two careful steps before scooping up Megumi’s wriggling form and holds him up in front of his face like he’s trying to distinguish if he’s real. “Huh.”
Megumi gargles and smacks his dad’s face with open, little palms, but Toji stays steadfastly staring at him in nothing but shock; you look at them both and laugh behind your hand. The same hair- Megumi’s spikier, admittedly- and the same frown on their face as they try and figure each other out.
You’re on your feet suddenly, squishing Megumi’s rosy cheeks between your hands and beaming proudly. “I’m so proud of you, gumi!” He babbles happily in response as you coo at him, kicking his legs aimlessly as Toji holds him close with strong arms.
“You weren’t lying, then.” He says, voice a little too thick for somebody who’s pretending he doesn’t care. You smile softly up at him, your little Megumi squeezed between his parents, and beam.
ೃ࿔*:･
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a/n: thank you for reading! also, make sure to check out my amazing mutual @fushihearts and her adorable sfw content, especially all her dad toji stuff!! <33
FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCKOFFF OMG I SEE SUKUNA AHHAHAAHAH oh wtf fuckoff HEY MY MAN MEGUMI BRO OH GOD TRIPLE MEGUMIS MISERY AND GIVE IT TO THE NEXT PERSON PLS SAVE HIM WHT DID HE EVER DOOOO BRICKS ALWAYS GET THROWN AT MY MAN I ACC DONT WANNA WATCH S4 ANYMORE OMG IM GNA THROW UP but HAHAH PAPAKUNA IS BACK AHAHAH
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