#cerisewrites!

you showed up to rin’s apartment with a cardboard box.

“don’t be mad—” “i’m already mad.” rin didn’t even look up from tying his shoes.

you lifted the box onto the counter and pulled back the flaps. a tiny gray kitten blinked up at him with wide blue eyes.

“tadaaa! meet our new child.”

rin froze. then blinked. then glared at you. “absolutely not.” “absolutely yes.”

the kitten mewed softly. rin took half a step back, pointing at it like it was a weapon. “it’s staring at me.” “because it loves you!” you cooed, scooping the kitten into your arms. “look, she’s smiling.”

“cats don’t smile.” “she’s smiling with her soul, rin.”

you plopped the kitten onto rin’s lap. he froze like you’d just dropped a bomb on him. the kitten pawed at his hoodie strings.

“get it off.” his voice was dangerously calm. “nope.”

the kitten squeaked and curled into his lap like he was the safest place in the world. rin’s entire body went rigid, ears turning pink.

“...it’s warm.” he muttered under his breath. “WHAT WAS THAT?” you gasped dramatically. “did rin itoshi just say something soft??”

“shut up or i’ll throw it out the window.” “you wouldn’t dare.”

fast forward two days: you walked into the living room to see rin lying on the couch with the kitten sprawled on his chest, one hand absentmindedly scratching its ears.

you smirked. “sooo, who’s daddy’s little princess?”

rin glared at you, cheeks burning. “if you ever speak again, i’m breaking up with you.”

the kitten mewed loudly. rin sighed, rubbing its head. “…not you. you’re fine.”

"nghh—riiiinnn!" your loud moans were muffled by the leather of the car's back seat as you get pounded into again and again by your boyfriend, rin. 

how did you get here you ask? 

it was right after his soccer practice. rin already being pissed off from isagi's annoying voice and his teammates always being noisy. and then there was you, watching him from the bleachers like the sweet girlfriend you are to him. 

"i won the lottery" he thinks sometimes, wondering how a stoic and unreadable man like rin got such a caring and angel-like girlfriend.

at least that's what he thought. 

but that's far from what you actually were like; touching his arms and neck with feather light touches, whispering words with double meaning in his ear with such an innocent smile. you were teasing him. and he couldn't do anything about it. 

or could he? 

and now here you were, in his car, getting fucked into next year."mm—can't! s'too much,” you whimper into the seat, burying your face there as your teeth sink into the leather, trying to ground yourself. but his hands slide to your hips, arching your back even more than it already was before pounding into you like the world was ending tomorrow. “no it’s not,” he mumbles in your ear, lips quivering just a little, but just enough to send shivers down your spine. 

“you can take it. you always do, don't you, darling?" You bucked your hips up, meeting his, the cramped leather creaking beneath your knees, his jersey still half-hanging off one shoulder, and your fingers making small scratch marks on the seat. "riiinnn..rinniiiee!— oh it feels so good! h-hhhaa- don' stop.." you mewled, jaw clenched and suppressing moans. "does it, love? feels so good, yeah?" his head dropped back, eyes fluttering shut as heat pooled between you two.The windows blurred, completely fogged now—each breath you shared smearing more condensation along the glass. Your moans got higher, softer, as his deep groans grew louder, sharper. "baby pleeassee! s-slow down!"

but he didn't.

he physically couldn't.

"m'sorry pretty.." he mutters a brief half-assed apology before flipping you onto your back and slamming into you at a brutal pace."ohmygod!- huu-" you choked out, burying your face in his neck, your voice coming out breathless and broken as your thighs trembled around his waist, car shaking along with his thrusts. he swore under his breath, hands gripping onto your waist, rocking up into you now.

oh you were gone.

his pace sped up again.

wet skin slapping. mouths gasping.

"mmhh, rin! gentler— s'too much!" you choked out, gaping at the way he kept up that relentless pace, his tongue peeking out and saliva dripping onto your collar bones and chest. "shh..take it..thought you were so slick, hm? teasing me all fuckin' day? now you're gonna sit still and fuckin' take what i give you, mh?" he rasps out,the warmth in ur lower stomach is building with every word he throws out. you dont care if they're icky, you dont care if theyre mean, you get it now. you want him to ruin you.

"ah, ah, ah! m'cumming!-" you let out a whine, clawing at his back as he brought his hand up to press it up on the bulge in your abdomen as you release. "atta girl..c'mon.." he ruts into you, now chasing his high, lifting your hips in the air and immediately burying himself inside your hilt. he pulls out slowly, picking you up and placing you on his lap, skin slick with sweat. "had fun?" he mutters, resting his head on your shoulder while rubbing gentle circles on your back.

"mhm" 

"good."

he's not clingy, but...

living with rin itoshi is like rooming with a moody cat that works out too much and pretends he hates you.

he’s quiet. clean. scowls every time you leave your shoes in the hallway or blast music while brushing your teeth. but he never actually tells you to stop. just mutters under his breath and sulks dramatically in the corner until you notice him.

you, on the other hand, have exactly zero shame.

you throw popcorn at him while he’s studying. steal his hoodies. kick his feet under the table just to get a reaction. you live for the little flinch he tries to hide when you sit too close. the way he always looks away when you laugh too loud.

but lately?

he’s been... hovering.

you yawn one evening, curling into the couch, blanket barely covering your legs, and suddenly he’s tossing his hoodie over you.

you blink. “um. thanks?”

he shrugs. “you were shivering.”

you weren’t.

—

then it gets worse.

you go to a party. you come home late. you find him waiting on the couch—arms crossed, face thunderous.

“you didn’t text.”

you raise a brow. “...am i supposed to?”

he looks away. “just—next time, let me know.”

you grin. “aw, were you worried?”

“shut up.”

—

but tonight? tonight seals it.

you’re lying on your bed, scrolling through your phone, and rin’s standing awkwardly in your doorway—arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed over his palms.

“what?” you ask.

“...your bed’s warmer,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the floor.

you try to hide your smirk. fail.

“you want to cuddle, don’t you?”

“no.”

“you wanna be the little spoon.”

“no.”

you toss your phone aside, pat the empty spot next to you. “get in here, lover boy.”

he grumbles under his breath the entire time as he climbs in, pulling the blanket up, facing away from you.

you spoon him anyway. arms wrapped around his waist, head pressed to his back.

“you’re the clingiest guy i’ve ever met,” you whisper against his shoulder.

“i’m not clingy.”

“sure, baby.”

he mutters something about shutting up again, but you feel the way he melts into you. hear the way his breath evens out.

he falls asleep in your arms. you don’t say a word.

you’ll bully him for it in the morning.

—

rin slumps onto the couch, hoodie up, eyes tired and annoyed.

“rough day?” you ask.

he grunts, dragging his hand through his hair. “half the team’s useless. and sae won’t stop messing with me.”

without thinking, he leans on your shoulder, fingers finding yours.

“don’t leave,” he mumbles.

you grin. “like i’m going anywhere.”

he sighs, a small smile breaking through. “good. you’re the only one who makes this bullshit bearable.”

and just like that, grumpy rin turns into clingy rin—no shame, no walls.

@cerb3ruxii

I would like to request the reaction of the bllk boys to their s/o feeling insecure because they are getting shipped with hot supermodels / celebrities online .

itoshi rin

rin doesn’t say much online. he doesn’t have to. he’s all cold eyes, perfect stats, that stupidly sharp jawline that the internet eats up like candy. and you knew it came with the territory— the attention, the edits, the shipping. but one night, you’re just scrolling. seeing “rin x model” edits plastered everywhere. perfect lighting. perfect faces. and suddenly, you just feel… replaceable.

you don’t even realize rin’s been watching you from across the room, leaning on the doorframe. “what’re you looking at?” you lock your screen fast. “nothing.” rin raises a brow. he’s not dumb— he’s just emotionally constipated. he crosses the room in three long steps, takes your phone right out of your hand (you protest but he’s stronger). his eyes flick over the screen, and his face drops. he doesn’t say anything for a moment. then, quiet and low, “you think i’d ever want anyone else?”

you try to laugh it off, to shrug like it’s nothing, but your throat’s tight. he exhales, frustrated— not at you, but at the whole damn situation. “they don’t even know me,” he mutters. “they see a picture and think they can put me next to anyone. they don’t know what i eat when i’m tired. they don’t know how you talk when you’re half-asleep.” he looks up, eyes soft and serious all at once. “they can ship me with whoever. i’m still yours.” and he says it like a promise. like a line in a song only you get to hear.

nagi seishiro

you’re lying on the couch, scrolling aimlessly. nagi’s next to you, sprawled like a starfish, head on your thigh. he’s half-asleep until you sigh— that long, quiet, heart-heavy kind of sigh. he blinks up at you through his messy hair. “huh? what’s wrong?” “nothing,” you mumble. he squints, spots your phone. “eh, are people still shipping me with that model?” you nod slightly, trying to look unbothered. nagi just snorts. “she looks like she takes too long to text back.” 

you laugh, but it dies too quickly. nagi’s lazy eyes narrow just a bit. he props his chin on your knee. “you don’t gotta compare yourself to them,” he says, quiet now. “you’re the one i actually like hanging out with.” you blink down at him, and he yawns, stretching his arms around you like a cat wrapping around its favorite blanket. “you’re comfy,” he mumbles into your shirt. “warm. i don’t need some shiny person who’d get bored of me.” you can feel his heartbeat against your side, slow and calm. and suddenly, it’s like all that noise from the internet fades out. it’s just him— your sleepy gamer boyfriend, half on your lap, half melting into you— and the world can wait.

itoshi sae

the thing with sae is— he’s used to being watched. idolized. people project whatever fantasy they want onto him, and he lets them. it doesn’t touch him. but it touches you.

it’s the headlines: “sae itoshi rumored to be dating rising model,” or the fan edits that blow up with millions of likes. and even though your rational brain knows it’s fake, the little insecure voice whispers, but she’s perfect.

so when sae comes home and sees you scrolling like your heart’s breaking in silence, he just… sighs softly. “again?” he says, setting his keys down. his tone’s calm, but there’s that undercurrent of protectiveness. “i know, i know. i shouldn’t care,” you whisper. he walks over, takes your phone, sets it face down on the table, and tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze. “you know who I text goodnight, right?” you nod, but it’s hesitant. he leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know who i fly home to.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, slow and deliberate. “the rest of them? they’re noise. you’re real.” and then— in the most sae way possible— he goes, “if i ever cared about what strangers online think, i’d be retired already.” you roll your eyes through a small laugh, but it helps. it always does.

isagi yoichi

isagi’s the type to panic when he senses your mood shift. you’re quiet, scrolling too fast, eyes too glossy. he peeks over your shoulder and sees the comments: “isagi’s way out of her league,” “he should be with ___ instead.” and his stomach drops. “wait— what? who said that??” you tell him it’s fine, but your voice cracks just slightly. and oh no. oh no no. isagi.exe has stopped functioning

he immediately starts babbling, hands waving, “no no no— they’re wrong, okay? they don’t even know you! or me! i don’t even talk to that actress!” you’re like “yoichi calm down ” but he’s already pulling you into a hug so tight it knocks the air out of you. “listen,” he says against your shoulder, “you think any of them make me feel the way you do? they don’t. they can’t. you’re my home base, okay?” and then he does something extra embarrassing— he posts a photo of your hands together on his story with a caption like “don’t care what anyone says, she’s the one ” you threaten to delete it but he just grins like, “too late. internet knows now.”

shidou ryusei

ohhhh shidou. that man’s a menace to society until it comes to you. he’s scrolling through his mentions, smirking at the chaos— until he sees your name pop up under a thread. “‘shidou should leave his girl for ___’? the hell?” he mutters. then he glances up— you’re sitting nearby, expression distant. oh. that’s what’s bothering you.

he tosses his phone aside and prowls toward you, grin fading into something serious. “you jealous, baby?” he teases lightly, but your eyes don’t lift. his chest tightens. he crouches in front of you, hands resting gently on your knees. “hey. look at me.” you finally do, and he sees that little flicker of doubt— and it kills him a bit. he exhales, presses his forehead to yours. “they can have the photos, the gossip, whatever. but only you get me like this. only you know the parts i don’t show.” then, with that trademark devilish grin returning, “besides, no one kisses me like you do. i’d go insane without it.” he laughs, but the sincerity lingers, heavy and warm. later, he’ll literally post a pic of you two holding hands with the caption "mi pookie" just to shut everyone up.

reo mikage

reo’s used to people talking. being rich, charming, athletic— people always have opinions. but when he realizes the noise online is getting under your skin? oh, he’s done.

he’s sitting next to you on the couch, watching your expression dim as you scroll. “angel,” he says softly. “don’t tell me you’re reading those again.” you shrug. “they just… look good together.” reo actually frowns, which is rare for him. “hey. don’t do that.” he takes your phone, locks it, and sets it far away. then, without a word, pulls you into his lap. “you know why i fell for you?” he murmurs against your hair. “because you’re real with me. no masks. no posing.” you let out a small laugh, but he’s serious now. “they can post pictures. they can wear designer everything. but none of that feels like home the way you do.” and then he smiles, that warm, bright reo smile that could power a city. “also, let’s be honest— none of them would survive my family dinners. you? you’re perfect.” he’ll spend the rest of the night proving it— cooking for you, playing your playlist, spoiling you like it’s his personal mission. because for reo mikage, love means reassurance through action.

rin itoshi had survived world cups, international friendlies, and isagi yoichi’s entire personality… but nothing could’ve prepared him for sharing a bed with your ass

the night started cute cuddles, snacks, rin pretending he wasn’t all soft and mushy when you knocked out on his shoulder. adorable. sweet. harmless.

at 12:47am, uou kicked him and that was straight up roundhouse, rin shot up like he’d been drafted.

“…what the hell. why are you doing blue lock training in ur sleep,” he muttered, staring at u like you were haunted.

he tried wrapping an arm around you to contain the chaos yeah no that lasted like 4 seconds.

at 1:23am, you stole the blanket with the confidence of someone committing a felony. rin tugged and you tugged harder he just lay there, betrayed by god and gravity

but 2:07am was the final boss.

THWACK.

rin’s whole soul left his body.

“agh—what the hell..?? did you just punch me???”

he turned to look at you, half offended, half confused, eyes squinting like he was checking if you were possessed. you? knocked out. looking peaceful as a mf angel completely oblivious.

"...oh nah no way." he leaned closer, shook you a bit

“wake the fuck up mike tyson… who're you boxing in your dreams..???”

you groaned awake, blinking slow like a grumpy cat

and rin froze.

he realized he made the worst decision of his entire life. you were awake. you. were. about. to. start. talking.

and it began IMMEDIATELY.

“rin… i had the weirdest dream, there were like cats but also they were taxes and i think one of them was my dad—”

rin dropped his head back on the pillow in defeat.

“…oh fuck me…”

he slapped a hand over his face as u continued rambling at 300 mph, absolutely 0 punctuation while you poked his cheek repeatedly.

“rinnnn why is ur face red did something happen did i sneeze on you in my sleep ?? rin ?? rin answer me right now—”

he shoved a pillow over his face dramatically

“im filing for divorce”

you giggled, flopping on top of him like a gremlin.

“NO YOURE NAWT. you love me"

he groaned but you could hear the smile hiding in it.

“…yeah. unfortunately.."

and neither of you slept a single damn minute after that

itoshi rin —

you had never seen Rin this confident over something so stupid.

“it’s just a little shock machine,” he said, rolling his sleeves up like he was about to perform surgery. “how bad could it be?”

you grinned, thumb hovering over the dial on the period pain simulator you’d bought online. “you sure about that, egoist?”

he gave you that side-eye glare, the one that’s supposed to be intimidating, but his hair was messy and he was in sweats, so he looked more like an annoyed cat. “just start it already.”

click. level one.

he barely flinched. “that’s it?” he scoffed. “feels like static.”

you smirked. “oh, we’re just getting started.”

click. level three.

his jaw tightened. his leg twitched. “…alright, yeah, a little annoying,” he admitted through gritted teeth.

you leaned closer, fake innocence dripping from your voice. “oh? a little annoying? this is what I feel while walking, Rin.”

he shot you a sharp look, but then you turned the dial again.

click. level five.

his breath hitched. he grabbed at his stomach, muscles tensing. “what the— why does it feel like—” “cramps,” you said sweetly. “welcome to the club, pretty boy.”

“turn it off,” he muttered. “awww, already? we’re not even at day two of the cycle yet.”

you turned it up another notch.

level seven.

he let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a growl and a gasp. his knuckles went white gripping the couch cushion. his face was pink—whether from pain or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell.

“holy— y/n! what is wrong with your body!?” he hissed through his teeth. you laughed so hard you almost dropped your phone recording him. “ours, actually. half the population, baby.”

“this is inhumane,” he wheezed. “and yet,” you said, leaning in to kiss his temple, “we still go to work, school, and deal with you while feeling that.”

he slumped back, groaning as you finally turned the machine off. his hair stuck to his forehead, breath uneven. you handed him water like a merciful goddess. “so… thoughts?”

he looked at you, eyes glassy with disbelief. “…i’m never arguing with you about cramps again.”

you smiled triumphantly, patting his shoulder. “good boy.”

“don’t— call me—” but his voice cracked halfway through, and honestly? you couldn’t help but laugh again.

nagi seishiro —

you were bored. nagi was too chill. and that’s how you ended up kneeling beside your couch with a period simulator and a grin that could only mean trouble.

he cracked an eye open, half-buried under your blanket. “what’s that thingy?” “a simulator,” you said innocently. “it lets you feel what cramps feel like.” he blinked once. “why would anyone want that?”

“for empathy,” you said. he groaned. “sounds like effort.”

“it is,” you said cheerfully. “that’s the point.”

you waved the pads at him. “come on. just a few seconds. you’ll understand me better.” he stared blankly for a moment, then sighed—the sigh of a man who knew resistance took more energy than surrender.

“…fine. but if i die, i’m haunting you.”

“noted.”

you attached the pads to his stomach and held up the remote like a game controller.

click. level one.

he blinked. “oh. buzz.” click. level three. “buzzier..” click. level five.

his face twitched. “…okay, now it’s not chill”

you tilted your head, all faux sweetness. “oh, but we’re just getting to the good part sei"

click. level seven.

he jolted. his hand flew to his stomach like you’d just shot him. “WAH?! WHAT IS THIS—WHY IS IT—HUH—”

you burst out laughing as he curled slightly, muttering to himself. “it feels like my organs are trying to… play twister.” “yeah,” you said

“this is evil,” he deadpanned, glaring at you through a curtain of white hair. “you live like this?” “every month.”

he just stared at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, as if you’d just told him the sun was fake.

click. level eight.

“STOP—Y/N—STOP, STOP—” he yelped, one hand clutching your wrist dramatically. “no more empathy! i get it! i get it!”

you turned it off, tears of laughter in your eyes. he collapsed back onto the couch, legs twitching, expression blank.

“you okay?” you teased. “no thoughts. only pain,” he whispered.

you giggled, stroking his hair. “you’re so dramatic.” “no, i’m valid,” he mumbled, pulling your blanket back over his head.

you smirked. “so… still think i’m exaggerating when i say my cramps hurt?” he groaned from under the blanket. “never again. you’re a soldier. i’m a marshmallow.”

you leaned in close, smiling. “good boy.” he peeked out with one sleepy eye. “…did i pass the test?” “barely,” you said. “cool,” he murmured, already drifting back to sleep. “wake me up when your uterus forgives humanity.”

reo mikage —

“you know,” you said, grinning as you held up the tiny controller, “for someone who claims to ‘understand women,’ you’ve never once tried to understand this.”

Reo raised an eyebrow, lounging on your bed like he owned it (which, honestly, he kinda did). “‘This’ being…?” you dangled the period pain simulator in front of him like a threat.

his lips curled into a confident little smirk. “oh, that thing? please. how bad can it be?”

you knew that tone. the “I’ve never suffered a day in my life” tone. perfect.

“alright, big man,” you said, motioning for him to lift his shirt. “let’s see how tough you really are.”

click. level one.

“huh,” he said, brows lifting slightly. “it’s like static.” click. level three. “okay, weird tingling. but manageable.” click. level five.

his posture changed—shoulders tense, breath shallower. “alright, starting to feel like—uh—deep… lightning?”

you bit your lip to hide your smile. “wanna stop?” he scoffed. “no way. I’m fine.”

click. level seven.

immediate regret.

“OH—holy—WHAT IS—” he doubled over, gripping his stomach like someone had just punched him. “Y/N—what the hell is this!? this isn’t pain—this is torture!”

you snorted. “welcome to the average day of existence, Reo.”

“how are you still functioning right now?” he hissed, wincing as another wave hit. “years of experience,” you said, smug.

“this can’t be healthy!” he whined. “nope! it’s just life, babe.”

click. level eight.

“NO, WAIT—STOP—PLEASE—” he gasped, clutching your arm dramatically. “I’LL BUY YOU ANYTHING. ANYTHING YOU WANT. JUST—TURN IT OFF.”

you laughed so hard you could barely breathe. “not even money can save you now, Mikage.”

finally, you turned it off. he collapsed backward onto your pillows, arm draped over his eyes like a tragic shakespeare hero.

you poked his cheek. “you alive?” “barely,” he muttered. “I saw mother nature.. she was mad, mad."

you smiled sweetly. “so… sympathy unlocked?” he peeked at you with exhausted purple eyes. “unlocked, maxed out, and I’m making a donation to uterus research tomorrow..”you snorted. “what a gentleman.” he groaned softly, hand reaching for yours. “never doubt you again,” he said, squeezing it weakly. “you’re built different, baby..”

“awww,” you teased, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “next time you get cramps, I’m calling a nationla holiday,” he mumbled.

isagi yoichi —

you sat cross-legged on the couch, holding the tiny silver period simulator remote like it was a controller in Blue Lock. Isagi eyed it suspiciously, hair slightly messy, still in his training hoodie. “so… you’re saying this thing makes you feel what cramps feel like?” “yep.” “why would anyone invent that?” you grinned. “so men can stop saying ‘it can’t hurt that bad.’”

he raised his hands defensively. “hey, i’ve never said that.” “then prove it,” you said, patting the seat beside you.

five minutes later, the pads were stuck to his abs and you were ready.

click. level one.

he tilted his head. “huh. kinda like—uh—when your stomach rumbles?” click. level three. “…okay, that’s a bit weird. feels like I ate bad sushi.” click. level five.

his brows furrowed, muscles tightening. “ah—ow—okay, okay, that’s not—what is—” you smirked. “still not that bad?” “no, no, it’s fine, i can handle—”

click. level seven.

he snapped forward, gripping his stomach, eyes wide. “WHAT IS THAT—IT’S LIKE—LIKE SOMETHING’S CLENCHING—” “uh-huh,” you said sweetly. “try living with that for a week.”

he let out a strained laugh that quickly turned into a whimper. “nah, you’re kidding. no one can—ow—function like this!” “we do!” you said, cheerfully evil. “school, work, sports, cooking—everything!”

click. level eight.

“Y/N, PLEASE—TIME OUT!” he flopped sideways, face buried in your lap. “i surrender. i’ll never complain about anything again. ever.” you tried not to laugh as his voice came out all muffled and dramatic: “you guys are warriors. superhuman. divine beings.”

you snorted. “bit dramatic, aren’t we?” he glared up at you, teary-eyed and offended. “this isn’t drama, this is trauma.”

you finally turned it off. he sagged against you, breathing heavy, hair a mess.

“you okay, champ?” you teased, stroking his hair. “no,” he croaked. “but i’ve seen the truth.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and what’s the truth?” he sat up slowly, hand over his stomach like a fallen soldier. “you deserve a break of rest every month.”

you laughed so hard you nearly dropped the controller. “so next time i say i have cramps—?” he pointed weakly at you. “you go to bed. i do everything. no arguments.”

“aww,” you said, kissing his cheek. “look at you, learning empathy.” he leaned into your touch with a small groan. “i’m learning pain. empathy came free with the suffering.”

micheal kaiser —

you’re sitting on the bed, holding the lil period simulator remote like a villain w a master plan. kaiser’s lounged back like he’s in a photoshoot, hair perf as always, smirk set to menace level 100.

“sooo this thing makes me feel ur little monthly cramps?” he says.

you blink. “little?” he immediately corrects himself. “uh—i mean ur—uh—almighty womanly pain rituals.”

“better,” you said. “now shut up and sit still, blondie.”

click. level 1.

he scoffs. “oh. that’s it? baby stuff.” click. level 3. “okay that’s—hm. like static. cute.” click. level 5.

his grin wobbles. “…wait. okay. it’s like. crampy?” you smirk. “oh we just gettin started, mein liebchen~”

click. level 7.

he jerks. “WHAT—why does it feel like satan’s grabbin my intestines?!” you cackle. “welcome to my world, michael.”

“THIS IS ILLEGAL!” he gasps, clutching his abs like he’s about to write a will. “nah babe, this is called the menstrual cycl.”

click. level 8.

“STOP—Y/N—WHY DOES UR BODY DO THIS—TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFFFF—” he’s legit pleading now, accent breaking mid-scream like a dying pop star.

you finally turn it off, tears in ur eyes from laughing. kaiser collapses dramatically, one hand on his chest like “tell noa i loved him.”

“u alive?” you ask, still giggling. “barely,” he pants. “i saw god. she was disappointed.”

“sooo still think i’m being dramatic when i say i have cramps?” he stares at u w glassy eyes. “no. i think ur a warrior. i think ur built different. i think u deserve 3 national holidays and free chocolate for life.”

“good answer,” you say, patting his chest. he sighs, still breathless. “if u ever need anything—heating pads, massages, a new planet—i’ll fund it.”

you smirk. “love u when ur suffering.” “unfair,” he mutters, rolling onto his side. “i was in pain.”

“yeah,” you grin, crawling next to him, “welcome to womanhood, mr. emperor"

p.s: "it can't be THAT bad right?" BUZZZZ EHHHHHH WRONG ANSWERRRRR lmao this was fun :3

you wake up groggy, like you're fighting inner demons, and nagi’s still there—dead asleep, hair everywhere, drooling on your pillow. ewwie.

you groan, roll over, and that’s when he blinks awake, eyes hazy. “mornin’… you still dying?”

“yep.”

he nods solemnly. “unfortunate.” and then promptly disappears out the front door. you think that’s it—until ten minutes later, he comes back with a bag.

“i went to the store,” he mumbles, setting it down like it’s a peace offering.

you peek inside. and instantly sigh.

inside issss:

one pack of overnight pads (this hoe has no idea wtf that is but the nice lady at the store gave him the right ones)

one pack of tampons (“idk which hole but just in case”)

two chocolate bars

chips

an entire rotisserie chicken.

“a whole chicken, nagi?” he looks so unbothered. “protein.. you’re losing blood”

you just stare. “that’s… not how that works.” “it’s the thought that counts, angelll"

you can’t even argue anymore he looks way too proud of himself, standing there with his messy hair and half-open hoodie like he just conquered the battlefield.

then he sits down beside you and opens one of the chocolate bars, holding it up. “say aaa.” “nagi, i can literally feed myself—” “aaa >:x”

you sigh and take a bite as he smiles, pleased. “good girl.”

you glare, mid-chew. “you’re lucky i’m too tired to hit you.” “yeah, i know.” he grins, leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “so what now? movies? nap? i can get a heating pad thingy if you want.”

you blink. “you even know what that is?” “not really..but i’ll google it.”

and he does. he actually goes to look it up, sitting there on the edge of the bed, muttering under his breath while scrolling like he’s researching rocket science.

he ends up wrapping your stomach with a warm water bottle inside your hoodie. it’s… questionable. but it’s sweet.

“feel better?” he asks, eyes soft now, the teasing fading into something almost tender.

you nod, leaning into his shoulder. “a little.” he hums, resting his chin on your head. “good. we’ll just keep doing nothing today then.”

and you do. you eat chicken at noon, chocolate at two, nap at three— and through all the cramps and chaos, nagi just… stays.

lazy, gentle, and very confused—but yours.

being isagi yoichi’s cousin is cool or whatever. he’s nice, reliable, and always lets you sit in the stands during blue lock practices. but there’s one teensy tiny problem:

you have the world’s most devastatingly huge crush on his teammate itoshi rin.

not just a crush. this is something life-ruining. you spend more time talking about rin than you do eating, sleeping, or functioning like a normal human being.

“he’s literally an artist, yoichi. like—like he paints with his feet. on the canvas of the field. a tortured genius.”

isagi, who is trying to enjoy his miso soup, stares at you flatly. “you just called rin a tortured genius last week.”

“because he is! look at his hair, it’s so… angsty.”

“you’re sick. actually sick.”

this is the pattern: you rant, isagi endures, and your heart continues to combust every time rin breathes in your general direction.

by the fifteenth rant of the month, isagi snaps.

“i’m done. we’re setting this up,” isagi tells bachira after practice, dragging him into the hallway like he’s confessing to a crime.

bachira tilts his head, yellow eyes sparkling. “setting what up?”

“my cousin. rin. she won’t shut up about him. i’m losing brain cells.”

bachira’s grin widens. “ooooh, matchmaking! i love love. i’m in.”

and just like that, the plan™ is born.

the trap is simple: “team bonding dinner.”

you have no idea rin is going to be there. you’re too busy whining while isagi shoves you into clothes that aren’t your ratty hoodie.

“why are you so pressed about what i wear, huh?” you groan.

“because if rin sees you in those sweatpants again, he might file a restraining order,” isagi mutters, yanking your hoodie off your head.

by the time you walk into the restaurant and see him sitting at the table—black hair falling into sharp green eyes, posture like he rules the world—you almost combust.

you’re about to spin on your heel and run when bachira cheerfully waves you over.

“y/n! come sit by rin!”

you freeze. rin looks up, deadpan expression betraying nothing. slowly, he shifts his chair just a little, wordlessly making space for you.

your entire body screams.

dinner is torture.

every time you try to eat, rin’s hand casually brushes near yours on the table and your brain short-circuits. every time he speaks, you nearly faint.

and bachira… is a menace.

“hey rin, did you know y/n here is your biggest fan?”

you choke on your drink. “bachira—”

isagi facepalms so hard the sound echoes. “kill me.”

rin turns to you, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing slightly. “…biggest fan?”

your whole soul yeets itself into orbit. “u-uh, no! i mean yes! i mean—”

“she never shuts up about you,” isagi mumbles into his food.

rin studies you, and instead of brushing it off like you expect, he asks quietly, “so… what exactly do you like about me?”

time freezes.

you swallow, hands clutching your fork like it’s a lifeline. “…everything?” you squeak. “you’re… talented. and focused. and… when you play, it’s like you’re carrying the whole world but you never let it crush you. you’re… inspiring.”

the table goes silent. even bachira blinks.

rin’s eyes linger on you, unreadable—but softer than usual. then, just barely, the corner of his mouth curves.

“…that’s… stupid,” he mutters. but his ears are pink.

later, when you’re walking out, rin falls into step beside you. you nearly trip over your own feet.

“you talk too much,” he says calmly.

you wilt. “s-sorry—”

“…but it’s not annoying.”

you freeze, whipping your head toward him. “wait, what—”

he shoves his hands in his pockets, not looking at you. “if you’re gonna keep saying embarrassing things… at least say them to me directly. not to isagi.”

your heart explodes.

isagi, ten steps behind with bachira, groans loud enough for half the street to hear. “great. now i have to deal with both of them.”

bachira just grins. “love wins, yoichi~.”