“those Stupid Things Are Going To Kill You.”

surname? that IS your name, sir 🤨🤨

— 𝖿𝗍. 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝖾, 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗋𝗂𝗇, 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗂 𝗁𝗒𝗈𝗆𝖺, 𝗆𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗈, 𝗇𝖺𝗀𝗂 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗈, 𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗎, 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗄𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗒𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗂 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗒𝖺 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝖺

— 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾

— 𝖼𝗐: 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌; 𝗈𝗈𝖼 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌?; 𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗄𝗎; 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗀

— 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖲𝖮 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽 😭😭😭 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗂 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 2 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 😭😭😭 𝖠𝖭𝖸𝖶𝖠𝖸𝖲𝖲𝖲 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 <3 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 2!!; 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗇’𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 :)) (𝖫𝖬𝖠𝖮𝖮𝖮 𝖨 𝖥𝖴𝖬𝖡𝖫𝖤𝖣 𝖱𝖨𝖭'𝖲 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖦𝖱𝖨’𝖲 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖲 𝖲𝖮 𝖡𝖠𝖣 𝖨𝖬 𝖲𝖮 𝖲𝖮𝖱𝖱𝖸 𝖦𝖴𝖸𝖲 😭😭😭😭

gang i kinda lost the silly juice at the end 😭😭😭 BUT STILL, I HOPE THIS WAS ENJOYABLE FOR EVERYONE!!! thanks for reading and hope to see you soon! comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated <33

Whenever you start playing with your hair a bit too much as a way of stimming, and ripping off individual strands in the process- when Kaiser catches sight, he grabs your hand and yanks it off your hair basically.

Not so graciously nor bluntly bringing it over to himself and shoving into his hair in a ‘here’. When you tried asking about it the first few times, he scoffs and says it’s distracting from his peripheral- and annoying, he adds, as if this is important for you to know.

So, long before you’ve stopped asking the whys and slowly learnt to let it out like that, fingers scratching against his skull, applying pressure and flowing between the strands up and down.

The action working as intended, you never really pay attention to anything else after, or to how it almost resembles mindlessly petting a cat— and sure, it is annoying to see someone raise their arm all the way up and play with their hair in the same position for hours uninterrupted. But he cannot really deny; it feels good to have this type of contact, to be touched and petted— not that he’ll ever tell you but it’s another crumb he’ll take.

Israel receives significant military and financial support from the United States and its allies, including advanced weapons, defense systems, and billions of dollars in annual financial aid.

Despite its isolation among some Arab countries, Israel has succeeded in building alliances with other countries, such as some of the Gulf statesm helping it strengthen its influence in the SWANA region.

Following Israel's deceptive action of breaking the ceasefire, more Palestinians are being murdered by the hundreds.

Please take your time to donate to Ibrahim and Nadeer's campaign, who has to live with constant bombardment from the merciless Zionists.

Ibrahim: €66,286/€80,000

Nader: €10,936/€50,000

more than friends?

moments that make you reconsider if you’re really just friends with blue lock men. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: can count as fluff, but mostly suggestive. mentions of alcohol consumption (aiku), mentions of a dress (kaiser), kaiser is mean

note. haven't made a hc post in a hot minute. situationships hc coming next cus i unfortunately, oddly enough, like situationships LMAOO i also just have too many irl situationship inspo

an almost kiss with itoshi rin.

“rin, can you help me get this?” turning your body to face him, the words die in your throat.

you realize a second too late that he’s standing right behind you, reaching for whatever you asked him to previously— and you almost crash right into his chest. he’s close. so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his skin, despite the blast of the air conditioning above you. that you can practically feel his shallow breaths ghost over your face. 

as he brings his arm down to hand you the book, head tilting down to look at you, you lock eyes. a second passes, or two, before it clicks in his mind what position you’re in. and you both freeze, seemingly frozen in place, and in time. 

rin’s eyes widen, and his breath gets caught in his throat, audibly hitching. but he doesn’t take a step back, nor does he make any move to put some comfortable distance between the two of you. though, to be fair, neither do you— keeping you stuck in whatever weird space the two of you have put yourselves in.  

the first one to break eye contact is you. your eyes flit to his lips, watching as they part to take a breath, before you can even process exactly what you’re doing. you stare a little too long, lingering for a second longer than necessary. before your eyes fly back to his in a panic, only to see that he’s staring at your lips too. 

it feels like you’re blacking out— and maybe, you are. you don’t remember the exact moment when your body started gravitating towards him, or when he started leaning in a little closer too. your bodies seemingly move on their own, listening to your hearts and not your minds, ignoring the blatant alarms going off in your heads. you’re leaning in, just a little, inching slowly and testing for any reaction from him. you can see his adam’s apple bob as he gulps, and you see the exact moment his eyes cloud over, before he’s mirroring you. you think for a second that, maybe, this is really happening. 

his lips are breath away, and the distance between you is almost nonexistent. you can practically feel his lips on yours— so close, almost there. just a little more and you’ll have a taste. he's closing the gap, your eyes fluttering shut in response, and so does his, in tandem. the rush of excitement you feel is undeniable— the way your nerves fire with sparks under your skin, tingling. 

but then your phone rings.

the shrill sound of your ringtone cuts through the air, snapping the two of you out of your daze. your eyes fly open, and you both jerk back immediately, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible. the moment is effectively ruined; the thick, hazy, palpable tension that once surrounded the two of you is now filled with an awkward, uncertain air. 

as you both pull away, neither of you say anything, too flustered to speak. he’s avoiding looking into your eyes, staring at the ground as if he were wishing it would swallow him whole. and, really, you can’t judge. you’re looking everywhere but rin, trying to calm your heart into something that doesn’t feel like arrhythmia. 

there’s an unspoken agreement that hangs in the air— a silent promise that neither of you will bring this up ever again, too afraid to risk your friendship. but, deep down, you know it’s something neither of you can forget.

receiving jewelry from itoshi sae.

gifts from sae were always unexpected and random. 

in his hand is a simple, and undeniably beautiful necklace— something he knows you like. something he's heard you talk about for months, seen on opened tabs on your laptop as he passes by, heard in conversations with friends during your phone calls. it was always something he’d kept in the back of his mind, always an open tab in his phone. even offering to buy it for you before, in passing, which was met with a hard ‘no’ from you. still, he pushes his hand to you, offering the gift now. 

“sae,” you hesitate, words trailing off as you figure out what to say. speechless would be an understatement. feeling grateful, in awe, and mildly embarrassed all at once. you can feel your cheeks heating up, looking at the necklace in his hands as you avoid his watchful eyes. “i already said you didn’t have to buy it for me. i was going to buy it… eventually.”

“want me to put it on you?” your words fly over his head, or maybe, he’s simply ignoring it. 

you press your lips into a line, finally looking into his eyes, as you hold in a shallow sigh of defeat— already coming to terms that, regardless of what you say, nothing would change his mind. so instead you nod, offering him a small and thankful smile, finally accepting the gift. 

“turn around,” he tells you, fingers already working on unclasping the necklace in his hands. you listen, turning around and waiting with baited breath as he moves to stand behind you. he inches closer than necessary, looming behind you in a way that makes you so hyperaware of him. the feeling of his fingers as they brush over your shoulder to loop the necklace around you, his steady breath on the nape of your neck— you feel it all at an elevated level. 

you gasp as the cool metal of the necklace hits your skin, in contrast to the warmth of his fingers as they make work of the clasp. it takes a few seconds, before you feel the clasp fall against your neck, but his fingers stay on your skin. tracing the line of the necklace as it travels to the junction of your shoulder. 

“do you like it?” sae leans down, whispering the words into your ears. you ignore the warmth that sweeps over your body, holding tight onto the necklace between your fingers, admiring the way it looks against your skin. 

“yeah, i do. it’s perfect.” you nod, your voice quiet and weak, unable to focus from the way your head starts to spin at the proximity. you can hear him let out a satisfied hum behind you, leaning back just a little to give you some space. “thank you, really.”

but he doesn’t pull away, and you feel his eyes on your neck as you twiddle with the jewelry in your fingers. 

unreasonable jealousy from michael kaiser.

“does this dress look nice?” pulling out a dress from deep in your closet, you pull it closer to your body before facing kaiser. 

he sits comfortably on your bed, resting on the headrest as he scrolls through his phone, looking bored out of his mind. his eyes are hooded, body slumped, and sighing loudly every five minutes as if urging you to get this over with. though, you suppose in his defense, you’d been doing this for the past two hours. with little to no progress being made. 

never putting his phone down, he glances at you, then the dress, and then back at you. there’s an unamused expression on his face, both brows raising imperceptibly and letting out a derisive laugh, and it makes the smile on your face falter for a second. “why are you trying so hard to impress this guy, anyway?” as hard as he tries to hide the contempt in his voice, trying to mask it with his usual mocking tone, it slips through. “next dress.”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden edge in his voice, an elusive frown forming on your face. "what do you mean?" you ask, suppressing a sigh as your arms fall to your side, the fabric of the dress bunching up as you grip it between your fingers.

you don’t want to put it down yet— refusing to put it next to you on the pile of other pretty, rejected clothes.

kaiser doesn’t immediately answer, but you notice the way his thumb scrolls slower across his phone screen now. his gaze flickers back to you, scrutinizing, and almost annoyed? evident in the way his lips press into a tight line, jaw clenching and unclenching as he sorts through his thoughts. a brief, almost unnoticeable, flicker of frustration crosses his features before he slumps even further, his voice quieter but more pointed. "it’s just a first date. don’t you think it's kind of pathetic? all this effort for some guy you’re not even sure is going to stick around?"

his words sting more than you want them to. 

the dress feels heavier in your hands, like a weight you're not sure you want to carry anymore— and frankly, it ruins any excitement you have for your date. you bite your lip, chewing on the skin. you want to ask him why he even cares, why he's hell bent on making you think that every man is bound to ditch you after the first date, why he can’t seem to be happy for you.  

you hold up the dress, this time with less confidence. "i didn’t know wanting to look good for a date was such a crime." admittedly, your voice is snappy and irritated, almost glaring at him from where you stand. 

“it’s not.” he says, ignoring the heated look in your eyes. “looking good for other men is, though.”

going drinking with oliver aiku.

from being friends with aiku for practically all of your life, you’d think you know better than to say ‘yes’ to his whims. but it seems that time has only weakened your resolve.

“come here.” aiku sits lazily on the couch, an arm slung over the backrest, his legs parting to comfortably make space for you. you watch him in silence from where you sit, raising a brow at him as he throws you that signature smirk of his— before he’s patting the space between his legs, motioning for you to come over. “help me drink?”

“what?” comes your surprised response, mouth dry and voice cracking as you speak. despite your loose state, your back straightens at his words, and you grip the glass in your hands. “what do you mean ‘help… you drink’?”

“pour a shot into my mouth. the one you’re holding in your hand right now.” he motions to it with a nod of his head, voice slightly slurring but way too casual for your liking. as if what he was asking were normal, and totally not crossing some unspoken boundary between friends. “come on, just this once.”

the logical part of your mind screams at you from somewhere in your head, telling you not to do it. but it’s quickly tamped down by his pleading eyes, and the ‘please’ that slips past his lips. you get up and you take your time walking over to the couch, treading with short and slow steps, giving yourself a chance to back down.

but you don’t. 

with an uncertain look on your face, you place a knee between his legs, a hand shooting out to steady yourself as you lean over him. the hand holding the glass is shaking— from nerves, or from being mildly inebriated, or maybe a hefty mix of both— the drink sloshing around as you carry it to him. you feel his hands on your waist, firm and warm, preventing you from tipping over.

finally finding the courage to look into his eyes, you do. they’re so unfocused, yet so focused on you, and it makes you breathe in heavily, as if second guessing the normality of what you’re about to do. sensing your hesitation, his fingers squeeze at your waist. “go on.”

it's reckless and impulsive, but clearly, you aren't in the right state to be making smart decisions. your fingers hook under his chin, his eyes intently honing in on you as you do so, as you bring the glass to his lips. you press it against his lips, watching as they part to make space for the intrusion, before his fingers latch onto your wrist.

he doesn’t break eye contact as he guides you, gaze heavy and imposing, that it almost makes you want to pull away. but you can’t— his hands keep you firmly in place. you’re forced (though, you know a part of you willingly stares) to watch as he guides your hand to tilt the glass, pouring the contents into his mouth. 

aiku’s fingers linger on your skin even when the drink is long gone, and it makes you squirm. you cough, bringing one of your hands to your mouth to form a fist, as you bashfully look away. “all done here now, right?”

a beat passes, before you feel the heat of his hands leave your skin, “yeah.” and you pull away from him.

© rindreamery, 2025

want your bad romance ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ you text the bllk guys that you cheated on them as a prank (ft. my favs <3)

characters. ꨄ︎ fem!reader x sae, kaiser, otoya, karasu, bachira, reo, and nagi (separate)

cw. ꨄ︎ fluff, crack, swearing, pet names, sassy men, sarcasm, mentions of violence, kaiser being mean, sae being his brother's biggest hater (are we surprised), eita being a silly little down bad bf

notes. ꨄ︎ loving sae and kaiser the same, but only wanting to punch kaiser in the face <3

♪ song used. ꨄ︎ bad romance by lady gaga

end notes. ꨄ︎ guys i love kaiser sm it's not funny (i love sae more)

want to join my taglist? all that's required is for u to let me know in the comments! WARNING: i do post for different fandoms

tags. ꨄ︎ @starlightanyaaa @jellyfishlord123 @namjooningera @bontensbabygirl @starrnai @tillaboo @patpatspatz @sugusmonkeyy @herefor-tojis-tits @hanham10 @samoankpoper21

reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated! <3

bllk masterlist | general masterlist

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Wardrobe Malfunction

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 1.6k TYPE: Humor, Clothes Swap NOTE(S): For the purposes of this situation, reader is on the shorter side, and also because I feel like they have the evil of a short person in their soul. Also, same Y/n character as Dog Walking, but you don't need to read that to read this at all!

Despite whatever airs you put on, you like wearing your Bastard München uniform. Mostly because it makes you feel like a big shot professional, which appeals to your sense of self-importance.

You don’t think much of it when you slip on your shirt, but soon enough it becomes apparent to you that something is off. It feels wrong, too loose. And it’s falling down way lower than what you’re used to. You take a few seconds to scrutinize it in between owlish blinks, although the emboldened logo on the front doesn’t aid you in figuring out this mystery.

The easy way to check comes to you soon enough, and you lift your leg to see a traitorous ten in the corner of the shorts instead of your number. A look of horror takes over your face… No… You’re going to get Kaiser’s cooties. He is contaminating you with his germs.

You can already feel them loosening after the movement, and once you put your foot back down, they immediately slide off. With a huff, you grab them from the floor and resolve to strut up to the crux of your dilemma.

When you approach, Kaiser has his back on you, and you immediately notice the big eight, and the wrong name accompanying it. Ness is struggling to fit into the shirt he got, and while his jersey isn’t too ill-fitting on Kaiser, it’s too short, leaving him to fumble with the hem to try and hide the exposed part of his waist.

“It’s just like the pants, I can’t put it on,” Ness cries.

“What do you mean, you can’t put it on?” Kaiser asks before taking a handful of fabric and yanking down with too much force. “See, you can put it on just fine.”

“I can barely move! This is ridiculous-”

Oh, you see how it is now. Are they stupid, though? How have they been talking for so long without pinpointing the problem? You sneak behind Kaiser and reel in your arm before smacking him on the back with the shorts, exerting all of your might.

He lets out a grunt of pain you believe is overdramatized since it can’t have hurt that much, shoulders jerking up. “Whoever did that, I will fucking curb stomp y-” and then, after he whips around and sees you, the threat dies down on his tongue.

“Your dirty pants, sir,” you say in a fake fancy voice before throwing them at his face.

Kaiser flings them away on the bench, narrowing his eyes at you with this weird mix between taunting and adoring. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re so cute right now. Let me see.”

With this new positioning, Ness seems to finally realize what happened, too, because he says, “Wait, Kaiser, that’s… m-mine.”

Ignoring him, Kaiser steps around to examine you, and his ugly grin that you can’t stand grows even wider somehow when he reads his name. His name that’s on you because you’re wearing his jersey. “Holy shit.”

“You look like an imp.”

He disregards you with ease, too — you have to admit he’s good at this ‘only hearing what he wants to hear’ stuff — and opens his locker to rummage through it. Ness says, “You’re- you’re wearing Kaiser’s? That’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing mine. Stand proud. You’re blessed. Millions would kill to be in your place. Everyone’s gonna wear this merch in the future, but you get the real thing.”

“You seriously live in la-la-land, it’s unbelievable.”

You spin your finger in the air, seeming way too pleased with yourself. “Do a little twirl for me, I wanna see how it looks on you all around.”

“I will NOT be doing that,” Ness denies with a huff. He’s so uptight when it comes to anyone who’s not Kaiser. Someone would’ve thought you have gangrene or that you asked him to clean roadkill off the street or something with the way he’s acting.

What Kaiser was searching for in such a rush turns out to have been his phone, you come to find out when he starts taking pictures of you without even a modicum of shame. Multiple of them, if the repetitive pressing he’s doing is indicative of anything.

“Don’t point your phone at me, you sick fuck,” you say, reaching out to cover the lens.

Your efforts go in vain, since he just lifts it up high where you can’t reach and continues. “No way. You’re just way too cute right now. I mean, shit.”

Mocking you aside, there’s this thinly-veiled wonder on his face, and it’s making you want to vomit because of course he’d be the type to get a kick out of stupid shit like this. He’s so fucking lucky, too, it’s pissing you off. Among the three of you, he’s the only one who’s kind of in presentable condition.

Once you come close to swatting the device out of his grasp with a jump, Kaiser presses his palm to your face and shoves you away, keeping you at an arm’s length. Then he diverts his attention to Ness, snapping photos of him now and laughing. “You look stupid as hell.”

“Nooo, Kaiser, don’t! Stop!” Ness says, red-faced, to absolutely no avail.

He even takes a few steps back and does a bad job of covering his stomach with his hands while inching towards the bench, which… he makes a genuine attempt at ducking under. This doesn’t deter Kaiser from continuing his paparazzi session or whatever it is that he’s doing, nor does it conceal Ness from view.

You detach your cheek from Kaiser’s hold and announce, “Don’t worry, Ness, I’m gonna save you from the vile pig,” before you take an unnecessary leap and stick your fingers where the shirt is riding up, tickling his sides.

This startles him enough to let go of his phone (the apparatus of evil), sending it flying. You at least have enough decency to catch it, since you’re not really above letting it shatter either. Then you start scrolling through it with the intention of deleting the photos.

It doesn’t take Kaiser long to recover from your attack, and when he does, he reaches out to you. You assume he’s just trying to get his phone, so you kind of twist around to try and prevent him from doing so, but what he does is much worse.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him before collapsing his stupid ass on the bench (which, at this point, has witnessed many horrors), leaving you to sit on his lap. Then — as if this isn’t offensive enough already — he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re such a touch-starved freak, it’s actually appalling.”

“You probably won’t look this good in your life ever again.” You roll your eyes at the stupid comment, and he starts tapping the screen along with you, and he even has the nerve to snicker. “I needed to be opportunistic.”

“Whatever, man.”

The weird battle results in a lot of random apps opening and closing, until eventually the gallery comes up on accident. With a feeling of triumph, you slap his hand away, so he won’t get in your way anymore. There you see the long string of pictures depicting Ness’s progression towards hiding under the bench, which, in your opinion, would make a great slideshow. Next are the images featuring you, where you’re looking up at him and struggling to even graze the phone, swiping your fists at thin air. Wow, you never thought you’d see your Great and Almighty Self from such a… pitiful perspective.

Before you can mope about how vertically challenged you are, however, something else catches your eye, and you burst out laughing, borderline dry-heaving from the acuteness of it. “What-”

Kaiser flusters and snatches his phone out of your fingers before pushing you up and away from him. This, for better or for worse, doesn’t wipe your memory or make you unsee the comically large amount of shirtless mirror selfies he has accumulated.

Despite your stumbling, you don’t fall. “How did you always manage to make the exact same pose and exact same expression in every single one of them?! Seriously. That’s spine-chilling.” You pretend to wipe a tear, even if it’s not that funny.

Kaiser doesn’t respond and turns around to toss his phone back to wherever he got it from. Ness — whose presence you kind of forgot about — deems it safe enough to stand up and reemerge. He asks, “What? What did you see?”

“His shrine of himself,” you say. “By the way, I think he’s a stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” argues Kaiser as if there was a possibility Ness might believe you.

For the first time, it’s Ness who is pretending Kaiser didn’t say anything. “Did you delete them?”

“No.”

He slumps, disheartened.

You make your way behind him. “Alright, let’s switch back,” you say, rolling up the material of your jersey. Surprisingly Ness accepts the help without any complaints and just accommodates you with a high raise of his hands.

You’re nearing the biggest problem area — his shoulders — when Kaiser deems it fit to intervene. “Ness, bend over. You’re taking too long.”

He does as told and Kaiser, for some godforsaken, idiotic reason, hooks his fingers inside of the collar. But you don’t see that since you’re trying to focus on your part, so instead you just comment on his willingness, “Slutty.”

“S-Shut up- Oh my god, don’t pull like that, what if it tears?!”

“It’s not going to tear.”

This exchange alarms you somewhat, so you shift your gaze to Kaiser, and what greets you is the sight of him tugging on the collar, trying to hoist it over Ness’s head. Your eye twitches. “If you damage mine, I’m gonna make good use of yours. Naturally what I mean by this is that I’ll use it as toilet paper.”

“It’s not going to tear,” repeats Kaiser, yanking harder. Apparently your collective lack of faith in him is vexing him.

… You hear a rip.

___

Happy valentine's day (I wrote this yesterday i was with my boyfriend today lol. He's american so he thinks valentine's day is a real holiday)

Hello,

My name is Mohammad Ramzi, and I am a young Palestinian from Gaza. Before the war, my life was full of hope—my family, my home, my work, and my studies were everything to me. But everything changed when the conflict took everything we had. We were forced to flee our home and now live in a tent in the south of Gaza. We struggle daily just to find water, food, and basic medical care.

For over 400 days, we've had no job or source of income, and the money we had left has run out. I am now the one taking care of my family, including my father, who went to Egypt for heart surgery and can’t return.

I’m reaching out because we need help. Any contribution, no matter how small, will go directly to ensuring my family’s survival—whether it’s food, water, or medical supplies. Your support can make a life-changing difference.

Please consider helping us during this time of crisis. Your generosity means the world to us.

Thank you so much,

Mohammad Ramzi

hi all! heres another palestinian family that could use your aid. reblogging and donations work wonders

out of breath, got me going like...

attractive things that the blue lock men do.

itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you. 

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin. 

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention. 

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

© rindreamery, 2024

tags. @choccorin @mininji

HI NISHIIII, for the event can I get kaiser with spicy, 🍮 and rivals to lovers ? 🍮 THANK U 😼

ORDER 10: READY TO GO !

kaiser + spicy + eye contact + rivals to lovers w.c. 1k+

note. this is for you, no.1 kaiser kisser 🤭 it literally took everything in me (fighting my demons) not to spoil the story for you cus i am a chronic yapper, and i tell you basically everything i write LMAO

interested in more? check out the lounge !

your team would probably shun you if they saw you right now— fraternizing, if you could even call it that, with the enemy. 

you can’t find it in you to blame them, reminding yourself of what position you’d been in, just ten minutes prior. the score on the big screen read 3:2, bright and bold and red, and mocking you— no, mocking your team. the tangible, irrefutable proof that your team had just suffered one of its most devastating losses of the season. you remind yourself of the way their shoulders quivered, the way they all turned away from one another, as they tried to process this grief on their own. you think that you probably should’ve felt numb, that your ears should’ve been ringing as the cheers of the stadium droned on and on, and that you should’ve felt the crushing weight of the loss that your team had just suffered. that as their manager, who had seen them through their highs and lows, it was also your duty to feel what they do. 

and yet, there you were, blatantly ogling the man who stood in the center of the field; gloating in his victory, accepting the praises that rained on him, all while staring right at you too. kaiser always makes a show out of it, always making sure your eyes are locked onto him as he lifts his shirt— fingers gripping the hem of his jersey as he pulls the fabric up, to dab at the sweat that lines the crown of his forehead, exposing his glistening skin and the way the sweat rolls off the ridges of his abs. 

you know he finds entertainment in the way your eyes travel down, almost instinctively, trailing the singular drop of sweat that rolls down the line of his body, before your eyes snap back up. he’s smug, irritatingly so, and all too aware of the fact that you could not rip your eyes away from him. he does this, every time; you fall for it, every time. 

it’s like a trance, and the shame you feel after is overwhelming. only then do you find yourself walking away, back to the tunnel and the hallways of the stadium, trying to bury the shame and the image of his body into the depths of your mind.

but, like everything else with kaiser, he never makes it easy to forget him. he's always hot on your heels, lingering around you, reminding you of his presence. to rub in his win, or for something else, you're never really sure.

"you know, it hurts me that you always avoid me after.” you freeze, every muscle in your body tensing at the familiar sound of kaiser’s voice. he’s standing there, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. he still hasn’t changed out of his jersey, skin still glistening with sweat, and chest heaving— ignoring the way the rest of his team walks off into the locker rooms without him. “can’t stand being close to me after a win? or is it something else that’s got you all riled up?"

your stomach churns at the insinuation, and despite yourself, your body betrays you— your head turns to face him, eyes flicking to glance at him, and catching his gaze. but the feeling is short-lived, and you peel your eyes away from him almost immediately, finding faux fascination in the clipboard in your hands. “i’m not sure i’m catching your drift,” you lie. 

the scoff under his breath is hard to miss, with the way the sound slightly echoes in the, now empty, hallways. you hear everything in here— the rustle of his jersey as he unfurls his arms, his footsteps, and the way they get louder with each step as he stalks closer to you. the deliberation in his steps, and the way he takes long, but slow, strides towards you. enjoying the way your body tenses in anticipation. 

“you know what i mean. ogling a player from the opposing team, huh?” kaiser appears from behind you, and you instinctively flinch at his voice. you can feel the way his breath tickles the skin of your nape, lacking a concept of personal space or maybe just not caring, as leans down to level with you. “you seemed to be enjoying yourself back there.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you huff, looking the other way as he perches his chin on top of your shoulder. you can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at side of your face, intense and unyielding— and flustering. “i wasn’t.” a lie.

kaiser knows. “sure.” because he catches the way the tips of your ears bloom into a deep crimson, and he laughs softly at this— a low, deep sound that reverberates in your ears. “you hate me, right?” he questions you, but the smirk is evident in his tone. 

“i do,” you say with as much conviction, another lie, but determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you bothered— affected, by him. “i despise you,” and you want to believe it yourself. but your voice betrays you, it falters, it loses that animosity that has his smirk spreading into a grin. 

you make the mistake of glancing at him again, watching as something flickers in his eyes. something along the lines of intrigue, satisfaction, like you’d said exactly what he had wanted to hear. a bold lie, a challenge for him to disprove because he knows you’re lying. that, despite claiming that you despise him, you can’t stop the way you crave to see him. 

“then,” he straightens his body, no longer leaning on you for support. and as you try to look away from him again, to escape him, he stops you. his left hand crawls up your left arm, leaving a line of goosebumps in its path as it travels up— you feel the way they hover over your shoulder, and then the junction of your neck, tracing your jaw as his deft fingers find their way to your chin. it’s aggressive— the way he tilts your chin to the right, forcing you to glance up at him, right into his eyes. “why do you never push me away?” he asks, his voice dipping in a way that makes your pulse race. “unless, you’re secretly enjoying this.”

© rindreamery, 2025

Michael Kaiser has a habit of bending down to your level (if you're shorter than him), hands on his hips, sassying you whenever the two of you have an argument.

You can't help but leave the room everytime he does this. It leaves you weak in the knees and the score Michael 1 - You 0.