My predictions for Shidou's backstory now that my prince is finally getting it in the next chapter, source: trust me bro. I think he comes from a single parent family, I believe he grew up with only his mother. He lacked personal attention as a child and probably was used to being ignored or neglected hence why his character is so eccentric and why he decided to dye his hair and use eyeliner, so he would be noticed. Since he grew up and lives in Tokyo, maybe he found fashion influence in guary culture, maybe even his mom was one before she had him and liked their no-care attitude and boldness. AND I believe his father was absent from his life and Shidou's mom had many boyfriends that she brought over and that is why Shidou is so casual about over explicit language being used, maybe he grew up hearing it from his mother's boyfriends.
I also think he would have difficulty in making friends at school because of his short temper and violent tendencies that also permitted him from entering his school's football club. It's canon he wasn't playing in any club previously to Blue Lock. My personal headcanon is that he was playing football alone to vent his emotions on an empty field after the football club left and that is how Anri discovered him. Football for Shidou is a way to be recognized and pass on his legacy and I think he just wants to be seen ☹️ and I think playing with Sae was the first time he felt like he found someone who understood his chaotic way of playing and that is why they made a chemical reaction (something that happened to Shidou for the first time, no one else in Blue Lock could make a chemical reaction with his play). Shidou can be very over the top but he also has a vulnerable side that doesn't let people see. He just needs someone who understands him, papi I'm right here, let me hit 😭😭😭
✮`,— BLLK BOYS IF YOU SPILLED YOUR DRINK, BUT YOU’RE EXACTLY THEIR TYPE .ᐟ.ᐟ
ft. Isagi, Bachira, and Rin ᯓ★
Isagi:
You were at a cafe, walking towards the door—coffee in hand. Suddenly, you collide with somebody and spill your coffee all over them. You let out an audible gasp. “I’m so sorry oh my god-“ you stammer out, panicking before you look up. Isagi freezes when he sees your face, tensing up.
He pinched himself. How could you be real? You were so adorable—like an angel sent straight from heaven. He blushes like a schoolboy when you begin patting down his crotch area with napkins. “Y—y-you-you…” he sputters out. You look up, tilting your head cluelessly and blessing him with those angelic e/c eyes—and he nearly dies.
Towards the end of your interaction, he starts panicking. You were exactly his type. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass, or he’d never see you again. So he tried making an attempt at flirting, but all that comes out is a strained, loud, “GO OUT WITH ME.” His hands immediately fly to his face to hide his shame as you look up at him, caught off guard, yet chuckling at his forwardness.
He’s still muttering something like “sostupidyouresostupidsostupid-“ to himself when you ask him for his number—because in all honesty? He was adorable. And handsome too. His brain short circuits, as he fumbles with his phone awkwardly before handing it to you. Your fingers brush his, and oh. Oh. Oh, no. A literal whimper escapes his lips. Your eyes dart up to his as if to confirm what you had just heard. His skin goes completely pale, before blood rushes north and he coughs into his sleeve.
After that interaction, he literally has to get up, take a round, and do breathing techniques to calm himself down. Meanwhile, you walked off trying not to giggle at the sad excuse of a soccer star you had just met.
Bachira:
You were speedwalking on a sidewalk with your lemonade, stressed and rushing somewhere. Suddenly, you hit your head on someone’s chest, bumping into them and spilling your lemonade all over their black and yellow striped shirt. You look up immediately, only to be met with a pair of wide, golden eyes which appeared to be starstruck upon seeing your face. You immediately rush to apologize, as to which he interrupts you. “Woah. You’re pretty. Like, really ethereal!” He smirks, before adding, “monster says mine.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks. “M-monster?” You shake your head. “L-listen, I am so sorry about the lemonade-“ “lemonade’s my favorite. A wonderful choice, my monster thinks so too!” He grins sweetly. You blink, dazed. Now that you’re seeing his face, he was like…really adorable. “What were you in such a rush for, missy?” He asks slyly. Your face pales. You had completely forgotten about where you were supposed to be right now. You panic, “I’m so sorry sir, I’ve got to go right now!” You run off.
“Wait! I never got your name!” He hollers from across the street. “{y/n} {l/n}!” You shout back. “See you around!” He cheers.
Rin:
You were with your friends at the beach, sipping, tanning, and chatting. “It’s scorching out here, you guys. I want an iced tea.” You get up off your mat and head over to the drink stand. You secure your peppermint iced tea, walking back giddily. Your eyes were focused on nothing but how refreshing your drink looked—the little lemon slice on top? To die for. While you were busy ogling your drink, a soccer ball crashed into it abruptly, spilling the whole thing over yourself.
You stay frozen, eyes wide, still processing the cold liquid that had completely dampened your bikini. Rin stands there, looking as guilty as ever. He blinks, then walks over to pick up his ball—but he freezes instantly when he sees you. His breath doesn’t hitch, but his eyes widen for just a split second. A large crack in composure for somebody like Rin. He walks up to you, trying not to stare.
He clears his throat, visibly flustered. “Tch.” He clicks his tongue. “Sorry. ‘bout the stray ball.” He glances down at your tea-soaked figure, ears flushing a light pink. “And the drink.” He adds. You look up at him. He’s unfairly pretty. His usually composed and piercing gaze struggles to meet yours. “It’s…uh..alright.” You mumble back. The awkward silence stretches. Until…
“You know, peppermint tea is my favorite. How about I make it up to you?”
You tilt your head. “Huh?”
His throat goes dry at the sight. So adorable. So perfect.
“We can, uh..get it sometime. Together.” He mutters quietly, his voice hoarse.
“You don’t even know my name,” You chuckle.
His heart flutters at your laugh. “Huh? Oh, y-yeah. right. I’m Rin. Y-you?” He rubs his neck sheepishly, staring at the ground. So uncharacteristically hot and bothered for someone like Itoshi Rin.
He’s second guessing himself.
“I-I mean of course if you don’t want—” “{n/n}. Call me {n/n}.” You interrupt.
“I’d love to grab a drink with you sometime.” You smile, and his souls leaves his body right then and there.
hello! May I pls request a fic where reader is sitting on Bachira’s (or anyone from bllk) face for the first time and she’s super nervous and a lil insecure bc what if her weight crushes him??? It’s ok if you don’t want to. Thanks 🫶
MY FIRST REQUEST??? HOW COULD I REFUSE?
-> fem!reader °❀.ೃ࿔
-> contains: #Bachira loves your pussy, #needy Bachira, #insecure reader, #Bachira IS IN FACT an eater, #Bachira loves giving you oral, fluff and smut.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Meguru had been begging for weeks—months, even. He couldn’t seem to understand just why you didn’t want to sit on his face. He wanted to be buried in between your gorgeous legs so badly, but damn if you weren’t being difficult. That’s why when you finally came to him one day, saying that you were open to it, his eyes lit up in a way you’d never seen before. You swallow hard, already having second thoughts. Bachira knew you struggled with confidence—even though he thought it was absolutely ridiculous since he was already privileged to be in a relationship with somebody like you in the first place.
“M-megu..?” you mumble quietly, as your core hovers above his face—not yet lowering it. Bachira’s hand is around your legs, trying to pull you down on him. He’s literally whining. “Hm?” He looks up at you, smiling with that ever-so-innocent expression of his. “What’s wrong, sunshine?” His voice is muffled, because he’s sticking his tongue out, trying to taste just a bit of you. The sight almost makes you giggle.
“well..uhm..” you struggle getting your words out, it’s not the easiest thing to admit. “What if..you know..I’m too heavy..?” you mumble, doubting yourself more than ever. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this..I-don’t want to crush you.” Bachira gets sort of angry at that, but he doesn’t show it. Instead when you lift yourself to get off of him, he yanks you back firmly. “No. You won’t crush me. And if you did, I’d die the happiest man on earth!” He huffs out persistently.
“Now pleasepleaseplease let me taste you, I want your thighs to squeeze my head so hard it pops. You’re so beautiful, baby,” his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, “wanna show you just how wrong you are.” Then without warning, he finally yanks you down onto him by your legs, earning a startled yelp from you—which makes him giggle against you.
He eats you out like he hadn’t had lunch for the past three days, so insanely persistent, you’d think he has an emotional attachment to your pussy. He laps at you relentlessly in a way that makes your knees buckle. Tongue exploring your insides as his nose nudges against your clit with every lick. Bachira was so damn loud, it embarrassed you to no end. Shameless slurps, sucks, and moans from him filled the room.
He loves embarrassing you and making it seem like an accident. Your flustered face is probably the most attractive thing he’s ever seen, it turns him on, like, BAD. Every shaky whimper you let out only serves to arouse him more, intensifying the pressure on your soaked cunt. Your slick smears everywhere, god he’s so messy. On his nose, cheekbone, and chin, and he looks so damn proud of it. “God, I could die happy in between your legs,” he purrs against you, tipping you over the edge.
You sob out his name as your legs lock around his head, and you squirt onto his face and into his mouth. Your legs tremble violently, and the sight arouses bachira so bad he nearly comes in his pants.
“M-megu..mnh! P-please..p..” you try and breath out, but he just grins and slurps up every last drop of your release, still lapping at you with an insatiable hunger afterwards. post-orgasm sensitivity was a bitch, one that Bachira knew exactly how to take advantage of. His arms lock around your thighs, keeping you there as he eats you out through the aftershocks.
After he’s done —not letting any last drop of you go to waste, he finally releases you. You try and stand up, but you collapse back onto the bed. He stands at the edge, looking down at you and grinning at what he’s done.
“So, would you let me do that again?” He asks hopefully, a glint in his eyes that was not there before. You blink, still panting from the intense orgasm.
That night, when bachira is spooning you, he’s extra clingy. It devastates him to no end, knowing you truly have such a terrible image of yourself and your weight. It’s not fair. You’re so beautiful it hurts, he wanted to kiss all your worries away. He squeezes you extra tight, arms enveloping your waist like a corset. Later that night, bachira has to quite literally jerk himself off, because his boner wasn’t going down from earlier. He’s still thinking about how pretty you looked above him while he made you fall apart.
Okay but i genuinely love his character sm and he’s literally gorgeous and like idk he’s sm more than just Sae’s bf or some random horny guy that plays soccer he genuinely means sm to me
summary . . ৎ → in which ALEXIS NESS, the school's resident emo drummer and loser, somehow convinces the most popular cheerleader in school to join his battle of the bands lineup OR two polar opposite idiots refuse to admit they're obsessed with each other.
જ⁀➴ content: loser!ness x cheerleader!reader :: rodrick!ness x regina george!reader :: bastard münchen band au :: mutual obsession :: toxic chemistry :: needy/submissive ness :: power play dynamic :: kaiser being kaiser :: profanity :: contains bits of mature themes 18+ :: 5K WORDS
THE ANNUAL SPORTS WEEK was the one time of year the entire school pretended to have an alarming amount of spirit.
Monday was basketball. Tuesday was volleyball. Wednesday was track and field. Thursday was football. By Friday, every student had lost their voice from cheering and every teacher regretted approving the event in the first place.
This year, however, the student council had decided to raise the stakes.
Battle of the Bands.
Each Sports Week team was required to put together a band and perform one song on the final day. The winning performance earned enough points to completely change the overall rankings, which meant students who had never touched an instrument before were suddenly insisting they'd "always wanted to learn bass."
Team Gold had somehow assembled three musicians who all cared far too much about music and not nearly enough about cooperation. They had a drummer, a guitarist, and a bassist who could spend half an hour arguing over a single chord progression.
What they didn't have was a vocalist.
Which explained why Alexis Ness was weaving through the crowded hallways with his backpack bouncing against his shoulders, a pair of drumsticks sticking out from the side pocket and his tie hanging so crooked it had practically surrendered.
"Excuse me! Sorry. Really sorry."
He slipped between two sophomores carrying paint buckets for one of the Sports Week booths.
"Dude," one of them called after him, frowning at his shoes. "You stepped on my foot."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"That doesn't really help me."
"...Would another apology help?"
"No."
"...I'm still sorry."
By the time he reached the main building, the hallway had become impossible to walk through. Every club seemed to have claimed a corner, students rushed past carrying banners and sports equipment, and somewhere nearby a marching band was somehow making more noise than the volleyball team.
Ness stopped long enough to scan the hallway, his eyes darting from one classroom to another.
But every place he went through was all empty.
"...Where are you?"
Everyone knew where to find you eventually.
Whether you were with the cheer squad, the student council, or helping organize Sports Week, you somehow always ended up wherever the biggest crowd was.
Finding you should've been easy. So why had Ness already searched half the campus?
His phone buzzed.
Kaiser
WHERE ARE YOU
Ness
still looking...
Kaiser
YOU'VE BEEN "LOOKING" FOR HALF AN HOUR
Ness
I'm aware
Yukimiya
Rehearsal starts in 15.
Kaiser
I know.
I'm waiting on our drummer who's somehow losing a game of hide and seek to the MOST popular girl in school.
Ness
There's just a lot of people today.
Isagi
btw guys if you don’t mind it i added hiori and kurona
Kaiser
what?
Isagi
hiori's doing scheduling
kurona's bringing the equipment
Kaiser
Yoichi.
I asked you to reserve a rehearsal room.
How did you come back with two extra people???
Isagi
problem solved 👍
Kaiser
No.
The problem was "no vocalist."
You solved a completely different problem.
Hiori
Someone had to.
None of you can organize anything.
Kurona
i have a white van
big van
Kaiser
Wonderful.
Now I have logistics but still no SINGER.
Isagi
you're acting like they joined a family of 12
Yukimiya
Can we please focus?
We're running out of time.
Kaiser
yes can we LOCK IN for once
i'm not embarrassing myself in front of the whole school.
I'm not getting laughed off that stage because the rest of you decided to wing it.
Isagi
nobody said we were winging it
Kaiser
We don't have a singer.
That is the definition of winging it.
Ness
Don’t worry now. I'll find her.
Just... give me a little more time.
Kaiser
Fine.
Don't you dare come back without a vocalist.
With the group chat finally silenced, Ness let out a slow breath and slipped his phone into his pocket. One conversation. That was all he needed to survive. He'd ask, you'd reject him, and he'd go back to rehearsal so Kaiser could tell him he saw it coming.
He rounded the corner of the main building.
So did you.
Your shoulder bumped into his, and the paper cup in your hand lurched just enough for the lid to pop free. Hot coffee splashed across the front of his hoodie before either of you had time to react.
"...Ow."
Ness hissed quietly, staring at the stain spreading across the faded gray fabric. He pinched the soaked hoodie away from his skin with a pained grimace.
You glanced from the spilled coffee to his hoodie.
"...That's unfortunate."
Ness looked up.
"I..."
"Maybe look up once in a while. You'd be surprised how useful it is."
"Oh I mean... you weren't exactly watching either."
"No shit," you said with a careless shrug. "People usually move out of my way."
"...That's slightly unfair."
"I don't think it is."
You took another sip from what was left of your coffee as if the conversation had already ended.
Ness sighed through his nose and looked back down at the ruined hoodie. There was no saving it now. Coffee had soaked through the fabric, and the smell alone was going to haunt him for the rest of rehearsal.
Then something clicked.
"...Actually," he said, his smile returning, "there might be another way you can make it up to me...Our current band needs a vocalist."
"I think you hit your head harder than I thought. I'm not joining your band."
"We're competing in Battle of the Bands."
"I'm aware."
"So..."
"So you think spilling coffee on your hoodie somehow means I owe you a performance?"
Ness paused.
"...When you say it like that, it sounds less reasonable."
"Because it is less reasonable."
"I'm still saying no." You adjusted your grip on your coffee before stepping around him. "Gosh, i don't even sing."
Ness frowned.
"You do though..."
You paused just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.
"No, I don't."
"You do."
The certainty in his voice made you turn back around.
"You were cleaning your classroom a few weeks ago after school," he said. "There was a radio playing."
Your expression faltered for the first time.
"...You were there?"
"I was walking past."
The memory returned to him with surprising clarity. Rehearsal had ended late that afternoon, leaving the academic building unusually quiet. Most of the classrooms had already emptied, but one door had been left open while you stayed behind to finish cleaning. A broom rested against a desk as you absentmindedly wiped the whiteboard, humming under your breath before the humming turned into singing.
You weren't putting on a performance. If anything, you sounded completely unaware that anyone could hear you.
Ness thought your voice was pretty.
There was something easy about it, something genuine that made the empty hallway feel strangely less empty. What puzzled him most was that, despite being one of the school's cheerleaders, he'd never once seen your name on a choir roster or a band lineup. Someone with a voice like yours should've ended up in one of them eventually.
"Anyway, it wasn't on purpose," he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "I just... happened to hear you."
You studied him for another beat before letting out a quiet scoff.
"You realize that sounds incredibly creepy, right?"
"N-no. Please don’t think of that!" His words stumbled over themselves almost immediately. "The door was open, and... it carried into the hallway."
The explanation only made him sound guiltier.
You shook your head, amused despite yourself.
"Even if that's true, hearing someone sing once doesn't mean they're joining your shitty little garage band."
Ness stood there for a second, thinking. He wasn't particularly good at bargaining. In fact, he rarely had to. Usually people either agreed with him or, more often, Kaiser decided the conversation for him.
Then, rather clumsily, he landed on what he thought was a reasonable compromise.
"I'll buy your drinks every day for two weeks."
You stared at him.
"...That's cute. You actually think that'll work?"
"...I figured it probably would." He laughed quietly to himself. "Besides, i just don't really have anything else to offer."
Your gaze flickered to the coffee staining his hoodie before returning to his face. Somehow, despite being the one who'd ended up worse off, he was still trying to negotiate like he was the desperate one.
Which, admittedly, he was.
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
"You're either really committed to this band or really bad at taking no for an answer."
"...Both," he admitted.
You stared at him.
"Wow. Most people would at least pretend to have dignity."
"I have dignity."
"You begged someone who spilled coffee on you to join your band."
Then you looked at him again for a long moment, searching his face for the punchline. There wasn't one. Shit. He really is completely serious.
Your eyes drifted to the coffee stain soaking the front of his hoodie before returning to the hopeful expression he'd been trying very hard to hide behind that polite smile of his.
"You know," you mused, "you're kind of pathetic."
Ness winced.
"...I've heard that before."
"I believe it."
A quiet sigh escaped you as you adjusted your bag higher onto your shoulder.
"Fine." You pointed at him before he could get too excited. "But let's manage your expectations. I'm doing you a favor. If rehearsals suck, I'm leaving."
"I'll make sure they aren't."
A laugh escaped you.
"You're hopeless."
"Does that mean you'll come?"
You rolled your eyes, already walking past him.
"I said yes, didn't I?"
Before you could answer, he caught your wrist and immediately started pulling you through the hallway.
"Wha—"
"We're late."
"Excuse me??"
"Rehearsal started three minutes ago," he sang lightly, weaving through the crowd while making sure you didn't get separated from him. "Kaiser is going to lose his mind if I show up any later."
He glanced back at you with a small grin, giving you a quick wink.
And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried toward the music building, his coffee stained hoodie suddenly feeling a lot less important.
The thing was, Ness had other options. He could have asked someone else to sing. Someone who probably would have agreed immediately and saved him the trouble of searching half the school.
But he didn't want someone else. Because, as ridiculous as it sounded, this had never really been just about finding a vocalist.
He had seen you around campus before. Everyone had. You were impossible to miss, always surrounded by people and carrying yourself like you belonged at the center of every room.
So when Battle of the Bands gave him an excuse to finally talk to you, Ness took it.
Maybe it was a terrible decision. Maybe Kaiser was going to lose his mind when he found out how much time he spent chasing one vocalist.
But Ness was already embarrassingly far gone.
He was stupidly, pathetically infatuated with you. And now he finally had a reason to be around you. To hear you talk, to see you actually pay attention to him, even if it was only because of the band. Now, he would take whatever time he could get. The rehearsals, the arguments, the insults, all of it.
Because, selfishly, Ness liked having a reason to keep you close.
And he wasn't ready to give that up yet.
By the time rehearsal started that afternoon, Team Gold finally had a vocalist. And with one week left until Battle of the Bands, they had just enough time to figure out whether these teenagers with wildly different personalities could somehow become a band. Or, more likely, kill each other trying.
Three days later, rehearsals had become less of a disaster and more of a controlled one.
The practice room still echoed with missed cues and arguments over tempos, but everyone had gradually settled into a rhythm. You learned where to stand, Kurona figured out how to fit everyone's equipment into his van without violating the laws of physics, and Hiori somehow managed to keep six teenagers on schedule using nothing but a shared calendar and thinly veiled disappointment.
Isagi, however, was nowhere to be seen.
"He said he can't make it," Yukimiya announced, glancing up from his phone.
Kaiser frowned. "Why?"
"He had a minor surgery."
"...What kind of surgery?"
Yukimiya paused.
"...He got a skin tag removed."
Kaiser stared.
"A skin tag."
Yukimiya nodded.
"YOU'RE TELLING ME YOICHI SKIPPED REHEARSAL OVER A SKIN TAG?"
"The doctor scheduled it today."
Kaiser threw his hands into the air.
"Does nobody in this band have a sense of urgency?? I'M NOT ABOUT TO BECOME THE SCHOOL'S BIGGEST JOKE BECAUSE YOICHI WANTED A SKIN TAG REMOVED."
You leaned toward Yukimiya, lowering your voice.
"...Is he always like this?"
Yukimiya didn't even hesitate.
"This is one of the better reactions."
"...Seriously?"
"Yeah. One time, he spent fifteen minutes lecturing us because one note was off tune."
"Um..." Ness glanced between everyone in the room before offering a small smile. "How about we take five?"
Nobody argued.
The room scattered almost immediately. Kurona wandered toward the vending machine while Hiori disappeared into the hallway with his headphones on. Ness stayed behind at the drum kit, absentmindedly twirling a stick between his fingers before tapping out a familiar rhythm against the snare.
Your head turned.
"...Wait... are you playing The Number of the Beast?"
The beat stopped.
Ness looked up, surprised.
"You know Iron Maiden?"
"I used to blast my heavy metal records through the house whenever I wanted to get on the old geezer's nerves."
A small laugh escaped him.
"For a cheerleader, you're surprisingly cultured."
You tilted your head. "Was that supposed to be a compliment, or did you just insult me in the nicest way possible?"
"Honestly? A little bit of both."
"Wow. You really said that out loud."
Ness smiled, realizing his mistake but not looking particularly sorry. "I just didn't expect someone like you to know Iron Maiden."
"Someone like me?"
"The kind of person everyone already knows."
That answer caught you off guard for a second. Not because it was flattering. You had heard better compliments from people trying much harder. It was because he said it like an observation, not an attempt to impress you.
"You're weird."
"I've been told."
"I can tell."
He laughed, and you hated that it was actually kind of funny.
"...Don't get excited. This doesn't mean you know me now."
Ness's smile only grew. "I wasn't going to."
"...Good."
He resumed the rhythm anyway, and this time, you found yourself tapping your foot along before you realized what you were doing.
It was irritating, really.
Normally, Ness was just an edgy loser in your eyes. The type of guy who probably listened to dramatic rock songs.
But behind the drums, he was different.
The confidence in every movement, the focus in his expression, the way he played like he owned the entire room. Unfortunately, it was working.
You stared for a second too long.
"Oh."
That was a problem. Because why was the weird edgy drummer actually kind of hot?
He is not even my type. At all. You think to yourself. To stop yourself from getting any more ideas, you decided to get away from this room.
"I'm done here."
Ness looked up, confused. "Already?"
"Yes, already." You slung your bag over your shoulder. "Besides, I have plans. I'm going to the mall."
"Right now?"
"Yes. And please, some of us have things to do that don't involve sitting in a room with boys arguing over instruments."
You started walking away before he could respond.
"See you at the next rehearsal. And please, for everyone's sake, don't make me regret saying yes."
You did not wait for a response, simply walking away and leaving Ness blinking in confusion behind the drum kit. He stared after you, drumsticks still in his hands, completely unsure of what had just happened. One second, you were watching him play. The next, you were gone.
And, strangely enough, he found himself wishing you had stayed longer. He had only just gotten used to having you there, seeing you actually enjoy the music instead of pretending you didn't care.
He knew this was only for Sports Week. After the performance, you would go back to your own world, and he would go back to his.
But still, he wished you had stayed a little longer.
By the fourth rehearsal, the music was improving. However, the same could not be said for the band’s ability to exist in the same room without causing a problem.
"...This part needs to change."
Kaiser dropped the revised sheet music onto the table, immediately earning a tired look from Hiori.
"You changed the entire second half."
"Yes."
"We practiced this version yesterday."
"And yesterday we were wrong."
You looked up from your phone, unimpressed. "Do you always make everyone's life harder, or is today a special occasion?"
The room went quiet. Kaiser slowly turned toward you. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Ness immediately stopped tapping his drumsticks against his leg. He had a feeling this was about to become a problem. Kaiser picked up the sheet music again, his expression already becoming dramatic.
"Some of us actually care about winning."
"Some of us actually care about not making everyone miserable."
"I am trying to make this performance better."
"No. You're trying to make sure everyone knows it was your idea."
Kaiser stared at you.
"You've been here for four days."
"And you've been unbearable for longer. What's your point?"
The rest of the band suddenly became very interested in their instruments. Kaiser stepped closer
"You really think you can walk in here and start criticizing everyone?"
You smiled slightly. "That's funny coming from you."
"And why is that?"
"Because you walked into this room and immediately acted like you were the only person here with a functioning brain."
Kaiser scoffed. "I have standards."
"No, you have an ego."
A pause.
Then Kaiser placed a hand over his chest like you had personally wounded him.
"Wow."
You rolled your eyes. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Whatever dramatic performance you're doing right now. We're rehearsing, not auditioning for your personal tragedy."
A few people looked away to hide their reactions.
Kaiser narrowed his eyes. "You think being popular means everyone has to listen to you?"
Your expression never changed, but somewhere in the back of your mind, the first draft of Michael Kaiser's social demise was already taking shape.
"No."
You leaned back in your chair.
"I think being right means people should listen to me."
Kaiser opened his mouth, clearly ready with a comeback, only to pause when nothing came out. For once, he had been caught off guard.
"What now?" you said, watching him struggle. "Did your ego crash? Should we restart it?"
Before he recovered, Ness spoke up.
"Kaiser."
Everyone looked over.
"She's right."
The room fell silent. Even Kaiser, who usually had something to say about everything, looked personally betrayed.
"Ness?"
Ness shifted slightly under the attention but didn't take it back. "You're changing things because you're worried about the performance going badly."
"Jump in like I need someone to fight my battles."
"I wasn't saying that."
"You were."
Ness hesitated. "I was just trying to help."
"I don't need help."
His expression softened slightly. "I know."
You hated how sincere he sounded. Somehow, that only made it worse.
Kaiser crossed his arms. "Unbelievable."
You turned toward him. "What?"
"You two are already exhausting."
"Coming from you?"
"YES, COMING FROM ME."
Hiori sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Can we please finish rehearsing before the two biggest egos in this room start another argument?"
You and Kaiser immediately looked at each other.
"He started it!"
"She started it."
Kurona glanced between the two of you, completely unfazed by the argument. After a moment of silence, he simply stuck his tongue out.
"Both started it."
Nobody had a response.
Hiori was the first to break the silence, glancing down at the supply list on his phone. "We're missing extra cables, batteries, and a few replacement picks."
Everyone looked at Kaiser. Kaiser looked back.
"Don't look at me like that."
"You are the one who changed the setup three times," Hiori said.
"And somehow, the setup is better now."
"That doesn't explain why we're missing half the equipment."
Kaiser clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed that the problem had somehow become his responsibility. His eyes scanned the room before landing on the two people who had spent the last ten minutes arguing with him.
You immediately noticed.
"No."
Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even say anything."
"You didn't have to. Your face already did."
"You're getting the supplies."
"Absolutely not."
"You joined this band voluntarily."
Ness quietly picked up the list before the argument could spiral again. "I'll go."
Kaiser immediately nodded. "Good. Take her with you."
You opened your mouth, already preparing to explain exactly why that was a terrible idea and why Kaiser clearly had a personal vendetta against your free time. However, you didn't get the chance. Ness was already picking up the supply list, turning toward you with that annoyingly polite smile of his.
"Come on...the sooner we leave, the sooner we get back."
You stared at him for a moment, mostly because you couldn't decide whether to be annoyed at Kaiser for volunteering you or Ness for making it impossible to argue.
And somehow, that was how you ended up leaving rehearsal with Ness, a supply list, and the lingering annoyance from an argument neither of you had actually moved past.
The trip was supposed to be quick.
Grab the equipment. Come back. Pretend this band wasn't one bad comment away from collapsing.
However, due to a much terrible luck, the weather suddenly turned against you.
The rain hammered against the convenience store's windows like gravel, but the real storm was inside the narrow aisle between the refrigerated drinks and the stale snack shelves. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering with an erratic rhythm that mirrored the pounding in Ness's chest.
The silence between the two of you had been tense ever since rehearsal. Ness stepping in during your argument with Kaiser was supposed to be supportive, but to you, it felt like he had crossed a line. He hadn't just disagreed with Kaiser; he had decided you needed protecting, and that was something you refused to tolerate.
To anyone else, Ness had been a hero. To you, he had been an insult. He had acted as if you couldn't handle the heat, as if he had the right to decide when you needed a shield.
You weren't a damsel in need of rescue; you were a hurricane waiting to break. And Ness, with his infuriatingly earnest eyes and his desperate need to please, had just walked right into the eye of it.
"H-hey," Ness stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to organize a display of protein bars. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip the packaging. "I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have I know you can handle him, I just..."
You didn't let him finish. You moved before he could retreat into another pathetic apology. You crossed the linoleum floor in two strides, your boots clicking sharply like a countdown.
When you reached him, you didn't hesitate. You grabbed the front of his damp shirt and slammed him back against the metal shelf.
The clang of the shelves reverberated through the empty store, but you didn't care. You shoved your body against his, pinning him there, letting him feel every inch of your fury.
Ness froze. His breath hitched audibly, his magenta eyes widening until they looked almost violet in the dim light. "Um... what are you—"
"You think you can protect me?" you hissed, your face inches from his. "You think you get to decide when I need help?"
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black. "I-I didn't mean..."
"Then what exactly did you mean?"
For once, Ness had no quick apology ready.
"I just didn't like seeing him talk to you like that."
You hated how genuine that sounded. Because it wasn't him looking down on you. It was just Ness being annoyingly sincere.
You studied him for a second, noticing he wasn't arguing back or trying to justify himself. He was just waiting.
"Ness."
"Yeah?"
A small pause.
"You're not going to freak out if I do something?"
His eyes widened slightly at the question. Then, he finally seemed to put the pieces together, and for once, Ness had no immediate apology or nervous rambling.
"No."
Good.
That was all the answer you needed. You didn't give him another chance to overthink it. You closed the distance between you.
You bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a sharp, startled whimper from his throat, and the moment you did, Ness broke. All the pent up tension, all the energy he had been hoarding since the moment he met you, exploded.
He didn't try to take control. He couldn't. Instead, he surrendered to you with a terrifying intensity. His hands flew to your waist, not to push you away, but to drag you closer, his fingers digging into your hips as if he were drowning and you were his only oxygen. His mouth opened to yours in a desperate, starving moan, his tongue seeking yours with a frantic, uncoordinated hunger that screamed how long he had been waiting for you to acknowledge him.
Then came his hands.
The moment your hips pressed against his, Ness's fingers slid down. His touch was reverent but desperate, fumbling at the hem of your clothes until his palms found the bare skin of your thighs. When he made contact, he let out a sound that was half sob, half growl. His grip became bruising, his fingers kneading into your thighs with a possessive ferocity that matched your own anger. He hiked your legs up higher, wrapping them around his waist to anchor you to him, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps against your mouth.
"Please," he whimpered between kisses, his forehead crashing against yours as he fought for air. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and utterly wrecked. "I'm sorry... please, just don't stop. Don't punish me like this, unless unless you want to."
The power dynamic was absolute. You were the one directing the heat, the one setting the pace, the one deciding how deep his fingers sank into your flesh. And Ness? He was exactly what you wanted him to be: a pathetic, beautiful mess at your mercy, worshiping the very hand that was putting him in his place.
But as the rain outside shifted from a roar to a steady drone, the reality of their situation bled back in. The adrenaline began to cool, leaving behind nothing but the sharp sting of sweat and the ache of unspoken words.
Ness was the first to break away, though not because he wanted to. His hands lingered on your thighs for one agonizing second too long his fingertips still twitching against your skin before he forced them to retreat.
He stumbled back a half step, his chest heaving as he tried to reclaim some semblance of composure.
His hair was a messy disaster, sticking to his forehead in damp strands, and his lips were swollen and flushed a deep crimson. He looked utterly wrecked, his magenta eyes still glassy with residual worship, but he was already moving to fix his shirt with unsteady, shaking hands.
"We-we should go," he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse and cracked. He wouldn't meet your eyes, but the way his Adam's apple bobbed spoke volumes about how hard he was fighting to keep his knees from buckling. "Kaiser will... he'll notice if we're late."
You stared at him for a second.
"You're seriously thinking about Kaiser right now?"
Ness blinked.
"We have rehearsal."
The threat of Kaiser's disapproval acted like a cold splash of water. You straightened your clothes, your fingers cool and steady compared to his. After that, you grabbed your things and walked past him.
"Come on. Before your precious Kaiser has another meltdown."
Ness grabbed the remaining supplies, his knuckles white around the plastic handles. He kept his head down, shoulders hunched as he led the way toward the door.
Neither of you brought it up again. The Rehearsal continued and before either of you could make sense of it, Sports Week was already drawing to its finale.
By the time Team Gold was called to the stage, it was almost hard to believe they had made it this far.
A week ago, Ness had been running through crowded hallways with a coffee stained hoodie, desperately searching for a vocalist. Now, he was walking onto a stage with you beside him. Somehow, the group that had spent most of their rehearsals arguing had become a real band.
Kaiser was still Kaiser, finding something to complain about even moments before going on stage. Hiori was still the only thing keeping the entire band from falling apart. Isagi was still playing referee. Yukimiya had mastered the art of pretending he wasn't involved. Kurona was still… Kurona.
And Ness was still the same annoying drummer who somehow ended up in your life.
Still too polite and still too eager to help. Still looking way too pleased whenever you gave him even the slightest bit of attention. You called him pathetic for it. He still acted like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Then the announcement echoed across the field.
"Representing Team Gold..."
The crowd erupted as the four of you stepped onto the stage.
Ness settled behind the drums, spinning his sticks once before looking up. For a moment, his eyes met yours.
Then the music started.
[Team Gold performs "Black Sheep" by Metric.]
The first guitar strum cut through the field, drawing the crowd's attention.
Then your voice entered, carrying the opening before the bass joined in and the rest of the band followed. The stage slowly built around the song.
Black sheep, come home
Black sheep, come home
Black sheep, come home
Black sheep, come home
Ness waited behind the drums, letting the rhythm settle before joining in. When he did, every hit landed perfectly with the beat, driving the performance forward.
Send you my love on a wire
Lift you up, every time
Everyone, ooh-ooh
Pulls away, ooh-ooh
The guitar, bass, drums, and vocals blended together effortlessly, filling the field with the kind of energy nobody expected from a band that had spent the past week fighting over every detail.
It's a mechanical bull, the number one
You'll take a ride from anyone
Everyone wants a ride
Pulls away, ooh-ooh
From you, ooh
The crowd grew louder with every section of the song. Under the stage lights, everything finally came together.
The music, the timing, the four of you—it all came together. When the final note rang out and the field erupted into cheers, you realized Team Gold had actually done it.
And somehow, you caught yourself smiling.
Unfortunately, Ness noticed.
Of course he did.
As the four of you stepped off the stage, the adrenaline slowly began to fade. The crowd was still loud behind you, but the performance was over.
"Well," Kaiser said, looking far too pleased with himself. "At least none of you ruined my reputation."
"Your reputation survived a school band performance?" you asked. "Congratulations. Should we throw a parade?"
Kaiser scoffed, but before he could respond, the group started splitting up to join their respective teams.
Hiori grabbed the equipment list. Kurona disappeared with the instruments. Kaiser was already busy talking about the judges' reactions.
And then it was just you and Ness for a moment.
"So..." Ness started, awkwardly adjusting the drumsticks in his hand. "I guess that's it."
You looked at him. "Don't sound so dramatic. It's not like we're never seeing each other again."
"Right." He smiled. "Of course."
You paused before walking away.
"You weren't completely terrible, by the way."
Ness blinked.
"Was that a compliment?"
"Don't ruin it."
His smile only grew. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As you turned to walk away, you could feel his gaze burning into your back that same intense, unwavering stare that had followed you through every rehearsal and every stolen moment. You didn't get five steps before you heard the quick scuff of his sneakers against the linoleum.
"Wait-"
You stopped and turned, half expecting another stammered apology. Instead, Ness was standing there, breathing shallowly, his knuckles white around the drumsticks. The performative persona he wore for the others had completely stripped away, leaving behind something far more unguarded.
He didn't ask for permission. Driven by something you couldn't quite name, he stepped forward and closed the distance between you.
Before you could speak, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was desperate and achingly sweet. The kiss felt full of gratitude and hunger, a messy, breathless collision that made the fading noise of the background vanish entirely. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the heat of his mouth against yours and the way his free hand trembled as it hovered near your waist, uncertain but unwilling to let go.
When he finally pulled away, he didn't retreat. He lingered there, forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged as he tried to find his footing again.
"See you around at school," you murmured, your voice steady despite the sudden flutter in your chest. "And don't get used to this, you’re still annoying."
Ness let out a shaky breath, a dazed, beautiful smile spreading across his flushed face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you there."
You shook your head at how easily pleased he was and turned away. But this time, you didn't mind him following a few steps behind.
-> contains: mentions of lots of kinks, begging, period sex, Hiori being a menace
* He loves, loves, loves edging you. He’ll pull his fingers out of you right as you’re about to cum, just to admire how pretty and shiny your slick looks on his fingers.
* He ignores your pleas and shakes off your attempts to guide his hand back to your aching cunt. Then an hour later, when you’re all settled and cozy in bed, he’ll do it again.
* It drives you crazy, but he derives intense pleasure from watching you beg and whine.
* He does in fact, make you indulge in his filthy kinks and fantasies. Foodplay, bondage, knifeplay, spanking—dare I say, CNC?
* He loves taking you while on your period. He gets to live that twisted fantasy of seeing crimson liquid ooze out of your pussy and onto his cock, without you actually getting hurt? Fuck, the thought is enough to get him hard.
* You get so grumpy while on your period, and he enjoys taking care of you knowing you might let him have you later.
* One time for his birthday, you let him put a vibrator toy inside of you while you went out on a date.
* He was sitting across from you with that oh-so-innocent face of his, pretty lips curved upward in a slight smile, eyes wide while holding a remote under the table that controlled vibrations.
* You shot him an angry, pouty glare, as your hands clutched the table and your legs shook when he turned it up—just to mess with you.
* He literally made you cum in the dress you were wearing.. In the middle of what was supposed to be a nice, fancy dinner date.
* Mind you, you let him pick out a dress since it was his birthday, and he deliberately made you wear the shortest dress ever with only panties as bottoms.
* He shrugs, apologizing with the widest smirk as he hands you a few napkins. Best birthday ever.
* Blindfolds you during sex sometimes—and when he can’t, he uses his hands to cover your eyes.
warnings. scientist!reader, school friends-to-lovers, mutual obliviousness, eccentric partners in crime, controlled laboratory chaos, swearing, very affectionate shidou, public declarations, pure fluff ♡
word count. ~4.6k
ryusei follows the sound of an explosion into your laboratory and discovers a girl just as thrilled by dangerous possibilities as he is. somewhere between volatile experiments, impossible goals, and months spent encouraging each other’s worst ideas, neither of you notices that the greatest chain reaction has been building between you two all along.
── .✦
The first time Shidou Ryusei enters your laboratory, he follows the sound of something exploding.
Technically, it is not an explosion. You will spend a considerable portion of your friendship correcting him on that point, although the distinction becomes difficult to defend when a sharp crack rings through the science building and sends a flock of birds scattering from the roof.
Most students would hear the noise and hurry in the opposite direction.
Ryusei appears in the doorway less than ten seconds later, one hand braced against the frame and a look of delighted curiosity spreading across his face.
You stand safely behind a clear protective screen with your goggles secured over your eyes, watching vivid violet foam climb from a glass container and spill into the broad tray beneath it. Mist curls toward the ventilation hood, the whiteboard behind you is crowded with hurried calculations, and a triumphant laugh escapes you as the reaction swells far beyond the line you marked earlier.
Ryusei’s gaze moves from the overflowing container to your face.
His grin slowly stretches wider.
“That was fucking beautiful.”
You push your goggles onto your head and turn toward him, still clutching your clipboard against your chest. His football uniform is streaked with grass, sweat darkens the roots of his blond-and-pink hair, and his pale eyes shine with the unmistakable excitement of someone who has just discovered a new form of entertainment.
“You aren’t supposed to be in here.”
“Do it again.”
“That isn’t how experiments work.”
“Then make the next one bigger.”
The suggestion should irritate you. You have spent weeks planning the reaction, and this strange boy has reduced all your work to make it bigger without even asking what you were trying to prove.
Instead, the corner of your mouth begins to rise.
Ryusei notices immediately.
He crosses the threshold without waiting for permission, weaving between the laboratory tables as though he has never encountered a room he could not make himself comfortable inside. His attention jumps from the bubbling foam to the rows of glass containers until he stops beside the enclosed chamber prepared for your next trial.
“What does this do?” You follow his gaze toward the switch beneath his hovering fingers.
“It changes what happens inside the chamber.”
“What happens if I press it?”
“At the setting I was considering?” You glance at the equipment, already imagining the result. “Something our instructor specifically told me not to attempt without supervision.”
His fingers remain poised above the switch.
“You saying I shouldn’t?”
You study him for a moment.
Anyone else might have looked nervous or suspicious. Ryusei looks almost painfully hopeful, as though you have placed the most interesting choice in the world directly in front of him.
Slowly, you set your clipboard aside.
You check that the chamber is sealed, pull the protective screen into place, and lower your goggles again. When you look at him through the clear barrier, your grin matches his completely.
“Do you want to find out?”
Ryusei becomes perfectly still.
It lasts less than a second before laughter bursts out of him, bright and delighted enough to fill the laboratory more completely than the earlier crack.
“Who the hell are you?”
You retrieve a spare pair of goggles and hold them toward him.
“Your new favorite person.”
He takes them without hesitation.
You are correct.
Ryusei becomes your unofficial laboratory assistant over the following weeks, despite possessing no qualifications beyond excellent reflexes, unreasonable enthusiasm, and a deeply concerning willingness to touch anything labelled experimental.
He begins appearing after football practice so frequently that you stop looking up when the door swings open. His arrival is usually announced by the sound of his bag hitting the floor, followed by an enthusiastic demand to know whether you have prepared anything catastrophic for him.
Your teachers object to his presence at first. Ryusei responds by memorizing the laboratory rules, passing every safety quiz placed in front of him, and becoming surprisingly competent with the equipment.
He never develops caution in the traditional sense.
He simply learns that ruining one of your experiments is far more dangerous than anything stored inside the laboratory.
“Hold this.”
You toss a clamp in his direction without looking away from the notes in front of you. Ryusei catches it one-handed and positions himself beside the table.
“What happens if I drop it?”
“You destroy three weeks of work.”
“What happens if I hold it higher?”
“The result changes.”
“And if I turn it sideways?”
You slowly lift your head. “Would you like to discover how quickly I can throw you through that window?”
His grin sharpens. “Is that part of the experiment?”
“It can be.”
“Hot.” You roll your eyes and return to your notes, although not before he catches the smile threatening the corner of your mouth. A moment later, his face appears beside yours, close enough that a loose strand of his hair brushes your temple. “You like me.”
“I like having someone expendable nearby.”
“Your favorite lab rat.”
“My only lab rat.”
“Even better.”
He presses a quick kiss to your temple before returning to his position, apparently unaware—or entirely unconcerned—with the way your pen pauses against the paper.
Ryusei touches you as naturally as he reaches for a football. He throws an arm across your shoulders whenever you explain something that interests him, rests his chin on your head while pretending to read your observations, and wraps himself around your waist from behind whenever you spend too long focused on your work instead of him.
When an experiment succeeds, he kisses your cheek and loudly announces that you are a genius. When one fails, he does exactly the same thing, insisting that scientific disappointment requires “emergency morale procedures.”
You return his affection with equal force.
Whenever he arrives boasting about a goal, you drag stools across the laboratory and demand a complete reenactment. He uses discarded boxes to represent defenders while you draw the path of the ball across the whiteboard, and when your diagram fails to account for what he calls his “explosive genius,” he climbs onto the nearest table to argue his case.
“You turned too late,” you tell him, circling the point where his imaginary run should have failed.
“I still scored.”
“Because the goalkeeper made a terrible decision.”
“Because I’m incredible.”
“Those possibilities can coexist.”
Ryusei places a hand over his heart. “You think I’m incredible?”
“I think the goalkeeper was terrible.”
“Still heard incredible.”
You throw the marker at him.
He catches it between both hands, laughing so loudly that it echoes through the empty room.
Your own victories are never celebrated quietly either. Whenever an experiment produces something brighter or stranger than expected, you forget every expectation that a promising young scientist should behave with dignity. More than once, you have launched yourself into Ryusei’s arms while shouting about the result.
He catches you every time.
Sometimes he spins you between the tables while you laugh against his shoulder. Other times, he lifts you onto the nearest clear surface and stands between your knees while you explain everything at twice your usual speed, his hands settled around your waist and his attention fixed entirely on you.
He does not always understand the details.
He understands the look on your face.
That is enough.
The first time an instructor discovers the two of you celebrating beside a tray overflowing with bright blue foam, she stops in the doorway and closes her eyes.
“What happened?”
You immediately point at Ryusei. “His fault.”
He points at you with equal confidence. “Her idea.”
“You encouraged me.”
“You asked if I wanted to make it bigger.”
“And you said yes.”
“Obviously.”
Your instructor opens her eyes and looks between the two of you—both wearing protective goggles, both splattered with harmless blue residue, and both far too pleased with yourselves.
“I regret allowing this partnership.”
Ryusei’s arm tightens around your waist. “Hear that, scientist? We’re official.”
“Scientifically.”
“Spiritually.”
“Academically.”
“Criminally.”
You raise your hand.
He slaps his palm against yours hard enough to sting.
“Definitely criminally.”
By the time you notice that your instructor has left, the two of you are already arguing over who deserves credit for the mess.
Other people find you exhausting.
You consider this evidence that they lack imagination.
For years, teachers and classmates have insisted that someone as intelligent as you should behave with greater restraint. They expect a talented scientist to be quiet, detached, and permanently serious, as though enthusiasm might somehow diminish your competence.
Your habit of giving experiments dramatic names, narrating countdowns like rocket launches, and laughing whenever an idea becomes real in front of you is treated as something you will eventually outgrow.
Ryusei never asks you to lower your voice.
The first time you describe an ambitious project everyone else dismissed as impractical, he does not suggest choosing something simpler. He listens with his chin balanced against your shoulder and asks what you need to make it bigger.
In return, when he tells you about an impossible goal he wants to score—the angle too narrow, the movement too strange, his body twisting in a way that would make any sensible player hesitate—you never tell him to become realistic.
You ask when he plans to try it.
Some people are supposed to balance each other.
You and Ryusei prefer amplification.
“You’re completely insane,” he tells you affectionately one afternoon.
You are crouched beneath a worktable, searching for a cable, while he lies on the floor beside you for no practical reason. His goggles sit crookedly over his forehead, and his long legs block the aisle behind him.
“You followed an unidentified noise into a laboratory and trusted a stranger who handed you protective eyewear,” you reply. “I don’t think you’re qualified to diagnose anyone.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
“You also tried to taste the indicator solution.”
“It looked delicious.”
“It was hot pink.”
“Exactly.”
You slide out from beneath the table and discover his face hovering directly over yours.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
His eyebrows lift. “Pretty?”
“Would you prefer handsome?”
“No. Say pretty again.”
You place your palm against his face and shove him aside. Ryusei catches your wrist before you can retreat, pressing a kiss into the center of your hand with an enormous grin.
“Love you too, scientist.”
“You say that whenever I insult you.”
“You make insults sound romantic.”
“You once told an open flame you loved it.”
“It was gorgeous.”
“You proposed to the centrifuge.”
“It knows how to move.”
You pull your hand away, although not before he threads his fingers through yours and gives them an affectionate squeeze.
Ryusei says he loves you constantly.
He says it whenever you allow him to start the final stage of an experiment, when you bring an extra drink because you knew he would appear after training, and when you threaten him for stealing your goggles. He writes it between the calculations in your notebook and shouts it from the far end of the hallway whenever he sees you leaving class.
Once, after you corrected one of his teachers so thoroughly that the man abandoned the argument, Ryusei announced in front of everyone that he intended to marry you.
Because he throws every emotion into the world at full volume, you can never tell where the performance ends.
You convince yourself that affection is merely another outlet for his endless excitement.
It is easier than admitting how desperately you want him to mean every word.
The phrase chain reaction becomes yours halfway through the school year.
You are preparing a demonstration for an upcoming science competition when Ryusei arrives with a split lip, grass stains across one knee, and the triumphant expression of someone who has just made several opponents regret challenging him.
He sits on the edge of your worktable while you arrange the materials, swinging one leg and stealing sweets from the bag beside him.
“What’s this one do?”
“One reaction starts another,” you explain. “Then that one sets off the next, and it keeps going until something finally stops it.”
He chews thoughtfully. “So one thing explodes—”
“Reacts.”
“—and makes everything else explode too.”
“That is a terrible explanation.”
“Still right.”
You glance at him. Ryusei reaches forward, catching you by the loops of your lab coat and drawing you between his knees. His hands settle comfortably around your waist while he looks up at you, pale eyes shining with the certainty of someone who has just reached a magnificent conclusion.
“That’s us.”
You stare at him. “We are not a chemical reaction.”
“You get excited, then I get excited because you’re excited, and then you get even crazier because I’m encouraging you.”
“You say that as though you aren’t the one climbing onto tables.”
“You like me on tables.”
“That is unrelated.”
His grin stretches wider. “Is my explanation wrong?”
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
“Thought so.”
“You skipped almost everything important.”
“Still us.”
“An increasingly unstable situation that becomes impossible to control?”
“Exactly.” His thumbs sweep slowly over your sides. “Romantic, right?”
“Deeply concerning.”
“Same thing.”
He laughs and draws you closer until your knees bump the edge of the table.
“Chain reaction.”
You should correct him again.
Instead, your hands settle over his shoulders while warmth gathers beneath your ribs.
“An extremely volatile one.”
“The best kind.”
After that, the words become a challenge passed between you.
Before an experiment, Ryusei looks at you over the top of his goggles.
“Bad idea?”
“Catastrophic.”
“Partners?”
“In crime.”
His smile turns wild.
“Let’s explode.”
Before an important match, you ask him the same questions.
He always gives you the answer you want.
── .✦
When Blue Lock takes him away, the laboratory becomes unbearably quiet.
There are no arms suddenly appearing around your waist while you work, no demands to see the day’s most dramatic experiment, and no tall striker stretched across the floor where you are trying to walk. Your instructors seem relieved by the peace.
You hate every minute of it.
Before leaving, Ryusei comes to the laboratory in his street clothes and finds you pretending to reorganize equipment that had already been perfectly arranged for over an hour.
His invitation is folded inside his jacket.
“You’re going,” you say.
“Damn right.”
His grin is familiar, but the excitement beneath it feels sharper than usual, edged with something restless. Blue Lock promises a sealed building full of strikers willing to tear each other apart for the chance to become extraordinary.
It is exactly the kind of experiment Ryusei would willingly enter.
You would never ask him to remain contained.
Instead, you retrieve a roll of athletic tape from the table.
“Give me your wrist.”
He offers it without question.
You wrap the tape securely around him before taking a marker and writing two words across the white surface.
CHAIN REACTION
Ryusei studies them. “What’s it do?”
“Nothing.”
“Boring.”
“You’re the experiment.”
His eyes rise toward yours. “And you?”
“I’ll be observing the results.”
“You watching?”
“If they ever let you onto television.”
“They will.”
“Someone's confident.”
“I’ve got something worth exploding for.”
The words settle between you before you can ask what he means.
Then his hands close around your face, and he kisses your forehead hard enough to push you back half a step.
Another kiss lands on your left cheek.
Then your right.
“Ryusei.”
He presses one to the tip of your nose.
“You’re going to miss me.”
“The laboratory’s accident rate might improve.”
“Not what I asked.”
You catch him by the front of his jacket before he can retreat and pull him down, planting an equally loud kiss against his cheek.
Ryusei freezes.
The reaction is rare enough to qualify as a scientific breakthrough.
“You’re going to miss me too,” you tell him.
His entire expression ignites.
“Fuck, yeah.”
When he hugs you, nothing about it is restrained. His arms lock around your waist and lift you from the floor while his face disappears against your neck. You cling to him just as tightly, laughing when he begins turning the two of you in a slow circle between the worktables.
“Come back with catastrophic results,” you whisper.
He lowers you far enough to meet your gaze, his grin all teeth and promise.
“Baby, I’m gonna blow the whole experiment apart.”
── .✦
The Japan U-20 match is the first time you see him again.
You enter the stadium with no intention of behaving like a dignified observer. Several students from your science program are seated elsewhere, having learned from experience that sharing a confined public space with you during one of Ryusei’s matches is inadvisable.
The moment he steps onto the field, you are standing.
From the distance, he looks both exactly as you remember and somehow more alive than he ever did within the boundaries of your school. His body appears incapable of true stillness, every movement carrying the anticipation of something dangerous and magnificent waiting for the right moment to break free.
You shout his name despite the thousands of voices surrounding yours.
There is no reasonable possibility that he can hear you.
Still, his head turns briefly toward the stands.
For one impossible second, you think he is searching for you.
Then the match claims his attention.
Watching Ryusei play has always reminded you of waiting for something to blow.
The warning signs are all there: the growing impatience in his movements, the wild brightness in his eyes, the way every missed opportunity seems to wind him tighter. He does not become discouraged when the path to the goal closes. He becomes excited, as though the resistance only promises a more satisfying release once he finally tears through it.
You know that look.
Something inside him is waiting to ignite.
Itoshi Sae gives him the spark.
The pass rises into the penalty area at an angle that appears impossible only until Ryusei moves. There is no hesitation in him. He throws himself into the air, his body twisting backward as though gravity has personally offended him and he intends to punish it.
The noise of the stadium disappears inside your head.
For one suspended moment, he hangs above the field—wild, weightless, and grinning as though the entire stadium has become his laboratory and he is about to discover exactly how much noise one body can create.
Your hands close around the railing.
“Come on,” you breathe, a grin already spreading over your face. “Show me.”
Ryusei’s foot connects with the ball.
Everything explodes.
Sound crashes across the stadium as the net snaps behind the goalkeeper. The crowd surges to its feet, but you are already standing, screaming so loudly that pain immediately scratches at your throat.
“That’s it!”
You throw both arms into the air, laughter breaking through the shout as the enormous screen replays his body suspended above the field.
“That’s the reaction!”
People around you turn to stare.
You do not care.
On the pitch, Ryusei celebrates with the same wild joy that has filled your laboratory a hundred times. His laughter is visible even from the stands, his entire body overflowing with the release of everything that had been building inside him.
Then he begins searching.
His head turns from one section of the audience to another until his gaze reaches yours.
You know the exact second he finds you.
The fierce exhilaration remains, but recognition moves through it, transforming his grin into something warmer and far more personal.
You raise one hand and tap two fingers against your wrist, directly over the place where you had written on his tape.
Ryusei glances at his own wrist.
Then he points straight toward you.
“CHAIN REACTION, BABY!”
The stadium is too loud for you to hear him, but you read the words from his mouth easily.
Beside him, Sae follows the direction of his hand.
“The scientist?” he asks.
Ryusei looks offended by the inadequate description.
“My partner in crime.”
Sae turns toward the stands in time to watch you mimic an explosion with both hands and nearly strike the spectator beside you.
“You’re both public safety concerns.”
Ryusei’s grin becomes almost predatory.
“Hot, right?”
Sae walks away without answering.
Ryusei shouts after him that silence means agreement.
── .✦
Whether you find Ryusei after the match or he finds you remains impossible to determine.
The instant you see each other at opposite ends of the corridor, you both begin running.
His legs are longer, so he reaches you first, but you leap before he can slow down. Your arms lock around his shoulders as he catches you beneath the thighs, the collision forcing him backward while laughter bursts from both of you.
“You saw it!” he shouts against your neck.
“Your elevation was disgusting!”
“Good disgusting?”
“You threw yourself backward in midair like gravity had personally insulted you!”
“That sounds hot.”
“It was beautiful.”
“Fuck, I missed you.”
You grab his face between both hands and pull back enough to examine him. His skin is still flushed from exertion, sweat darkens the roots of his hair, and the exhilaration glowing inside his eyes has not dimmed.
“Well?” he demands. “How bad was it?”
You narrow your eyes, pretending to inspect him while he practically vibrates beneath you.
“Catastrophic.”
His grin widens. “Yeah?”
“You blew their entire defense apart.”
“Keep going.”
“You made an entire stadium lose its mind.”
“And?”
You laugh, unable to contain it any longer.
“You exploded, Ryusei.”
A triumphant yell tears out of him before he spins you in the middle of the corridor.
You cling to his shoulders, laughing while his voice echoes against the walls. Anyone approaching takes one look at the two of you and wisely changes direction.
When he finally lowers you, his hands remain securely around your waist.
“So I win?”
“This wasn’t a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.”
“Then yes. You win.”
His expression brightens. “What’s my prize?”
“You scored in front of an entire stadium.”
“Already had that.”
“Public recognition.”
“Got it.”
You tilt your head. “Then what do you want?”
Ryusei looks at you as though the answer should have been obvious from the beginning.
“You.”
Your heartbeat gives one hard, inconvenient thud.
He says things like that. He has always said things like that.
Before you can decide how much meaning to give the word, footsteps sound behind him. Sae passes the entrance of the corridor and glances briefly in your direction.
“There’s the love of your life,” he says.
Ryusei beams. “Told you she was real.”
Sae continues walking.
You stare after him before slowly turning back toward Ryusei.
“The love of your life?”
“Yeah.”
“You told Sae that?”
“Pretty sure I’ve told everyone.”
“Ryusei.”
“What?”
“You have never actually asked me out.”
His expression empties.
The silence that follows is so complete you could record it as an anomalous event.
“What?”
“You have never asked me to be your girlfriend.”
“I kiss you.”
“On the cheeks.”
“You sit on my lap.”
“The laboratory had one functioning chair.”
“You slept on me during the train ride to the science competition.”
“You occupied the entire seat.”
“You threatened to strap me to an examination table.”
“For science.”
He stares at you with increasing disbelief.
“I thought we were dating.”
Your laughter erupts before you can contain it.
Ryusei’s arms tighten around you.
“Don’t laugh! I’ve told you I love you, like, a thousand times.”
“You told a Bunsen burner you loved it.”
“It had a beautiful flame. I didn’t want it to meet my parents.”
“You proposed to the centrifuge.”
“That was physical attraction.”
“Ryusei!”
“What the hell was I supposed to think?” he demands, although his own mouth is beginning to curve. “You kiss me, jump on me whenever something blows up, and call me your partner.”
“In crime.”
“That’s more serious than dating!”
Your laughter grows until you have to brace both hands against his shoulders.
“You honestly thought I knew?”
“You’re the genius.”
“That does not make me telepathic.”
“It should.”
You eventually straighten, though your smile remains and your hands stay resting against him.
“Then ask me.”
Ryusei blinks.
“Properly,” you add.
The disbelief disappears from his expression, replaced by something bright and intent. He has never been shy and does not become shy now. Instead, he looks at you with the same hungry focus he gives the goal whenever an impossible opening appears.
His hands slide more firmly around your waist.
“Be my girlfriend.”
“That sounded like an order.”
“Be my partner in romantic crime.”
“Terrible.”
“My favorite catastrophe?”
“That isn’t a question.”
Ryusei leans closer until the tip of his nose brushes yours. His grin softens without disappearing, warmth settling beneath all his eccentric delight.
“Be the girl who blows shit up with me, screams at my goals, and makes every terrible idea I have even better.”
Your heartbeat quickens.
His forehead comes to rest against yours.
“I don’t want somebody who tries to put me out,” he continues, his thumbs moving restlessly along your waist. “I want you standing there with that crazy grin, asking whether we can make the explosion bigger. I want your experiments, your stupid goggles, and your face in the crowd every time I score something incredible.”
“My goggles are not stupid.”
“They’re hot.” You laugh. “And I want to be the first person you run to whenever you make something impossible happen.” His gaze holds yours, direct and entirely unashamed. “So be my girlfriend, scientist. Officially this time.”
You let him wait.
One second.
Then another.
His eyes narrow.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“Evil woman.”
“Your favorite.”
“Always.”
You catch him by the collar and kiss him.
The surprised sound that leaves Ryusei disappears against your mouth as his arms drag you closer, meeting your energy with his own. The kiss is warm, eager, and slightly crooked because neither of you can stop smiling long enough to accomplish it properly.
When he starts laughing, you do too, the sound caught between your lips while one of his hands rises to cradle the back of your head.
You pull away first.
He immediately follows, stealing another quick kiss before you can speak.
“So that’s a yes?”
“That requires further experimentation.”
His pink eyes light up.
“Hell yeah.”
You kiss him again before he can become any louder.
── .✦
The laboratory feels right once he returns.
It is too loud, mildly hazardous, and alive in a way it never manages to be without him.
Ryusei enters wearing goggles stolen from your drawer and finds you adjusting a new experiment inside a reinforced glass chamber. He slips behind you, his arms circling your waist while his chin settles against your shoulder.
“What does that do?”
You glance toward the chamber. “It should glow.”
“Should?”
“Possibly very brightly.”
“And the noise?”
“There may be one.”
His smile appears beside your cheek. “Bad idea?”
You check the seal one final time before lowering your goggles.
“Terrible.”
“Partners?”
Turning within his arms, you place one gloved hand over his chest.
“In crime.”
He kisses you, bright and quick, before following you behind the protective screen.
“Let’s explode.”
You begin the countdown together.
At first, there is only a spark beneath the glass. Then color rushes through the chamber, growing brighter and brighter until the reaction blooms in a flash vivid enough to paint the entire laboratory in light.
Ryusei shouts as though he has just scored another goal.
You laugh just as loudly.
A second later, his arms are around your waist and your hands are catching his face, excitement passing between you as effortlessly as it always has.
One spark becoming another.
A perfect chain reaction.
I HAD TO DO ONE FOR MY MAAAAAN. gods i love him so much.
I have soooo many ideas that i have been writing nonstop these past few days hehe.
izzy806
andulkaphoto
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
romaincrisis
stormborns
origamiaround
amandla
