vani's magical icecream land

nagi stan, fluff writer (newbie..)! <3 i mostly wrote for fun so don’t expect ground breaking writing..

[camgirlallegedly]

TOO LAZY TO STAY AWAY

nagi seishiro notices two things the first time he sees you: you’re beautiful, and suddenly leaving seems like too much work.

anri has always been the ambitious one between the two of you.

even growing up, while other kids were still deciding what they wanted to be when they grew older, your sister already seemed to have a clear picture of it all mapped out in her head, talking endlessly about football development programs and youth leagues and how japan needed something better— something stronger— to compete with the rest of the world.

you used to listen from across the dinner table, chin resting lazily in your palm while she went on and on, the passion in her voice so genuine it was hard not to admire it, even if you didn’t quite share the same dream. not entirely, anyway.

because while anri loved football for the strategy, the players, the idea of building something revolutionary out of raw potential, you had always found yourself fascinated by a slightly different part of the sport— the human side of it, the way bodies moved and endured and sometimes broke under pressure, the quiet science behind stamina, recovery, injury, and resilience that most spectators never thought about while cheering from the stands.

which, unsurprisingly, is how you ended up buried under textbooks and late-night study sessions as a sports medicine student, learning about muscle fatigue and joint stability and the delicate balance between performance and damage that every athlete constantly walked.

it isn’t glamorous work, not really.

there are no roaring crowds or championship trophies waiting at the end of a long night of memorizing anatomical diagrams, only the quiet satisfaction of understanding how the human body functions under strain, how a torn ligament can end a career just as quickly as a moment of brilliance can start one.

still, it’s a field you’ve come to love in your own quiet way.

so when anri calls you one afternoon, her voice buzzing with the kind of excitement that usually means she’s about to rope you into something slightly insane, you probably should have expected where the conversation was heading.

“you’re studying sports medicine, right?” she asks, barely giving you time to greet her before launching straight into it.

you lean back in your chair, phone pressed between your shoulder and ear as you absentmindedly flip through your notes.

“last time i checked, yeah.”

there’s a pause on the other end of the line, brief but loaded with anticipation.

then—

“how would you feel about seeing the inside of a professional training facility?”

the question hangs in the air for a moment, vague enough that you almost laugh it off at first, assuming she’s talking about some local club or youth program she’s been working with lately.

instead, anri exhales softly and says a name you’ve only heard mentioned in passing, always accompanied by a strange mixture of excitement and disbelief.

blue lock.

she goes on to explain it quickly, words spilling over each other as she describes the massive training program currently housing japan’s most promising strikers, a project led by a man named ego jinpachi whose methods are, according to her careful wording, “a little unconventional.”

from what you can gather, unconventional might actually be an understatement.

still, the opportunity she’s offering isn’t quite what you expected.

you wouldn’t be a full staff member, of course— just assisting the performance team for a short period while you continue your studies, helping with routine physical monitoring, keeping track of fatigue levels, making sure none of the players are quietly destroying their bodies in the middle of ego’s relentless training regimen.

nothing too complicated.

mostly observation, basic evaluations, and documentation.

experience, anri calls it.

and maybe, she adds after a moment, a chance to see football from a perspective you’ve never quite experienced before.

looking back now, you probably should have asked more questions before agreeing.

after all, nothing about blue lock is ever quite as simple as it sounds.

because by the time you reach the final name on your list, the day has already stretched longer than you expected.

the first day inside blue lock had been exactly as overwhelming as anri warned it might be, filled with introductions, confused glances, and far too many boys with competitive streaks sharp enough to cut through the air of every room you stepped into. one after another, you’d moved through the facility with your tablet in hand, checking vitals, logging notes, answering questions— some curious, some suspicious, some bordering on outright disbelief that someone like you had suddenly appeared in the middle of their striker battlefield.

most of them had eventually settled once they realized you were just there to do your job.

a few had tried to show off.

a few had complained.

and one or two had stared a little too long before remembering they had reputations to maintain.

still, the day had passed quicker than you expected, your list slowly shrinking as one name after another was checked off your tablet, until only a single player remained scheduled for your rounds.

you pause outside the training room for a moment, glancing down at the screen.

seishiro nagi.

the name is familiar, though only vaguely. anri had mentioned him briefly when you’d asked about the players earlier, something about ridiculous natural talent and a playstyle that made even ego pay attention, though she’d also added, with a small sigh, that he was apparently “a little difficult to motivate.”

you assume that means stubborn.

or arrogant.

or both.

pushing the door open, you step inside.

the room itself is quieter than the rest of the facility had been throughout the day, most of the players likely having already moved on to their evening routines, leaving only the soft hum of the overhead lights and the faint echo of distant voices somewhere down the hall.

for a moment you think you might be alone.

then you notice him.

tall, pale, and half-sprawled across the floor near the edge of the mattress though someone had simply dropped him there and forgotten to pick him back up again, white hair falling lazily across his forehead while one long leg stretches out in front of him and the other bends slightly at the knee. his phone rests loosely in his hand, screen glowing faintly as his attention drifts somewhere between whatever game he’s playing and the quiet of the empty room.

you clear your throat gently.

“nagi seishiro?”

he hears his name.

barely.

the voice pulls him out of the comfortable haze he’d been floating in, thumb pausing mid-tap against his phone screen as his gaze lifts toward the doorway.

and for a second, the world tilts.

because standing there is someone he definitely hasn’t seen before.

you.

nagi blinks once, slowly, his mind taking an extra moment to catch up with what his eyes are already processing, the unfamiliar shape of you framed by the doorway, tablet tucked against your side, strands of hair slipping slightly out of place from what must have been a long day walking around the facility.

pretty.

the thought arrives in his head with the same casual clarity as noticing the color of the sky.

just a simple observation.

pretty.

his gaze lingers without much urgency, drifting over the small details almost lazily, the soft crease between your brows as you glance down at the tablet in your hand, the faint tiredness around your eyes, the way the light catches briefly against your hair when you shift your weight.

he doesn’t realize he’s staring.

doesn’t realize you’ve already started speaking again.

something about a routine checkup.

something about muscle fatigue.

something about your role in the facility.

the words reach his ears and promptly dissolve somewhere in the space between hearing and understanding, his attention still caught on the quiet realization that the person standing in front of him might genuinely be the most interesting thing he’s seen all day.

“…so if you could just sit up for a moment—”

nagi doesn’t move.

doesn’t respond.

doesn’t even blink.

from your perspective, it very much looks like he has simply stopped functioning.

you pause mid-sentence, confusion flickering briefly across your face before it slowly transforms into something far less patient.

“…hello?”

nothing.

a small sigh escapes you as you lower the tablet slightly, free hand lifting almost automatically to sweep a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your expression settling into the kind of mildly irritated look reserved for people who clearly aren’t paying attention.

“nagi.”

that finally seems to reach him.

his eyes refocus slightly, like someone returning from a very distant train of thought, blinking once before looking up at you again.

“…huh?”

you stare at him.

he stares back.

for a moment neither of you say anything.

then you inhale slowly, patience wearing thin as you tilt your head just slightly, gaze sharp.

“were you listening to anything i just said?”

nagi considers the question.

honestly.

“…not really.”

it doesn’t take long for you to realize something about nagi seishiro.

more specifically, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that the word lazy might actually be an understatement.

at first you assume it’s just a first-impression thing, the kind of behavior that fades once someone gets used to a new routine. after all, the environment inside blue lock is intense enough that most players eventually adapt whether they want to or not.

nagi, however, does not appear to share that mindset.

if anything, the longer you know him, the more impressive his dedication to avoiding effort becomes.

the first time you ask him to sit up properly so you can check his pulse, he watches you for a moment with half-lidded eyes before slowly asking if it would still count if he just stayed lying down.

the second time you ask him to stretch his arm out so you can test muscle tension, he shifts it about halfway toward you and then stops, glancing at you like that amount of cooperation should be sufficient.

and the third time— somewhere during the third week of your rounds— he tilts his head slightly in your direction and asks if you could grab the water bottle sitting barely within arm’s reach because getting it himself would be, in his words, “kind of a hassle.”

you stare down at him for a moment, expression slowly flattening.

“…you’re so peculiar,” you sigh eventually, though the exasperation in your voice carries a quiet thread of amusement as you lean down to pick up the bottle and place it into his waiting hand.

nagi accepts it without hesitation, murmuring a quiet thanks before taking a drink like this entire interaction makes perfect sense.

which, over time, you begin to realize it probably does.

because despite how absurdly lazy he is, nagi never actually resists your checkups.

he doesn’t complain when you ask him to repeat stretches, doesn’t pull away when you press your fingers lightly against his wrist to measure his pulse, and never rushes you through the evaluations the way you initially expected someone like him might.

instead he simply sits there while you work, quiet and strangely patient, his pale eyes following the small movements of your hands as you jot notes down on your tablet or adjust the position of his arm.

at first you assume it’s just because staying still requires less effort.

it takes a little longer before you notice the pattern forming.

nagi starts appearing before you even call for him.

sometimes you’ll step into a quiet corner of the facility to finish your notes only to find him already there.

“didn’t i check you yesterday?” you ask once, glancing down at your schedule before looking back up at him with mild suspicion.

nagi hums softly.

“yeah.”

“okay.. then why are you here again?”

he thinks about it for a moment.

“…figured you’d be around.”

the answer is delivered with the same calm indifference he seems to approach everything with, like it isn’t particularly important either way, but your fingers still pause briefly against your tablet.

you clear your throat softly and gesture toward the mat.

“if you’re going to sit there, at least stretch your leg out properly.”

nagi does, though he takes his time about it.

over the next few weeks the routine settles into something oddly familiar.

nagi asks you for things that are very clearly within his reach.

you sigh, shake your head, and hand them to him anyway.

water bottles, towels, sometimes his phone when he’s dropped it somewhere inconveniently far from where he’s decided to lie down.

you always pretend to be annoyed about it.

he always asks anyway.

and as time goes by, the requests start coming with a little less distance between the two of you.

at first it’s small things.

nagi leaning closer while you check his pulse, resting his chin lazily against his hand while watching you write notes on your tablet.

then it becomes things like him shifting until his shoulder bumps lightly against yours while you’re sitting beside him on some bench, staying there like he didn’t even notice the contact happened.

the first time you try to move away, he follows without thinking. just a quiet shuffle closer.

“…nagi.”

“hm?”

“personal space.”

he blinks at you.

“…why?”

you stare at him for a long moment before sighing and going back to your notes.

after that he stops pretending it’s accidental.

sometimes when you kneel down to check the tension in his leg muscles, his hand ends up loosely resting against your shoulder like it belongs there.

other times he leans against your side while you write, the weight of him warm and heavy in a way that should probably bother you more than it does.

it’s difficult to scold someone who looks half-asleep while doing it.

still.

the real problem begins after matches.

because matches, are obviously one of among the many things that exhausts nagi.

one evening you find him sitting on the floor outside the training area, hair damp with sweat and shirt clinging faintly to his shoulders while he stares blankly at the wall like his soul has temporarily left his body.

you glance down at your tablet.

“did you finish your cooldown stretches?”

nagi tilts his head back slowly until he’s looking up at you.

“…m'too tired.”

“well. that’s not how recovery works.”

he hums softly.

then, without warning—

“carry me.”

you blink.

“…what?”

nagi lifts one arm lazily in your direction.

“…piggyback.”

you stare at him.

“no..?”

he watches you for a moment, as if considering the refusal.

then shrugs.

“…okay.”

you nod once, satisfied, before turning slightly to jot something down on your tablet.

that’s when two arms suddenly wrap around your shoulders.

a very tall, very sweaty, very heavy creature attaches himself to your back.

your brain takes a full second to process what just happened.

“nagi.”

“hm?”

“get off.”

he doesn’t.

instead he settles his weight more comfortably against you, chin resting near your shoulder like he’s discovered a particularly convenient piece of furniture.

“…too tired.”

“you’re literally covered in sweat.”

“…so.”

“so... that's gross.”

“shhh. don't fight it.”

“you are a six foot three man.”

“i think so, yeah.”

“that wasn't even a question— and i cannot carry you.”

he seems to think about that.

then—

“try.”

you open your mouth to argue again.

unfortunately, the moment you attempt to take a step forward proves exactly why this was a terrible idea.

because nagi seishiro is, in fact, a one six foot three demon.

your balance disappears instantly.

there’s a brief moment of silence.

then both of you tip forward, hitting the floor in an undignified heap.

your tablet skids across the mat.

you groan into the floor.

“uug— i told you.”

behind you, nagi lifts his head slightly.

“…it worked for a second.”

you push yourself up onto your elbows and glare back at him.

“you nearly crushed me.”

“…sorry.”

he does not look sorry.

in fact, he looks suspiciously comfortable lying on top of you and putting all of his weight onto you.

“you’re so heavy.. please get the hell off me.”

nagi reluctantly drops off to the side.

then, after a moment—

“can you still grab my water..?”

you stare at him.

then you start laughing despite yourself.

and somewhere in the middle of that ridiculous moment— sitting on the floor with a half-dead striker who just attempted to turn you into a pack mule— you realize something mildly concerning.

the quiet time you spend with him starts becoming the part of your day you notice yourself anticipating the most.

not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

still, it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the small things.

the way nagi’s gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should.

the way he shifts a little closer whenever you sit beside him, like the space between you naturally belongs there.

none of it feels dramatic.

nothing about nagi ever really does.

whatever exists between the two of you grows the way most things around nagi seem to— quietly, lazily, almost accidentally, until one day you realize it’s been there for a while.

more than once now, when you step out into the hallway, nagi is already there.

you push open the door behind you and step into the hallway, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder while your mind drifts lazily through the events of the day, already half-focused on getting home and finally resting your feet.

then you look up.

and there he is.

nagi stands a few steps down the corridor, tall frame leaning comfortably against the wall like he’s been there long enough to make himself at home. his hair is still slightly damp, pale strands sticking faintly against his forehead, and his shirt hangs loose from his shoulders like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly after training.

when he notices you, he straightens almost immediately.

not by much.

just enough that it’s obvious he’s been waiting.

“…hey.”

you slow to a stop.

“i thought everyone was still in the baths.”

nagi shrugs lightly.

“finished early.”

you narrow your eyes at him.

“don't tell me you skipped out. are you too lazy to even take a bath..?”

he tilts his head, considering the accusation.

“i didn't skip..”

you sigh softly, though the familiar hint of amusement creeps into your voice anyway as you walk closer.

“thank goodness.”

nagi doesn’t argue.

instead his gaze drifts slowly across your face, lingering just long enough to make you slightly aware of how closely he’s looking.

“you’re leaving?”

“i finished my rounds,” you explain, adjusting the strap of your bag slightly on your shoulder. “unless you’ve somehow injured yourself in the last ten minutes, my job here is done for today.”

“i could’ve...”

“you didn’t.”

“..okay, i didn't.”

the hallway grows quiet again.

nagi pushes himself away from the wall then, closing the small distance between you with that same unhurried pace he does everything with, until he’s standing close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of him beside you.

you glance up at him.

he’s already looking at you.

the kind of focused attention that makes your stomach tighten slightly before you can stop it.

“you look tired,” he murmurs after a moment.

you blink at him, adjusting the bag on your shoulder as you let out a small breath.

“i’ve been walking around this building all evening, nagi. ’course i’m tired,” you say, shifting the strap slightly higher against your shoulder where it’s begun to dig into the fabric of your sleeve. “and y’know… i’m still a student. blue lock’s just my part time thing for now.”

nagi hums softly in response, the sound low in his throat as his gaze drifts downward for a moment.

his eyes land on the bag hanging from your shoulder first, following the worn strap where it cuts across your arm like it’s been there all day, then slowly travel back up to your face again. you do look tired, he thinks, though not in the way he meant it earlier. it’s the kind of tired that comes from doing too many things at once— walking endless hallways, writing notes, juggling classes somewhere outside this place.

until now he hasn’t really thought about the fact that you leave.

that when the day ends, you don’t stay here the way everyone else does.

you just disappear out those doors and come back the next day like nothing happened.

you assume the conversation has ended there, so you shift your weight and step past him, already turning toward the end of the hallway.

nagi notices immediately.

before you’ve taken more than a single step, his hand lifts without much thought and catches the edge of your sleeve, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

it isn’t a strong grip.

just enough to stop you.

you glance down briefly at where he’s holding onto you before looking back up at him.

nagi’s hand is loosely holding the fabric near your wrist, his fingers curled like he grabbed it without thinking too hard about it.

“…you’re coming back tomorrow, right?” he asks eventually.

the question is quiet.

but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you now that makes it feel a little less casual than he probably intended.

“of course i am,” you say slowly. “this is still my job.”

nagi nods once, a slow, thoughtful movement.

that’s good.

because the thought that you might not has crossed his mind more than once over the past few weeks, and every time it does it leaves behind a strange, restless feeling he doesn’t particularly like.

his thumb shifts faintly against the fabric of your sleeve before he realizes he’s doing it.

you seem to notice the movement too, your gaze flickering briefly toward his hand before returning to his face.

“were you waiting for me?” you ask.

the question doesn’t sound accusing. mostly curious.

nagi blinks once, tilting his head slightly as if the answer should be obvious.

“yeah.”

you stare at him.

“why?”

he considers the question for a second, though not very seriously.

from his perspective the answer is simple.

he finished early.

you usually leave around this time.

so he waited.

“..wanted to see you.”

the words leave his mouth easily, without hesitation.

and for a moment, you don’t respond.

to nagi it’s just another straightforward statement, no different from saying he’s tired or that training was exhausting today. but the reaction it causes in you is noticeably different.

nagi says it so casually that it takes a second for the words to actually settle in your mind, the meaning of them arriving a little slower than the sound. he doesn’t look embarrassed about it, doesn’t seem particularly concerned with how it might come across, and the calm way he’s watching you now makes it obvious that, to him, this is simply the truth.

like stating the weather.

like mentioning that training was annoying today.

he sees the way your expression shifts slightly, the small pause that settles between the two of you like something important has just been placed there.

“nagi,” you begin slowly, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re trying to say yet.

because the reality of the situation presses gently at the back of your mind.

blue lock isn’t a normal place.

the people here aren’t living normal lives, and you aren’t really part of their world in the same way they are. you come in during the afternoons with your bag slung over your shoulder, check a few vitals, write down your notes, and then disappear again once your rounds are finished, returning to lectures and assignments the next day and a future that probably doesn’t involve walking these hallways forever.

you’re temporary here.

and nagi— he belongs here.

which means whatever this strange little routine between the two of you has quietly become probably isn’t something you should let grow too much.

still.

“you can’t just wait around in hallways for people,” you say eventually, though there’s far less firmness in your voice than you intended.

nagi blinks.

“why not?”

the question is genuine.

you stare at him.

“…because it’s weird.”

he considers that for a moment, expression thoughtful in that slow, distant way he has when he’s actually thinking about something.

then his shoulders lift in a small shrug.

“didn’t feel weird...”

you huff quietly, shaking your head.

nagi’s gaze drifts over your face again, lingering in that same way you’ve started noticing more and more lately, the quiet focus of it making your chest tighten just slightly before you can stop it.

“…you’re always leaving when i see you,” he murmurs after a moment.

the observation catches you off guard.

“well, yes,” you say slowly. “that’s usually what happens at the end of a work day.”

nagi hums faintly, though he doesn’t look convinced.

“still annoying..”

your eyebrows lift slightly.

“annoying?”

“you’re the only interesting part of my day.”

the words land softly between you.

and suddenly the hallway feels much quieter than it did a moment ago.

you stare at him.

he doesn’t seem to notice the effect his statement has caused.

or maybe he does, and just doesn’t see why it’s a big deal.

because to him, it probably isn’t.

but your shoulders relax a little, a quiet laugh slipping out under your breath despite yourself.

“you really shouldn’t say things like that so casually.”

“why?”

“because people might misunderstand you.”

nagi tilts his head.

“…i don’t think they would.”

you sigh. (for what felt like the millionth time today) because for someone who seems so half-asleep most of the time, nagi has a very irritating way of being straightforward when it comes to things he actually cares about.

“you should go back before someone notices you disappeared,” you tell him gently. “and i should go home before i fall asleep standing here.”

nagi thinks about that.

then slowly releases your sleeve.

the fabric slips from his fingers and your arm drops back to your side, though you don’t immediately move away.

instead you stand there for another second, looking at him like you’re trying to figure something out.

nagi doesn’t mind.

he likes when you look at him like that.

after a moment you step backward, adjusting your bag again before finally turning toward the end of the hallway. "goodnight, nagi."

nagi stays where he is.

watching you.

you make it a few steps before glancing back over your shoulder, your eyes finding his almost immediately.

nagi notices the moment you do.

and something small but satisfied settles quietly in his chest.

because you did look back.

and tomorrow, when you walk through these hallways again with that bag over your shoulder and your tablet in hand, he’ll probably end up waiting here again without even meaning to.

so for now— that quiet, strange little routine between the two of you might just have to suffice.

I JS FINISHED BLUE LOCK N I FRICKIN LOVE THIS CUTIE

i literally thought of tthis while i was drunk and i just had to wake up and write it oh nagi my baby

i have another kenma fic for yall coming up soon ive js been bombarded with university planning 💔💔💔 3 more months until big boss graduates

[seisicles]

sobbing i LOVE this.

[karo0v]

Oh angel isagi angel isagi....

[seisicles]

the cutiest cutie to ever cute

[cowleyes]

i need ya

[urumashunistheonlyone]

6’3 giant

you’re on the couch scrolling through your phone when the front door clicks open and nagi seishiro shuffles in like a sleepy giraffe who just lost the will to live. he’s still in his training kit, hair damp, earbuds dangling around his neck, and the second he spots you he lights up in that lazy way of his.

“hey,” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes without bending down. “missed you.”

“you saw me four hours ago, sei.”

“four hours is long.” he’s already crossing the room in those stupid long strides. “i’m tired.”

and before you can brace yourself, he just… drops. full 6’3, ninety kilos of pure muscle and laziness, straight onto you like a falling tree.

“oof—sei!” your phone flies out of your hand, lands somewhere on the carpet. your spine makes a noise it definitely shouldn’t. “you’re crushing me!”

he doesn’t move. just nuzzles his face into your neck and sighs like this is the comfiest spot in the room. “you’re warm. and soft. perfect.”

“i’m about to be flat” you wheeze, trying to shove at his shoulders. it’s like pushing a wall. “get off, you human weighted blanket!”

he makes a whiny little sound (actually whines) and wraps his arms tighter around your waist. “five more minutes. reo made me run suicides. my legs are dead.”

“your legs are dead on top of me, that’s the problem!”

he finally lifts his head just enough to blink at you with those sleepy gray eyes. “piggyback me to the bedroom then.”

you stare at him. “are you actually serious right now? you’re 190 cm and you want me to carry you?”

“yeah” he says, completely straight faced. “you’re strong. you did squats last week.”

“i did bodyweight squats! for ten reps! not to carry my giant boyfriend!”

he flops back down, cheek smushed against your collarbone.“too much effort to walk. just roll me there.”

“i will literally die.”

he hums, already half asleep, his full weight pressing you into the couch cushions until you’re pretty sure you’re becoming one with the fabric. your lungs are doing part time work at this point.

“seishiro, i can’t breathe.”

“mm. dramatic.”

“i’m serious, i’m seeing spots.”

he finally (finally) shifts, but only enough to slide down a little so his head is on your chest instead of your throat. progress.

“better?”

“slightly.” you thread your fingers through his damp hair just so he doesn’t get any ideas about moving again. “you’re literally built like a skyscraper and you still want piggybacks. explain.”

“cause it’s funny when you try” he mumbles into your shirt.

“you make that little angry noise. like a kitten.”

“i will bite you.”

“kinky.”

you pinch his ear and he barely flinches. instead he just grabs your waist and rolls so you’re both sideways on the couch, him still basically on top but now it’s more like he’s spooning you into the backrest. his legs tangle with yours, one arm draped over you like you’re his personal body pillow.

“this is worse” you complain, even though you’re already relaxing because he smells like sweets, shampoo and home. “i’m trapped.”

“good” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “don’t move. ever.”

ten minutes later you need to pee.

“sei. sei. i need to get up.”

“no.”

“i will pee on you.”

he pauses, considers this very seriously, then sighs the most put upon sigh in the history of mankind and rolls off you. just straight onto the floor with a thud.

you sit up, gasping for air like you’ve been underwater. “are you okay??”

he’s sprawled on his back, staring at the ceiling. “floor’s nice. cool.”

“you’re weird.”

he lifts one arm toward you without looking. “piggyback. now.”

“no!”

“please?” he turns his head, gives you the most pathetic puppy eyes known to man. it’s unfair. he knows it’s unfair. he’s weaponizing the fact that he’s adorable and it’s working.

you groan, already standing up. “fine. but if my spine snaps, you’re explaining it to my mom.”

he lights up (actual sparkles you swear) and scrambles to his feet. “you’re bent like a folding chair, how am i supposed to—”

“just get on.”

“mm” he hums.

you feel him climb onto your back with absolutely zero urgency. he takes his time, arms sliding around your shoulders, chin dropping onto your head like he’s settling into a pillow.

the second his full weight hits you, your soul leaves your body.

you make a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a prayer.

“oh my god—sei, you’re actually heavy as hell.”

“you’re doing great” he mumbles.

“i’m not even doing anything yet!”

“still proud.”

you shuffle forward one step.

then another.

your legs are shaking. your spine is holding on through pure hope.

he, meanwhile, is completely relaxed. like he’s on a theme park ride.

you manage to make it down the hallway, each step sounding like a dramatic final act.

he’s so damn heavy, but the worst part is how comfortable he is. he keeps adjusting like you’re a mattress.

“stop moving” you hiss. “you’re making it worse.”

“sorry” he mumbles, and then immediately shifts again.

you nearly tip over.

“SEI!”

he laughs—actually laughs—soft and sleepy into your hair.

“it’s funny when you try” he says again.

“you’re very lucky you’re cute.”

you reach the bedroom like you’ve just climbed a mountain.

you stagger to the bed and drop forward.

he slides off you at the last second, flopping onto the mattress like he’s made of jelly.

you collapse on top of him, face down, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

“stay.”

“i’m not sleeping on top of you, you’ll suffocate.”

“i’ll be fine” he says, voice muffled. “i’ve survived reo’s pep talks. this is nothing.”

you manage to wriggle free and flop next to him instead. instantly he rolls over, throws one ridiculously long leg over yours, and shoves his face into your neck again.

“you’re clingy today” you say, poking his cheek.

“training sucked. chigiri said i looked ‘motivated’ and made me do extra drills.” he says it like he went through war. “need to recharge.”

“on me?”

“best charger.”

you roll your eyes but let him settle his full weight half on top of you again, his head on your chest, one arm snug around your waist. he’s heavy, yeah, but it’s also kind of nice. like a nagi shaped weighted blanket that breathes and occasionally whispers “hassle” in its sleep.

“if you fall asleep like this you’re gonna crush my ribs” you warn.

“i’ll move in a minute” he mumbles, already slipping.

he doesn’t move for three hours.

when you wake up it’s dark outside and nagi’s still draped over you like a koala who forgot how gravity works. you can barely feel your left arm.

“seishiro.”

“mm.”

“get off before i become a pancake.”

he makes a sad little noise but rolls just enough to let you breathe. then immediately pulls you back against his chest, legs tangled, chin on your head.

“better” he says, satisfied.

“you’re actually SO lucky i like you” you grumble into his shirt.

“you’re lucky i fit in your bed” he counters.

“barely.”

he hums, already drifting again. “worth it.”

and yeah. with his heartbeat thumping steady under your cheek and his ridiculous limbs everywhere, it kind of is. even if your back is screaming and you’re ninety percent sure he’s going to ask for another piggyback tomorrow.

and you’ll probably say yes.

[seisicles]

peakness.

[michairinnnn]

nagies

[yaenescia]

the concept of ex bf hugo who lowkenuinely compulsively stalks ur socials. the process is excessive, bordering on unhealthy. it starts with checking your ig notes, highlights, following, followers... rereading captions, pausing on timestamps, documenting patterns in the way one shouldn’t be doing after claiming multiple times they’ve “moved on.” + he’s created 3 alt accounts (to bypass the fact you’ve blocked him and his other alts) to spam ur dms after finding out u got w someone new 🥀🥀🥀🥀

[seisicles]

PLS MAKE THIS A FICUHHH

[chiikawagifs]

[seisicles]

Being Nagi's next-door neighbor would include.. <3

tags/warnings! : fluff, x reader, Nagi Seishiro, bluelock, drabble, girl next door theme, reader is implied fem!

Meeting in the most unexpected ways, for example, the one time Nagi leaves his house for groceries, you just so happen to be at the same store?

You being utterly clueless to the fact that he likes you, even though he's probably clueless to the fact that he likes you as well... (oblivious x oblivious, or maybe just one of them thinks love is too much of a hassle?) 

Your first meeting with him was when you dropped off baked goods to all of your neighbors on your apartment floor

When you found out about his eating habits at home (mostly jellies, lemon tea), you decided to start helping your mom cook extra food so you could bring some for him. After all, he was super tall, so eating badly could really affect him

Every time he plays a new game and a character slightly reminds him of you, they're instantly his favorite

He isn't clingy with you immediately, because he didn't want to seem off-putting, but when you two actually get close, he never lets go

He probably shows up at your doorstep unannounced to play games or just to say hi

He definitely felt star-struck when he first saw you; in his eyes, you were the lead in a romance manga, and he was the supporting cast

He gets jealous of you interacting with other people from time to time, but he never outwardly states that because he's known to be a pacifist

P.S. (This is really thrown together, so if you don't agree with these, that's totally fine. I'm new to posting on Tumblr in general, so any support is HEAVILY appreciated! Thank you, and have a good day)

written by Vaniiicecream !!!

[chiikawagifs]

[yaenescia]

✦ misinterpreted | rin x reader

synopsis the dots connect themselves. convinced that his girlfriend (you) has harboured a secret relationship with his rival, isagi, rin confronts you—only to discover the truth is far less scandalous and has rearranged every assumption rin made.

tags isagi’s sister!reader x rin, established relationship, accusations of cheating, isagi mentioned, sae mentioned, subtle neo-egoist league spoilers but nothing major, fem reader, 0.9k wc

a/n isagi's sister dating rin is such a funny trope to me i had to try it ok… also im trying to emulate 19th century writing tell me if its ok or i should go back to how i usually write

Rin had found himself a victim of an unusual elaborate misapprehension and your habits only worsened the matter. It was only after you departed for some water downstairs that permitted Rin’s thoughts to lose their sense of reason. You spoke often of Isagi, and always with a warmth you did not trouble yourself to conceal. A plethora of your absences held references to family, a term which Rin, having no reason to doubt your sincerity, had accepted with an ease he would later find humiliating. Inside a mind so entirely devoted to football as to leave minimal room for any other concern, that the scant remaining of his thoughts went to you sufficed to prove sufficient to render him peculiarly liable to misconstrue appearances. Rin’s head hit the pillow with a soft thud and he drew a long, fatigued breath as though surrendering for the day.

His gaze scrutinised your desk through his lashes, amongst your desk lay a myriad of framed photos between you and Isagi, the images served as a preservation of the zeniths of every ephemeral yet nostalgic and blissful memory between you and your brother. But to Rin, the relics of your memories held sinister connotations that one like himself was not ready to digest, disloyalty among them. The mahogany-framed photos were laid out neatly, laminated with a professional shine, as if perfectly curated to display something much more significant than superficial companionship—well, to Rin. There existed within your bedroom a blue jersey, abandoned upon a chair adjacent to the desk which had just thrown Rin’s thoughts into disorder.

The jersey was folded with such care as to imply affection rather than utility, the shirt bore the name Isagi in unmistakable, capitalised print. Romantic jealousy was seldom in Rin’s world, he did not indulge in conjecture without cause. His older brother would’ve told Rin that jealousy was unbecoming of a rational mind anyway, so with this, Rin assured himself he was in fact, not bubbling over with suspicion but rather meticulously attentive. Rin had scarcely finished his thought when the door was opened, and you appeared. Though, the circumstances of your bedroom did little to help Rin’s inner turmoil—and the pensive crease of his brows did little not to catch your eye. Within Rin’s mind, countless possibilities unfurled, weaving themselves into a labyrinth so intricate that your presence had long ceased to register for Rin.

“I’m back.”

A curve drew upon your lips, the utterance of those two brief words snapping Rin from his trance and startling him into sudden motion, his body lifting at once, the ruffles in his hair not escaping your notice. As you set the glasses of water down upon the bedside table, their soft clink marking the moment, his heightened aloofness set the gears of your thoughts quietly whirring. The mattress dipped beneath where you sat, the shift of weight doing little to relax his rigid composure.

“You’re deceiving me,” Rin pouted.

You cocked an eyebrow from where you sat on the mattress, startled, though not—Rin noted—ashamed, merely shocked. You did not expect such a confrontational stance from a guy who was just spewing about owls. “I beg your pardon?” You chuckle awkwardly, as if trying to draw more out of him. Rin’s silence forces a brittle laugh out of you. “Deceiving you?” You follow up, still trying to inquire into a man whose face can express the complete antithesis of what’s happening internally.

“With Isagi Yoichi.” His tone did not waver. “I’ve seen enough. If you’re with that stupid blueberry, say it!” A pause followed—brief, and then broken not by denial, but by laughter. Not the brittle laughter of guilt, but the genuine, incredulous sort, as though she had been accused of some charming absurdity.

“Rin,” you said, once you had recovered yourself, “you couldn’t be the furthest from the truth.”

His expression hardened. “Then explain the memorabilia. The secrecy. The affection.” Your mind regarded him for a moment longer, eyes widening in realisation, before you spoke with careful patience, as if explaining something to a child.

“Yoichi is my brother.”

“Your.. brother.” Rin reiterates with a hint of scepticism, like he’s trying to confirm the absurd idea that you’re related to the man whom Rin harbours the most indelible and ineffable rage for. It was as if the realisation that the misinterpreted relationship between his beloved girlfriend and Isagi was something as simple as familial had only just dawned on him. Once such a revelation had dawned on him, your voice cut through.

“You’ve met him. You don’t recall the match where you grabbed Yoichi by his hair and told him he’s got a box seat during the games within the Neo-Egoist League?” You teased, wrapping the latter half of that sentence in a glaze of provocation and an exaggerated emphasis with your hand gestures, as if you were trying to evoke a fluster out of your boyfriend. In contrast, Rin’s world stopped. He replays every fragment of what he considered ‘irrefutable proof.’ Rin did not speak at once. The thought he had so carefully constructed faltered, then quietly gave way, as each detail he had relied upon returned to him in a different order. What had once appeared conclusive now seemed merely obvious—and his own error.

“I was lost in the moment. I didn’t even tug his hair that hard.” Rin’s gaze was suddenly incredibly intrigued by the birds outside, not daring to look at you. Optimising his peripheral vision, he looked back at Isagi’s shirt draped over your desk chair. He’s never felt so betrayed by some fabric before. How had such a sharp-minded striker like him grown so socially inept to such hints, how had he not realised sooner? Every glance, every laugh, every late-night call was proof of something he’d rather not acknowledge: he had been cheerfully basking in the attention of his rival’s sister.

not my art!! sob idk the artist but i’ll credit them if i find them

© FVRINA 2025 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work

[yaenescia]

✦ merchandise | sae x reader

synopsis going to sae's soccer game and coming across a stall selling u20 merch and you cave and end up buying merchandise of sae’s japan u20 uniform

a/n i saw some guy wearing messi’s shirt or wtv and felt inspired to write this—also should i do this scenario w other bllk charas idk,,,,

tags established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader, sae thinks u cant handle ur finances idk, bf privileges™, banter, idk how to tag ts ngl, i dont play soccer idk if the stuff i said here is correct, not proof read :3, 0.9k wc

Blinding stadium lights beat down on you. The moon hung low above the chaos. A plethora of fans from both teams surged through the exterior of the stadium—on their way into the gates—looking like a spilled colorful bowl of cereal, but instead of Fruit Loops, it was overly patriotic merchandise-wearing fans. Colours of Japan’s U20 team and the team they were facing’s scarves and jerseys which were a dizzying blend of colours. Like a salmon swimming upstream, you weaved through the crowd. Jeez, who knew Sae actually wasn’t lying when he said games at night were prime time and the most popular. The environment buzzed with anticipation, and the voices of vendors blended together as they shouted over one another. 

The smell of meat and fried foods clung to the air from the multitude of food stalls lining the stadium’s exterior. Long sticks of twirled potato perched on tables, fried to a golden brown that almost made you forget you were attending a soccer game in the first place. Alongside the food stalls and glistening kebabs were vendors selling unofficial and, dare I say, bootleg merch. If you squinted, you could catch sight of a player’s name stitched slightly crooked across the back, the number was right, but the font? All wrong! You suppressed a chuckle threatening to bubble and slip past your lips. Lingering in the same spot, your eyes darted between big signs signaling which gate was where. Like a meerkat, you awkwardly rose onto your tippy toes to get a better view and navigate your way into the gate your ticket had told you. You didn’t even know what was happening. Has the game started? Were you late? Your phone buzzed against your skin through the fabric of your clothes, a soft, urgent thrum that made you jump slightly—a message from Sae. 

“Just head to Gate C. Don’t get lost.”

You blinked back at the glowing screen. Sounds simple enough. If only the sea of illuminated signs overhead agreed! You swallowed and pushed forward, slipping between a cluster of enthusiastic fans decked out in bright jerseys. You slowed by one of the street stalls just before the gates—half out of curiosity, half because the vendor shoved a jersey ( specifically Sae’s jersey ) into your face and you'd feel guilty backing out now. Your eyes raked over the merch, it was a white shirt with a red collar and accented with black streaks.

“Two thousand yen! Limited edition!” The vendor said. It looked… fine. A little too red and off colour from the actual jersey. Sae’s name was stitched slightly crooked on the back, and the embroidery was already fuzzing at the edges. You hesitated.

The vendor shoved it closer.

You caved.

Two crumpled bills later, you had it carefully folded in your bag. You told yourself it was ironic, that you had an unofficial replica of Sae’s jersey when you could’ve very much just bought an official one or borrowed Sae’s.

After the game, the stadium lights faded behind you as you and Sae made your way home, the ring of the press and shuttering of the paparazzi chasing after Sae as he left the locker room echoed in your ears. His magenta locks were still damp from showering in the locker room, the silver moonlight sparkling on his slightly irritated face. A muscular hand snaked around your waist, securely dragging you away from the flashing lights, knowing how the press eats up anything about Sae’s love life. Once you two got home, you stood behind Sae’s broad and muscular body, watching him unlock the door to your shared penthouse suite. The lock clicked open, and the door emitted a soft creak. Stepping inside, you were greeted with the familiar ceiling-to-floor panoramic city views and high-end materials of the furniture, such as marbled countertops and stainless steel appliances. Sae flicked the lights, allowing for a slightly golden-tinted white glow to lighten the living room.

Your eyes watch Sae put down his sports bag, which reminds you of your bag and the little item you have folded neatly inside. Taking out the satin-feeling shirt, you proudly—and smugly- hold the shirt by the shoulders and wave it in front of Sae. He eyes the jersey, a mixture of curiosity and amusement glimmering in his turquoise orbs. 

“What the hell is that.” He gestures to the jersey with an expression that could only be described as a mix of deadpan and shocked.

“Don’t you recognise it?” You laugh, taunting him by shoving the jersey closer in Sae’s face, resembling a certain vendor. 

“Oh, I recognise it alright.” Sae squints at the jersey, noticing it’s not official merch and is just utterly confused why you bought it in the first place. Isn’t he wearing the original of his jersey that you could’ve asked for? Why’d you go out and buy a replica that disgustingly does the Japan U20’s team’s uniform no justice? “Why’d you buy a replica when you could’ve just asked to borrow mine?”

“Yours smells like locker room and ego. ” You retorted. “Plus, I can’t show love to my boyfriend?”

“It looks like cheap polyester.” Sae rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a little flattered.

“Oh, lighten up! It’s the thought that counts, right?” You raise the shirt higher, a proud smile on your face as you admire your purchase. Sae has to look away; you think he’s doing it out of disgust, but in reality, he’s overwhelmed with emotion because the whole scene is just too wholesome for his heart to handle.

“Just… Just wear mine.” Sae huffs, taking off his jersey and tossing it to you, his hand quickly going to snatch the unofficial replica out of your reach. Since his jersey was off, you couldn’t help but stare at his bare torso. With the jersey—smelling like Sae’s cologne and fresh sweat—in your arms, you transfer it to your right hand and cross your arms.

“Happy now?” You groan.

“Yup.”

Sae leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

if furina didn’t exist then sae would’ve been the theme of my blog

© FVRINA 2025 do not repost edit or translate any of my work

[seisicles]

o my gawduhh so detailed and i love tsss😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[seisicles]

first fic posted kinda nervous..

[seisicles]

"It's so sweet, knowing that you love me. <3" a Chigiri hyoma fic.

fluff, established relationship, tooth rotting (probably ooc..)

It's been about a year since you and Hyoma have been together, and that year was probably the best year of your entire life. Waking up next to him, sharing smiles, and making sarcastic remarks - it all just made you love him more.

You woke up to the sound of a blow dryer. Of course, he was drying his hair at 6 a.m.- your boyfriend and his obsession with his hair. "Hyoma.. can you keep it down? I'm tired.", to which he responded, "It's not my fault you aren't up?" he's such a brat sometimes. 

You got up from bed begrudgingly, your hair all over the place, the left side of your face pink from the position you had been sleeping in. You walked over to the bathroom. It's hard to be mad at Hyoma since he's just so pretty, no breathtaking is more like it, his rosy hair that flowed down his shoulders, almost like a stupid shampoo ad. You walked behind him, pulling him into a back hug, telling you the usual words of affection. 

"Hyoma, you look so pretty.." as to which your boyfriend's neck flushed a color close to his hair, "Yeah, I know, you don't have to remind me." You let out a scoff, "You're lucky I love you." "Yeah, I love you too." It really was sweet, wasn't it? 

written by Vaniiicecream !!!