Discover Top Posts Tagged with #barou shoei x reader

“𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧”

a/n: my coworker gagged me when i couldn’t reach something so he did it for me and when i said thank you he said “you just had to stretch a little more” mind you i couldn't reach it at all. hoe.

synopsis: the kind of pictures they’d post of you on their instagram story that would make everyone feel single.

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis, chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, hiori yo, barou shoei, kunigami rensuke, iglesias bunny, hugo vivian

isagi yoichi

blurry candid of you laughing because he said something stupid.

i mean genuinely blurry. your face is half-moving. the table is crooked. the photo quality looks like it was taken during an earthquake.

caption: "proof she finds me funny."

song: love on the brain – rihanna.

the funniest part is that isagi posts this with his whole chest. no irony. no embarrassment. no self-awareness.

because in his mind? making you laugh is one of his greatest accomplishments.

he stares at this picture more than some of his match highlights.

fans immediately lose their minds once they zoom in and realize you're looking directly at him while laughing. not at the camera. not at somebody else. him.

comments become: "girl blink twice if he's forcing you to laugh." "he definitely told the worst joke imaginable." "the way she's looking at him i'm going the fuck to bed 🫩"

and isagi is scrolling through the comments smiling like an idiot because nobody understands.

he remembers exactly what he said. it wasn't even funny. somehow you laughed for 5 straight minutes.

that's his favorite part.

♡ random texts w / bf!blue lock !

includes: isagi yoichi ; bachira meguru ; itoshi rin ; itoshi sae ; reo mikage ; nagi seishiro ; chigiri hyoma ; kunigami rensuke ; shidou ryusei ; hiori yo ; otoya eita ; karasu tabito ; alexis ness ; michael kaiser ; bunny iglesias ; oliver aiku ; sendou shuto ; barou shoei ; julian loki

cw: freaky jokes , 1 kms joke

likes & rbs appreciated!

"𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞... 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭?!"

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, seishiro nagi, isagi yoichi, barou shoei x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ synopsis. surprising your bllk husbands with creative pregnancy reveals!

content warning. fem, wife!reader. suggestive (pull-out game, baby fever, etc). pet names. teeny tiny bit of angst in kaiser's part. twins. nagi feigning ignorance. lots of kisses because yeah. 4.5k wc!

notes. heavily inspired by peachy pregnancy reveal videos on yt!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ what they call you

blue lock boys x fem!reader

featuring. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, barou shouei, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei

warnings. established relationships, fluff, slightly suggestive teasing in shidou’s section ♡

the pet names they give you, and the quiet moments that make each one feel like something meant only for the two of you.

── .✦

ISAGI YOICHI — “HONEY”

Isagi does not remember when honey first became yours.

There was no dramatic pause after the word left his mouth, no startled silence in which both of you realized something in the relationship had shifted. It simply slipped into his vocabulary somewhere between late-night calls, hurried mornings, and the countless hours you spent beside him while match footage played across his laptop. By the time you noticed, Isagi had already begun saying it with the easy familiarity of someone who had forgotten there had ever been another way to address you.

“Honey, have you seen my phone?”

You glance up from the edge of his bed. He is standing in front of you with one shoe on, his hair still damp from the shower and his brows drawn together as though the missing device is a tactical problem demanding immediate analysis.

“It’s charging beside you.”

His eyes move toward the nightstand.

“Oh.”

He reaches for it, then pauses when he notices the smile tugging at your mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me strangely.”

“Am I, honey?”

Understanding flashes across his face. Color follows almost immediately, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears before he can turn away and pretend to be interested in his notifications.

“I call you that all the time.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you making it weird?”

You laugh, and Isagi mutters something under his breath about you being impossible. The embarrassment never lasts, though. The moment his attention drifts elsewhere, the word returns as naturally as breathing.

He says it when he leans over your shoulder to show you a goal on his screen, his chest warm against your back as he points out a gap in the opposing team’s defense.

He says it when he finds you asleep on the couch and gently touches your cheek, worry already gathering in his eyes because your neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle.

He says it when he realizes he has been talking about football for almost an hour without asking about your day.

“Sorry, honey. I got carried away.”

You always tell him that you do not mind. The way his entire expression brightens when he talks about the field is one of the things you love most about him.

Still, your favorite version of the name appears when he is worried. Then honey loses its absent domestic ease and becomes something quieter, shaped by the tenderness he rarely notices in himself.

“You okay, honey?”

His hands are already on you before you answer, one resting against your arm while his blue eyes search your face with such focused concern that lying becomes impossible.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

You nod and lace your fingers with his. The tension in his shoulders eases, though he continues watching you for another moment, as if he needs to confirm for himself that nothing is wrong.

“You know,” you murmur, “you sound like someone’s husband when you call me that.”

Isagi nearly chokes.

His horrified expression makes you burst into laughter, and he pulls you against his chest, apparently deciding that hiding his burning face in your hair is easier than responding.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Love you too, honey.”

His arms tighten around you. For a second, he says nothing.

Then his lips brush the top of your head.

“Love you too.”

── .✦

ITOSHI SAE — “MI AMOR”

The first time Sae calls you mi amor, you think you have misheard him.

Not because the words are unclear, but because he says them without the smallest hesitation. There is no warning in his expression, no pause that suggests he is about to say anything remotely affectionate. Sae remains seated on the couch, one ankle resting over his knee, his attention fixed on his phone as though the pet name is no more remarkable than the weather.

“Come here, mi amor.”

You stop in the doorway.

Sae scrolls once more before lifting his eyes to you. His face is calm, almost bored, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth tells you he has already noticed your reaction.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Unfortunately, you had.

The phrase must have followed him home from Spain, one of the many pieces of language that became natural after years spent abroad. Yet it never sounds borrowed when he uses it for you. In Sae’s voice, mi amor is assured and effortless, less like a nickname he selected and more like a fact he sees no reason to explain.

He uses it while handing you the bag you nearly forgot on the way out.

“Your things, mi amor.”

He says it when you insist you are not tired even though your head has already fallen against his shoulder twice.

“You fell asleep sitting up.”

“For five seconds.”

“Bed.”

“You’re bossy.”

“And you’re still arguing, mi amor.”

The worst part is that he knows exactly what the name does to you. Sae notices everything: the pause in your breathing, the way your fingers still, the warmth that rises into your face before you can stop it. He never points any of this out. He simply watches with that unreadable teal gaze, allowing the smallest hint of amusement to settle over his features.

“You do that on purpose,” you accuse one afternoon.

He is sitting beside you in a quiet café, one arm stretched lazily along the back of your chair.

“Do what?”

“You know.”

“Very specific.”

You narrow your eyes. Sae reaches forward, brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“Messy, mi amor.”

Your breath catches.

His expression does not change.

“You’re horrible.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Yet the name becomes different when no one else is around. It softens in dark rooms and tired silences, stripped of the teasing edge he uses when he knows you are watching. Those are the moments when it feels most intimate —not because Sae whispers it like a secret— but because he says it as though loving you is the simplest thing he has ever understood.

One night, you wake to the sensation of his fingers moving gently through your hair. Pale light slips between the curtains, outlining his face in silver.

“You’re awake,” you mumble.

“So are you.”

“Not by choice.”

His thumb brushes your temple.

“Go back to sleep, mi amor.”

You turn your face into his palm and press a kiss there. Sae becomes still for the briefest moment, the only sign that the gesture has reached somewhere beneath his composure.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

His hand remains against your cheek.

“Goodnight, mi amor.”

Perhaps that is why the words affect you so deeply.

To you, they sound like a confession.

To Sae, they are simply your name.

── .✦

ITOSHI RIN — “DEAR”

Rin does not seem like someone who should call his partner dear.

The word is too gentle for the sharpness of him, too domestic for someone who can make a simple good morning sound like an accusation. You would expect something clipped, perhaps even insulting—a nickname hidden beneath irritation so that he could deny the affection behind it.

Instead, one evening, while you are standing directly in his way, he places a hand at your waist and says, “Move, dear.”

You freeze.

Rin walks past you as though nothing happened.

For several seconds, you remain in the middle of the hallway, staring after him while your mind replays the word. Then you turn.

“Excuse me?”

His shoulders tense before he looks back. The movement is small, but you know him well enough to recognize guilt when you see it.

“What?”

“What did you call me?”

“Nothing.”

“You called me dear.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Rin’s expression becomes perfectly blank. “You’re imagining things.”

He leaves before you can argue, which might have worked if he had never used it again.

But once you notice the name, you begin hearing it everywhere. It slips into his speech without emphasis, softened by habit rather than intention.

“It’s cold, dear.”

He says it while holding out his jacket, already irritated because you apparently failed to predict the evening temperature.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll complain in ten minutes. Put it on.”

You take the jacket, smiling when his fingers linger near your collar as he pulls it closed.

“Thank you.”

“Stubborn, dear.”

Then he walks ahead, leaving you to follow with your heart beating far too quickly beneath his clothes.

There is something almost unfair about how naturally he says it. Rin never lowers his voice to make the word sound romantic. He never waits afterward to admire your reaction. Dear simply appears between the rest of his sentences, carrying the same unconscious tenderness as the hand he places at your back in crowded places or the way he always checks that you have eaten before asking about anything else.

The first time another person hears it, Isagi falls silent mid-sentence.

You are waiting near the training field while Rin gathers his things. Fatigue has begun to blur the edges of your vision, and when you rub your eyes, Rin notices immediately.

“You’re tired.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re barely awake.” He nods toward a nearby bench. “Go sit down, dear.”

Silence settles over the three of you.

Isagi looks at Rin.

Then at you.

Rin frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” Isagi says quickly, with the careful tone of someone who values his life.

Later, you catch Rin by the sleeve before he can leave.

“You called me dear in front of him.”

“And?”

The genuine confusion in his face makes warmth bloom beneath your ribs. Somewhere along the way, the nickname has become so completely attached to you in his mind that he no longer notices himself using it.

You step closer, smiling sweetly. “Nothing, dear.”

His jaw tightens.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? You call me that.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

You laugh and lean into him. Rin exhales through his nose, but his arm settles around your waist anyway, pulling you closer with quiet certainty.

“Annoying,” he mutters.

You kiss the corner of his mouth.

His eyes close for half a second, and when he lowers his forehead to yours, the tips of his ears are red.

“...dear.”

The word is barely audible.

Your smile becomes impossible to hide.

Rin knows he has lost.

── .✦

BAROU SHOUEI — “MY QUEEN”

Barou does not call you my queen as a joke.

You can call him Your Majesty whenever you please, can bow theatrically when he enters a room or announce the King’s arrival loudly enough to make him glare at you from across the hall. Your teasing has never bothered you, mostly because his reactions are far too entertaining to surrender.

But Barou treats the title he gives you with surprising seriousness.

It begins after someone refers to you as his queen during a conversation. You expect him to scoff, to correct them, perhaps to launch into a speech about how no one stands beside the King.

Instead, he says nothing.

You notice, of course.

Later, while he cooks dinner, you lean against the counter and watch the precise rhythm of his knife against the cutting board.

“So, Your Majesty.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I know that tone.”

You smile. “Your queen is hungry.”

The knife stops.

Barou turns his head slowly, red eyes narrowing.

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s not very respectful.”

“You’re lucky I’m cooking for you.”

“I thought kings were supposed to spoil their queens.”

“You thought wrong.”

You leave him alone after that, though your smile returns when he places a plate in front of you twenty minutes later. Your portion is larger than his, arranged with the same care he pretends not to offer.

Barou catches you looking.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

You pick up your fork. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Eat.”

For a while, the title remains yours to tease him with and his to avoid. Then, after a match, it changes.

Barou has won, but victory has never protected him from dissatisfaction. He stands beside you in a quiet corridor, replaying every imperfect moment aloud: the pass that arrived a second too late, the chance he should have converted, the goal that was good but could have been cleaner.

You listen until his frustration begins to burn itself out.

“You were incredible,” you tell him.

“I could’ve done better.”

“You always think that.”

“Because I can.”

There is so much certainty in his voice that you cannot help smiling. You reach up and brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

“You’re still my King.”

The words begin as a tease, but something in your tone makes his expression shift. Barou catches your wrist, keeping your palm pressed against his cheek.

“And you’re my queen.”

The corridor goes silent.

Your smile disappears beneath the sudden weight of your heartbeat.

Barou seems to realize what he said only after the words have settled between you, but he does not take them back. He merely looks away, a faint trace of color rising along his cheekbones.

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“That stupid one.”

“You called me your queen.”

“I know what I said.”

You step closer. “Say it again.”

“No.”

“Shouei.”

“No.”

You wrap your arms around his waist before he can escape. Barou complains immediately, muttering about you being clingy, but his hands settle against your back with practiced ease.

After that, my queen remains rare. He uses it when pride softens his voice, when he pulls you against his side after a difficult day, or when he thinks you are already asleep against his chest.

“My queen,” he murmurs into your hair.

You never answer those times.

Barou prefers believing the tenderness goes unnoticed.

You prefer letting him believe it.

── .✦

BACHIRA MEGURU — “SUNSHINE”

The first time Bachira calls you sunshine, you are in a terrible mood.

Your train was late, coffee stained the sleeve of your favorite shirt, and a stranger nearly knocked your phone from your hand without apologizing. By the time you reach the training facility, frustration clings to you like static, sharp enough that one more inconvenience might send you over the edge.

Bachira takes one look at your face and beams.

“Hi, sunshine!”

You stop in front of him.

“Don’t.”

His smile widens. “Don’t what?”

“I am not sunshine right now.”

He tilts his head, studying you with open curiosity. The playful brightness in his eyes softens, though it never disappears completely.

“Mm. You still are.”

“Meguru.”

“What?”

“Why do you even call me that?”

For once, Bachira pauses. His answers rarely follow a straight line, so you prepare yourself for something strange—perhaps you remind him of the color yellow, or your hair looked bright beneath a lamp one afternoon, or his monster decided the name suited you.

Instead, he reaches for your hand and threads his fingers through yours.

“Because you’re warm.”

You blink.

“Not temperature warm,” he adds, then considers it. “Well, sometimes you are.”

“Meguru.”

He laughs softly, swinging your joined hands between you. “Everything feels brighter when you’re there.”

The frustration leaves you so quickly it is almost embarrassing.

Bachira notices at once. “See?”

“See what?”

“Sunshine!”

You shove his shoulder. He only laughs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing until the last of your irritation dissolves against him.

After that, the nickname follows you everywhere.

It echoes across crowded hallways whenever Bachira spots you waiting after practice. It appears in messages sent at unreasonable hours, usually accompanied by too many exclamation marks and a sun emoji.

sunshineeee

You squint at your phone.

meguru it is three in the morning

The typing bubble appears immediately.

yeah :)

why are you awake

A pause.

thinking about you

Then, before you can recover:

sunshine ☀️

You call him because pretending the message did not affect you would be pointless. Bachira answers on the first ring, smiling sleepily into the camera as though he had known you would.

The name is brightest when he is playful, but your favorite version comes after matches, once the energy inside him finally begins to settle. Bachira talks quickly at first, his hands moving as he recounts every idea that carried him across the field. When you two are together, you listen until his words gradually lose their hurried rhythm and his body begins to sink against yours.

His head drops onto your shoulder.

“You falling asleep?”

“No.”

The lie is muffled against your neck.

You run your fingers through his hair. Bachira relaxes immediately, the weight of him growing heavier against you.

“Sunshine,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Stay warm.”

You pause. “What does that mean?”

No answer.

“Meguru?”

His breathing has already evened out.

You look down at him, at the peaceful curve of his mouth and the way his hand remains loosely wrapped around yours.

Maybe the nickname was never about happiness. Bachira does not need you to shine every second of the day.

To him, sunshine is simply what makes the world feel warmer when it arrives.

── .✦

NAGI SEISHIRO — “PRETTY”

Nagi calls you pretty with the same calm certainty he might use to describe the sky as blue.

There is no teasing edge in his voice and no smug satisfaction when the word leaves you flustered. He does not seem particularly interested in making you react, which somehow makes each quiet use of the name far more dangerous.

The first time it happens, you are trying to wake him for training.

“Nagi.”

He remains buried beneath the blankets.

“Seishiro.”

A muffled groan disappears into the pillow.

“You have to get up.”

“Cancel it.”

“You cannot cancel training.”

“Sounds troublesome.”

You sigh and poke his cheek. One gray eye slowly opens, unfocused with sleep. Nagi looks at you for several long seconds, his gaze drifting over your face as though he is waiting for his thoughts to catch up with the morning.

Then he murmurs, “Hi, pretty.”

Your entire mind goes blank.

Nagi closes his eye again.

You stay beside the bed, staring at him.

“Seishiro.”

“Hm?”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You called me pretty.”

His eye opens once more. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Confusion settles over his sleepy features.

“Because you’re pretty.”

He rolls over, apparently satisfied that the matter has been explained.

You spend the rest of the morning trying not to think about it.

The name remains after that, appearing whenever affection slips through Nagi’s usual laziness. He says it from the couch while lifting one arm to make room for you, though you both know that once you sit down he will drape himself over you until moving becomes impossible.

“C’mere, pretty.”

He murmurs it when you meet him after an away match, his arms curling around your waist as his full weight settles against you.

“Missed you, pretty.”

And when your smile feels forced or your voice grows quieter than usual, his eyes sharpen with an attentiveness he rarely offers the rest of the world.

“You okay, pretty?”

One afternoon, you finally ask him about it. You are lying against his chest while he scrolls through his phone, his free hand tracing slow, absent patterns over your back.

“Seishiro?”

“Mm?”

“You barely use my actual name anymore.”

His thumb pauses. “Really?”

“You call me pretty all the time.”

“Mm.”

You wait for him to elaborate.

He does not.

Lifting your head, you find him watching you with the same calm expression.

“Why pretty?”

Nagi thinks about it. You can almost see the effort moving slowly behind his eyes.

“Don’t know.”

You sigh.

His phone lowers. Nagi cups your cheek, his palm warm against your skin, and studies you with a focus that makes your breath catch.

“I look at you,” he says eventually, “and think pretty.”

Your heart stumbles.

“So I say pretty.”

The explanation is simple, offered with complete honesty. To Nagi, there is apparently nothing remarkable about telling you exactly what he sees.

You lower your face to his chest before he can notice the heat spreading through your cheeks.

“Why’re you hiding?”

“Shut up.”

His arm curls more securely around you. A moment later, you feel his lips brush your hair.

“Cute, pretty.”

Your face grows warmer.

Nagi’s quiet laugh vibrates beneath your cheek.

Perhaps he knows what he is doing after all.

── .✦

SHIDOU RYUSEI — “DOLL”

Shidou decides to call you doll without asking whether you approve.

This does not surprise you. Ryusei has never been particularly interested in permission when it comes to introducing chaos into your life, and apparently choosing your pet name is no exception.

It begins one evening when you catch him staring.

Not subtly, either. Shidou sits across from you with his chin resting against one hand, his pink eyes moving lazily over your face while you try to finish a message. You ignore him for as long as possible, but his attention is almost physical, warm and unwavering against your skin.

Finally, you lower your phone.

“What?”

His grin appears at once. “Nothing, doll.”

Your fingers still against the screen.

“Doll?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

Shidou laughs, delighted by the immediate rejection. “What d’you mean, no?”

“You’re not calling me that.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

“Ryusei.”

His grin widens.

From that moment on, your actual name becomes optional.

“There she is. Hi, doll.”

“Move over, doll.”

“C’mere, doll.”

The word itself is not the problem. The way Shidou says it is.

He possesses an infuriating talent for taking something harmless and coating it in enough suggestion to send warmth crawling along your neck. Sometimes he draws the syllable out while leaning too close, his eyes glittering because he knows precisely what his voice does to you.

“Stop saying it like that.”

“Like what, doll?”

“Exactly like that.”

He leans closer, his mouth curving. “Didn’t do anything.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah.”

At least he is honest.

You assume the nickname exists because your annoyance entertains him. Then he begins using it when he is not teasing, and the word becomes much harder to dismiss.

You are waiting after one of his matches when the doors to the players’ corridor finally open. Shidou steps through with his hair still damp and his body carrying the restless remains of adrenaline. He looks exhausted in the peculiar way only he can—still bright, still sharp, but quieter beneath the surface.

His gaze searches the hallway.

Then it finds you.

Something in his expression loosens.

“There she is.”

You smile as he approaches. “Hi.”

Shidou does not answer. His arms close around your waist and pull you firmly against him, making you stumble into his chest. Before you can complain, his face disappears into the curve of your neck.

“Missed you, doll.”

The words are quiet. There is no suggestive tone, no laughter waiting beneath them.

Only affection, stripped of performance.

“You saw me this morning.”

“Long time.”

“It’s been eight hours.”

“Exactly.”

You laugh and wrap your arms around him. Shidou exhales against your skin, his grip tightening as the last of the match leaves his body.

That is when you understand there are two versions of the name.

There is the doll he says with a filthy grin, deliberately watching your face because provoking you is one of his favorite pastimes.

Then there is this one—the soft doll that means there you are, the one he murmurs when he is tired enough to want comfort and honest enough not to disguise it.

You kiss his temple.

Shidou lifts his head. “What?”

“Nothing.” Your fingers smooth his hair away from his forehead. “I was thinking I don’t hate the nickname anymore.”

For one dangerous second, he is silent.

Then his grin returns.

“Oh, yeah, doll?”

You immediately regret speaking.

“Don’t.”

“My gorgeous little—”

You cover his mouth with your hand.

Shidou goes still.

Then he licks your palm.

You recoil with a shout while his laughter echoes through the corridor.

The tenderness vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but when he catches up to you, his fingers slip between yours.

“C’mon, doll.”

You let him pull you along.

This time, you do not complain.

#blue lock #isagi yoichi x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bachira meguru x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #barou shoei x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #bllk x you #blue lock drabbles #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader

helloo,can you pls write something about the bllk as a dad. Their kid called someone else daddy instead of them for the first time. Like Kaiser as our husband and and the kiddo calls Isagi daddy instead 😭😭 thankyou

He is not your dad, I AM!

KAISER MICHAEL

His baby calls Isagi "daddy".

Kaiser is glowing today. Hair perfect, outfit perfect, baby in his arms— also perfect.

He kneels in front of your toddler, smiling like an award-winning model dad.

"Come on, sweetheart. Say it. Daaaddy. Daddy Kaiser is the bestttttttt— I mean, Brotchen, you know who I am."

Your kid stares at him with big innocent eyes…

And then looks over at Isagi, who just walked into the room with a snack in hand.

"Dada!"

Isagi freezes.

Kaiser slowly turns his head like a possessed victim.

"...what. Did. You. Say?"

Your baby giggles and points at Isagi again.

"DADA!!!"

Isagi panics, waving his hands, "NO NO NO— I'm not— I didn't— bro I literally just bought some chips—"

Kaiser stands up, handing you the baby like he's about to commit war crimes in the living room.

"Schatz, hold our traitor child. I need a minute."

"Kaiser—"

He storms to Isagi, pokes him in the chest, and hisses:

"YOU. STOLE. MY. DADDY. MOMENT."

Isagi: "WHAT DID I DO??? I JUST SOMETIMES GIVE HIM SNACKS!!!!!"

But just to make the moment worst your toddler yells "Dada!!" reaches for Isagi.

Kaiser fumes with anger.

"I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS."

So he scoops the baby up and storms off like a betrayed husband.

He spends the rest of the day teaching the baby to say:

"Daddy Kaiser."

"Number one."

"World class."

"Isagi stink."

─── and i only have eyes for you

bllk x gn!reader ft. rin, sae, kaiser, kunigami, barou, bachira, aiku

aabi's note: can u tell i hardly know shit abt soccer LOL. it's so hilarious too when u know i keep up w/ daily soccer news and im a huge barca fan. </3 you can find this request here.

synopsis: after a significant win, they ignore the cheerful crowd loudly chanting their name and the overwhelming interviews, running towards you instead.

𝄞𝄢 itoshi rin.

everyone's attention is on rin, watchful and attentive. people are split into two―some praying he wins, others praying for his down fall.

with this final goal ― his final goal ― the results of the match would be determined.

do you ever wish you were good at football?

ragebaiting your bluelock!bf ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, kunigami rensuke, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, barou shoei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, otoya eita, hiori yo, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness, bunny iglesias, vivian hugo, julien loki

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞”

a/n: this was inspired by that picture of ester using mbappe’s jersey shirt to hang her clothes (i’m screaming like that chicken on a tree).

and the title is a lyric from paparazzi by lady gaga! the dubstep version has grown on me significantly 🫪🫪🫪

synopsis: the tuff paparazzi couple photo you post on your story that goes viral for all the right reasons.

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, ness alexis, chigiri hyoma, barou shoei, yukimiya kenyu, iglesias bunny, hugo vivian

isagi yoichi

you've never been particularly fond of paparazzi, especially when you're trying to have a normal day together and then all of a sudden, there's a camera pointed at you from somewhere you didn't even notice, but even you have to admit that the photo they caught of you and isagi is tuff. like, unfortunately for you, the paparazzi ate.

the two of you had been walking through the city after grabbing drinks, casually sharing a pair of wired earpods because isagi had decided that carrying his own pair was "unnecessary" when yours were already plugged into your phone. he had one earpod in his ear, yours in the other, his arm lazily slung around your shoulders while the two of you walked close enough that your sides were practically glued together.

and then, because i guess being an internationally famous football player has done absolutely nothing to teach him about personal boundaries when it comes to your drinks, isagi reached over and stole yours.

the photo catches him mid-sip. he isn't even looking at the camera. he's looking ahead with the most relaxed expression imaginable, one arm remains comfortably around your shoulders, the hand from that arm intertwined with yours, the wire from the earpods hanging between you, all the while you're looking at him with this tiny, amused smile like you've caught him committing the world's least serious crime and have already accepted that you're not getting your drink back.

the composition is ridiculous. the city buildings and stores are slightly blurred behind you, your outfits happen to coordinate without actually matching, and the wire connecting your ears makes the whole thing look like one of those candid photographs people would spend 45 minutes trying to recreate on pinterest.

the caption from the paparazzi account is something bland like: “isagi yoichi spotted out with girlfriend [name] on his day off.”

the internet, however, has absolutely no intention of being normal.

@isagiscleats: THE WIRED EARPODS????? HELLO?????

@yoichisgf: he's drinking HER DRINK with HIS ARM around her shoulders while they're sharing headphones. sedate me.

@bluelockdaily: the fact that he looks so comfortable around her actually hurts.

@strikercentral: isagi yoichi has scored in front of 80,000 people and still looks happier stealing his girlfriend's drink.

the post gets reposted. then reposted again. then somebody edits the photo into a fake album cover. then somebody else posts, "this is what i mean when i say i want a relationship that feels like friendship first."

the picture starts circulating outside the football fandom entirely, because two people sharing wired earphones in 2026 is enough to send the entire internet into cardiac arrest.

isagi eventually sees the photo. he stares at it for several seconds before quietly going, "oh. that’s cute."

you look at him. "you look cute."

he smiles at you and then looks at the comments. "why are people calling me a thief?"

"because you stole my drink."

"you let me."

"did i?"

the photo becomes one of his favorite pictures of the two of you, although he will deny this until the day he dies.

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞”

a/n: this was inspired by that picture of ester using mbappe’s jersey shirt to hang her clothes (i’m screaming like that chicken on a tree).

and the title is a lyric from paparazzi by lady gaga! the dubstep version has grown on me significantly 🫪🫪🫪

synopsis: the tuff paparazzi couple photo you post on your story that goes viral for all the right reasons.

isagi yoichi

the caption from the paparazzi account is something bland like: “isagi yoichi spotted out with girlfriend [name] on his day off.”

the internet, however, has absolutely no intention of being normal.

@isagiscleats: THE WIRED EARPODS????? HELLO?????

@yoichisgf: he's drinking HER DRINK with HIS ARM around her shoulders while they're sharing headphones. sedate me.

@bluelockdaily: the fact that he looks so comfortable around her actually hurts.

@strikercentral: isagi yoichi has scored in front of 80,000 people and still looks happier stealing his girlfriend's drink.

the picture starts circulating outside the football fandom entirely, because two people sharing wired earphones in 2026 is enough to send the entire internet into cardiac arrest.

isagi eventually sees the photo. he stares at it for several seconds before quietly going, "oh. that’s cute."

you look at him. "you look cute."

he smiles at you and then looks at the comments. "why are people calling me a thief?"

"because you stole my drink."

"you let me."

"did i?"

the photo becomes one of his favorite pictures of the two of you, although he will deny this until the day he dies.

#barou shoei x reader

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