airybcby

[airybcby]

spoilers for bllk manga under the cut!

I think, so whole heartedly that nagi was the hardest choice to make to not advance.

i understand it, nagi's one and only goal was to beat isagi. could he have developed more in the future? maybe. but as he was, nagi was done.

he'd teamed up with isagi, won with him.

then he goes back to reo- docile almost.

if you want to play it as 'oh but he's better than-' let me stop you. Nagi hadn't scored in a long while, and yes, when put with chigiri and reo, of course he wouldn't have as many chances

BUT

as a whole, there was no reason he shouldn't have matched or even went above the goals they scored.

yes, nagireo fans are weeping (me too). but i think this was simply the real only way you could get rid of one of isagi's rivals without hurting one.

and if any of yall wish an injury on chigiri we have to box.

[airybcby]

accidentally read too many spiderman rin fics and now I want to write one for every bllk boy 💔

[airybcby]

Ego Jinpachi, you have spoken the truth... Well, the truth I have spoken weeks ago.

Brutal truth, but it has to be spoken. I knew Reo would bargain with Ego, but this is Blue Lock. People who stop dreaming and achieving are bound to be left off.

As always, thanks to bluelock.chapters on IG for feeding me with the leaks today!

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what's misery without company?

♡ a/n — BIG SPOILERS FOR NEWEST CHAPTER IN THE MANGA!!!

♡ word count — 1.8k

♡ content — nagi seishiro x reader, made nagi's parents absent, set after he gets ( SPOILER!! ) 'locked off' , reader is his childhood best friend, unrequited love (?), angst, nagi is depressed, reader gets frustrated with him, kinda hopeful ending, not proofread.

♡ synopsis — even if nagi seishiro never got to play soccer again, at least he had you. but how long could you deal with who he's become?

once again; this fic contains heavy spoilers for the newest chapter of the manga. please do not read ahead if you don't want to be spoiled.

SPOILERS UNDER DIVIDER!!

They drop him off without even stepping inside.

His mom says, “The fridge is stocked.”

His dad mutters, “Let us know if you need anything.”

Then the car pulls away.

No hugs. No questions. No how are you holding up?

The apartment feels cold when he walks in. Sterile. Too clean for someone who's supposed to be living there. A box of fresh fruit sits on the table. A card taped to the front says “Cheer up!” in careful handwriting that isn’t either of his parents'.

Like disappointment is just a fever. 

Like enough Vitamin C will fix it.

He stares at the basket for a full minute before moving it to the corner, out of sight.

Then he sinks into the couch, hoodie up, phone on silent, and disappears.

You show up the next morning, like always.

You don’t knock—you never have. You’ve had a key since you were fifteen and Nagi was too lazy to answer the door during summer breaks. Back then, it was a convenience. Now, it's a lifeline.

The door creaks open, and nothing greets you except the low hum of the TV and the faint scent of fabric softener.

He's curled up in the corner of the couch, knees to his chest, controller idle in his lap. He doesn’t look up.

“Hey,” you say, voice too loud in the silence. “I brought that strawberry soda you like. And a cactus.”

That gets a blink, barely. His gaze flicks to the little green plant in your hands. You walk over and set it beside the one already on the window ledge—tall, spindly, with a little blue card sticking out that reads You Did Your Best!

You glance at it. “That from your parents?”

He shrugs. “They sent a basket, too.”

“Fruit?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes, hands on your hips. “Of course.”

As if a basket of grapes, watermelon, and several other assorted fruits could fill the void that Nagi is experiencing right now.

When all Nagi really needs is a hug from his mom, a talk about how he’s still good enough for his dad.

He says nothing. You sigh, grab the remote, and sit beside him.

The silence stretches.

His mom texts you the next morning.

Can you check on Seishiro? He’s not answering again.

I checked on him yesterday, he’s no better than he was when he came home.

That’s what you want to say. That maybe if she’d just offered her son to come home instead of to that apartment they pay for- maybe she wouldn’t have to text you. 

But everyone’s still too scared to say anything about soccer, even his mom.

But you’ve never really been scared of Nagi Seishiro. Not since he used to hide behind your backpack in elementary school when he was too shy to ask the teacher for a new pencil.

You walk past the untouched meal you left for him yesterday on the counter. 

He doesn’t move when you drop onto the couch next to him.

"You smell like sock and despair," you mutter.

"Mm," he grunts. Which you take as a ‘welcome back.’

You stare at the side of his face, trying to find anything—a spark, irritation, something. But he’s just... blank.

"Alright," you say, standing up. "That’s it. We’re going out."

"No."

"Sei—"

"I said no."

There’s steel in his voice, the kind that’s not usually there. But you don’t flinch.

"I don’t care if you’re pissed or embarrassed or feel like shit, you’re not gonna rot in here like some forgotten leftover. That’s not you."

"You don’t know who I am anymore."

You freeze. The TV keeps playing.

For days, it goes on like this. You come over. You bring food, dumb movies, your presence. Nagi barely speaks. He doesn’t go out. Doesn’t text anyone. He watches you move around the apartment like you’re something distant, safe, unreal.

And maybe that’s why he lets you stay.

Everyone else is too scared to say the word. Soccer. Blue Lock. Twenty-fourth place.

Everyone walks on eggshells.

Except you.

“Sei,” you say one night, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through takeout containers. “You know it’s okay to be mad, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You can punch a pillow or yell at the sky or tell Ego to shove it. You don’t have to act like this doesn’t suck.”

He shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

“No, it’s not. It’s everything.” Your voice cracks. “It was everything.”

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

And you hate how familiar this is—caring too much while he stays five steps removed. You’ve known him since childhood, and he’s always been like this. Unbothered. Aloof. Somewhere far away even when he’s sitting right next to you.

But this? This is worse.

Because back then, Nagi Seishiro was just unmotivated. 

Now, he’s empty.

You used to be the loud one. 

The pushy one. 

Always dragging him around, always getting him to try just one more thing. 

You were there when he picked up a soccer ball for the first time. When Reo showed up and everything changed.

And even when you lost him to Blue Lock, you told yourself you were okay with it. That he was chasing something real. That he'd come back stronger.

But the boy who came back isn’t stronger.

He’s not anything.

And day by day, you feel yourself dimming just to match the low-light gloom he lives in.

You start losing sleep.

Not because he asks you to stay, but because the idea of him being alone in that apartment feels wrong. Like maybe if you leave, he’ll forget to eat. Forget to move. Forget that he's still someone.

And the worst part? You’re forgetting too.

You start skipping hangouts, canceling plans. People stop asking. You stop explaining.

Your whole world shrinks to that quiet apartment and the boy slowly unraveling inside it.

One night, you catch your reflection in the microwave while reheating soup, and you don’t recognize yourself.

Your eyes are tired. Your mouth is tight. You’re wearing his hoodie.

You want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, you stir the soup and focus on the boy who you’re not sure you know anymore.

Weeks pass.

You keep showing up. 

Bringing food. 

Talking at him. 

Sitting in silence when he doesn’t answer. 

You water the plants. 

You stop telling people you’re fine. 

Because you’re not.

You love him.

You love him so much it feels like your chest might collapse when he won’t even look at you some days.

And it’s killing you.

Because how do you love someone who’s not really here anymore?

One night, you find him asleep on the floor. Just lying there, face down, controller nearby, game long since shut off. You kneel beside him and gently brush his hair from his forehead.

"Where’d you go Sei?" you whisper. "The real you."

His eyes open slowly. “Still here?”

“Yeah. Someone has to be.”

You pause. He’s looking at you now. Really looking. And it hurts.

"Why?" he asks, barely above a breath. "Why stay?"

You blink against the sting in your eyes. "Because I just-"

“I’m tired.” his yawn interrupts you.

"I know."

And you do. Because lately? You’re tired too. 

Tired of carrying hope like a burden. 

Tired of being the only one trying to pull him out of a place he doesn't want to leave.

“I don’t know if I can fix this,” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer. 

Just looks at you with that empty, unreadable expression.

And for the first time, you wonder if loving him is going to be the thing that breaks you.

It happens on a Tuesday.

You show up late, soaked to the bone, and slam the door hard enough to shake the picture frames. Nagi doesn’t flinch. He’s on the couch again, hoodie up, controller in hand—pretending to be busy. Pretending like you don’t exist.

You drop the takeout bag on the counter. Hard. You don't bother plating it anymore.

"You’re unbelievable."

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

"You know, I used to think you were just lazy," you say, voice rising as the words tumble out. "That you didn’t care because everything came easy to you. That was annoying, sure, but it was you. It was still something. But this?"

You gesture wildly around the room—the plants, the half-unpacked suitcase, the fading card in the cactus pot.

"This is pathetic, Sei."

Still nothing. Just that blank, empty stare at the screen.

And it breaks you.

"Say something!" you shout. "Get mad! Cry, scream, throw something—anything! Stop just sitting there!"

He finally turns his head, slowly, blinking like he’s trying to process the noise.

He finally glances over. “You’re yelling.”

“Yeah, I’m yelling!” you explode. “Because I love you, and you’re just sitting there letting everything fall apart!”

The words drop like a bomb.

You freeze.

He stares.

And then—softly, like a child asking a question he’s never been allowed to voice—he says:

“…Why?”

Your breath catches.

You stare at him, wide-eyed. He looks genuinely confused. Not cold. Not cruel. Just lost.

He’s looking at you now, really looking—but it’s not awe or fear or understanding in his eyes. It’s confusion. Like he’s genuinely asking. Like he doesn’t get why anyone would choose to love him like this.

You take a breath, then another, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Because,” you say, voice cracking, “someone has to. And no one else is doing it.”

Nagi blinks again. Something in his expression shifts—barely. A twitch. A flinch. Maybe.

"You think I’m gonna give up just because you did?" you continue, stepping closer. "You think I’m just gonna walk away and let you rot here while everything you are slips away?"

“I’m not gonna leave you, Sei,” you say, voice trembling. “Even if you don’t love me. Even if you never love me. I’m staying. Until you can breathe again. Until you can wake up and be okay. With or without me.”

He’s quiet for a long, long time.

Then he glances toward the cactus.

“My parents love me,” he says softly.

You follow his gaze.

The You Did Your Best card flutters in the breeze from the vent.

He points at it.

“They sent that.”

Something inside you breaks.

You laugh, wet and bitter. “That’s not love, Sei. That’s...”

An obligation

A way to tell their friends that he’s fine

It’s…

“Pity, Sei. They don’t know how to help…”

He looks at you, expression unreadable.

You wipe your face and sit down next to him, closer than usual. Your knee brushes his.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whisper. “But if you ever want to come back—if you ever want to be someone again—I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t take your hand. 

Doesn’t cry. 

Doesn’t thank you.

He just leans his head gently against your shoulder, hoodie soft and damp from his hair.

And in that silence, you feel it:

Not healing.

Not forgiveness.

But a beginning.

obviously, we don't know what happens to nagi. but if he doesn't come back, i hope this helps you fans find comfort.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

it’s 3:30…i just read a little over 200 pages of a book…i want to write.

but sleep calls to me

[airybcby]

hate to tell you all…i meant to write a nagi fluff drabble it ended up a 1.8k+ word nagi angst fic…

its going up tomorrow so enjoy!

[airybcby]

hear me out…4 part series- rin x reader - loosely based off would you fall in love with me again? from epic…

just a thought

[airybcby]

got my fearless cardigan in today and i feel like a writer…expect more soon

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i wanna feel guilty, i wanna feel that it's wrong

♡ a/n — for my frat boy! bllk drabbles :)

♡ word count — 885

♡ content — shidou ryusei x fem! reader, fratboy! shidou, sorority president! reader, forbidden love(?), situationship(no real relationship mentioned), kind of angst?, mention of drinking(like once), not proofread

♡ synopsis — Ryusei Shidou knows the feeling of shame all too well. So well that he knows he should feel it when sneaking into your room. But also enough to know he doesn't feel it when you open that window for him.

Ryusei Shidou knows the feeling of shame all too well.

He swears he felt it on the day he was born, when his parents were given the news he was a boy instead of a girl.

He felt it when he first started playing soccer when he was five years old when he got told he played "too rough" for the other kids.

He felt it when he graduated high school and decided to go to college instead of taking an offer from a minor league soccer team.

Ever since entering college, though, Shidou has never had the feeling of shame- actually he's beginning to think he's forgetting what it feels like.

He's on the university soccer team, he's in the best fraternity, he gets to stand on the table and kick people out at parties...

Shidou Ryusei hasn't felt shame in years.

Until right now, when he's climbing up a tree to get to your window.

He can't walk through the door like a normal person because you're president of the most stuck-up sorority on campus.

No parties.

No dating.

Must maintain a 3.8 GPA.

And...Absolutely no fraternizing with one specific frat- that may or may not happen to be the one Shidou is in.

Shidou Ryusei likes to believe shame has become a stranger to him, but as he's tapping on your window his ears suddenly feel hot, his neck itches, and he swears it feels like someone is staring at him.

That all fades whenever you open your window, your face illuminated by the pink led lights you keep on at all times.

Your brows furrow when you see him clinging to the tree branch like some overgrown delinquent raccoon. “You’re gonna fall,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder like someone might’ve heard your window creak open.

As if any of your sisters would be awake at a time like this.

“I’ll die happy,” Shidou mutters back, swinging a leg over the sill with more confidence than balance. He tumbles in, shoulder hitting your floor with a loud thump.

You wince. “Shidou—”

“Babe,” he cuts in, grinning through the pain, “tell me that wasn’t a sick entrance.” He smiles as he puts his arms out and mimics a gymnasts dismount.

You don’t answer.

You just shut the window and draw the curtain.

He watches you, sprawled out on your rug like a reckless golden retriever, his bleached hair all static and his cheek flushed from the impact.

“You know, if anyone sees you—”

“They won’t.” He sits up, eyes scanning your room like it’s the first time he’s seeing it, even though it’s not. Not really.

“You always light those candles when you’re nervous,” he adds, nodding toward the one burning near your desk.

You bite your cheek. “You smell like beer.”

“Only a little,” he shrugs, eyes flicking toward your legs where your pajama shorts end.

“I didn’t drink. Swear. Just… got dared to shotgun one and didn’t want to seem lame.”

You roll your eyes but don’t push him away when he stands, closing the space between you like it’s natural.

Like he belongs here, in this room he’s not supposed to be in, in this secret you’ve been hiding between textbooks and all those stupid rules your sorority drilled into your head.

“Why are you really here, Shidou?”

He hesitates—something he never does. “I dunno. Just wanted to see you.”

Your arms cross. “You climbed a tree because you just wanted to see me?”

He grins, then drops it. “I missed you.”

That hits differently.

Because Shidou Ryusei doesn’t say stuff like that.

He doesn’t do vulnerability.

He does chaos and cocky grins and starting fights at soccer practice just to feel something.

But right now, in the soft pink light of your room, with his shoulders hunched and his hair falling into his eyes, he looks like the boy he used to be—

the one who played too rough,

who always got in trouble,

who never thought he was enough.

Your hands fall to your sides. “You know this can’t...be something.”

“I know.”

“They’ll kick me out.”

“You're the president.”

“And I’ll probably still let you in tomorrow.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile too wide, like he knows he shouldn’t be happy about that, but he is anyway. “Good,” he borderline giggles , brushing a hand against yours.

“As long as I can see you. I don't care if it's in the library or here.” He smiles like he just had the best idea. "Or- you could just come to my frat-"

"Ew. Absolutely not."

"Yeah, okay, I should've expected that." He laughed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

You look at him then, really look at him. Not the frat boy persona. Not the university’s golden player.

Just Shidou—equal parts mess and magic.

You sigh, tugging him toward the bed. “At least take your shoes off this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks, kicking them off like a rebellious kid caught sneaking in after curfew. He flops down beside you, head sinking into your pillow.

And for a moment, the world fades—the rules, the reputations, the shame.

For a moment, it’s just you and him, in a room that smells like vanilla and bad decisions.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.

can i write shidou without it being a little sad? no.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

i need to write but i also need to lock tf in on college work

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° he got that boyish look that i like in a man ;)

♡ a/n — first bsd post in a longggg while!!! enjoy this drabble!

♡ word count — 571

♡ content — ranpo edogawa x gn! reader, secret relationship, fluff, not much else to say tbh, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows...this is how you and ranpo edogawa like to spend your time.

Ranpo has his head in your lap again.

The blinds in the agency office are tilted just enough to let the late afternoon sunlight spill across the floor, warm and honey-colored. Everyone else has gone — Atsushi and Kunikida wrapped up their case earlier, and even Dazai made his usual theatrical exit an hour ago. You’d stayed behind to finish reports, and Ranpo… 

Well, Ranpo had declared he was “on break from being brilliant.”

Which, in Ranpo terms, meant crawling into the couch, eating two lollipops, and then making himself comfortable with his head in your lap.

Your fingers move instinctively to his hair, brushing through the dark strands, careful not to dislodge his ever-present cap. He hums softly, not quite asleep, not quite awake, utterly content in that lazy, boyish way he always is when it's just the two of you.

“Someone’s going to walk in one day,” you say, voice low and amused. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Ranpo’s eyes stay closed, but his lips curl into a smirk. “They won’t. I locked the door.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You locked the—Ranpo.”

“Relax,” he mumbles, patting your knee like you’re the one that’s overreacting. “They all think I went home. Besides… it’s more fun this way, right?”

You exhale through a small laugh, shaking your head. “You and your secrets.”

He peeks up at you, one green eye glittering with mischief. “You like it.”

And he’s not wrong.

There’s no real reason your relationship is a secret. It isn’t forbidden, or complicated, or shameful. 

But there’s something intoxicating about having this quiet little world that belongs to only the two of you — something about the way his hand brushes yours in the hallway when no one’s looking, the way he’ll pass you notes folded into candy wrappers, or catch your eye in a meeting and wink like you’re sharing a joke no one else is in on.

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

And it’s yours.

Ranpo stretches like a cat, limbs long and lazy. “You know, if I were anyone else, I’d get tired of hiding,” he muses. “But I’m the greatest detective in the world. I know how to cover my tracks.”

“Mm. Impressive.”

“And I know,” he adds, voice softening, “that you like keeping secrets.”

You glance down. He’s watching you now, gaze open and sharp despite how relaxed he looks. He’s infuriatingly perceptive sometimes, catching emotions you didn’t even realize you were feeling. 

You wonder if he knows how your heart stutters when he looks at you like that — like you’re not just someone he likes, but someone he chooses, again and again.

Your fingers brush along his cheek. “You make it hard not to.”

His grin widens. “Because I’m cute?”

You laugh under your breath. “Because you’re you.”

It’s a simple answer, but it’s the truth. 

You could list a thousand reasons: his genius, his ridiculous sweet tooth, the way he somehow always finds the softest parts of you without even trying. 

But in the end, it’s just… him. All of him. 

The boyish charm, the childlike laziness, the startling flashes of brilliance — you love it all.

Ranpo hums again, content. He pulls your hand into his, weaving your fingers together and resting them on his chest.

And for a little while, you both just stay like that. 

Quiet. 

Hidden. 

Safe. 

Wrapped in golden sunlight and the shared knowledge of something no one else in the world knows.

is the bsd fandom still alive?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

accidentally posted…well enjoy!

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° in and out of the beams of a neon moon

(frat boy! karasu tabito x reader)

♡ a/n — part of my frat boy! bllk drabble series

♡ word count — 874

♡ content — karasu tabito x fem! reader, fem! reader, karasu is part of alpha delta phi (idk shit abt frats), game night, secret relationship, karasu is so deeply in love, reader wears blue light glasses, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Karasu may be voted one of the top frat f-boys, but even his best friends don't know he leaves events just for you.

which alpha delta phi brother is most likely to not commit to a relationship?

survey says...

otoya eita!

with a very close second runner up...

karasu tabito.

karasu hates game night at the frat, half the time it's just a game of beer pong with some mario kart going on in the basement, but for some reason they wanted to play a family feud type of game this week.

he stares at the screen, his name sitting there as the second choice for that stupid question

while his phone lays in his room with you on facetime, probably studying or watching a movie and waiting for him to be able to sneak away.

"okay! time for the next..." but before the president even finishes his sentence, karasu is sneaking away- quietly and sneakily taking the steps two at a time to get to his room faster

He doesn’t even bother closing the door all the way when he gets to his room. Just lets it swing behind him as he kicks off his slides and crosses the floor in a few strides, collapsing onto the bed with his phone in hand.

“Hey,” he breathes out, screen lighting up with your face mid-yawn, your laptop still open beside you.

You blink, confused for a second, then smile sleepily. “Back already?”

“They were playing some dumb ass version of Family Feud. You’ll never guess what question came up.”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re trying to think. “Which one of you has the worst GPA?” you gasp, your bluelight glasses slipping down your nose. “ Oh! Wait! Most likely to pass out on the roof? Most likely to get banned from Tinder?”

Karasu snorts. “No, but those probably should’ve been on there. It was—” he pauses, dragging a hand over his face as he smirks, “—‘Which Alpha Delta Phi brother is most likely to not commit to a relationship?’”

You raise your brows, amused. “Okay… and?”

“Otoya was number one.” His voice dips with mock offense as you nod in agreement. “But I was second.”

You snicker, leaning closer to the screen. “I mean… it’s just a game, Tabi.”

“They don’t know shit,” he mutters, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling. “They don’t even know I’m in one. That I shouldn’t even be up on that board.”

There’s a pause on your end. Quiet, a little heavy.

He closes his eyes and lets the silence stretch, your presence bleeding into the edges of his messy room—your voice, soft and steady, grounding him like it always does.

“Do you ever want to tell them?” you ask gently, and god, he hears it. 

That nervous little thing beneath your voice. 

The hesitation. 

Like you’ve been holding that question in for a while now.

Karasu doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure he even can.

Because the truth is, he likes that this is just yours. 

This little world where you exist only for him—curled up in your dorm, face bare and hoodie half zipped, telling him about your day while he listens from his twin XL like it’s the only thing that matters. 

The texts under the table. 

The way he can find you in a crowd with one look and keep walking like he doesn’t even know you, only to kiss the breath out of you the second you’re alone again.

It’s his. 

You’re his.

“I will,” he says eventually, voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t know. I like how it is.”

You don’t say anything for a second, but you’re still looking at him. You always look at him like that. 

Like he’s more than the parties, more than the bravado and dumb comments and the beer pong wins he won’t shut up about.

“I like how it is too,” you whisper, and that’s what does it.

That’s the thing.

It just hits him—suddenly and all at once. This slow, quiet thing that’s been building since the first time you laughed at one of his awful jokes. 

Since you called him out at the mixer for being a flirt and then still gave him your number. 

Since the first night he climbed into your bed after a party, not even trying to sleep with you—just be with you.

It’s love. Full-on, unshakable, no-way-he’s-getting-out-of-it love.

And you have no idea.

Karasu swallows. Shifts the phone so it’s closer, like he can reach you through it.

“You still studying?” he asks, but his voice is rough now, and you glance up from your screen with a soft smile.

“Not really. Was just waiting for you.”

That’s it.

That’s the part that kills him.

He exhales, breath catching just a little as he says, “I’m coming over.”

Your eyes widen. “Karasu, it’s almost midnight.”

“I don’t care. I miss you.”

He watches you blink, the surprise turning into something warm—something shy.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He grabs a hoodie, slips his phone into his pocket, and heads for the door.

For the first time all night, he forgets the game. 

Forgets the stupid question. 

Forgets that no one in that frat house knows who really holds his heart.

Because you do.

And tonight, he wants to be with you.

No secrets. 

Just love.

i always write the best for karasu i fear

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❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

was very inspired tn, so expect fics tmrw ( maybe friday ) AND saturday!!

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° bet you resent all of me, all of it

( kenyu yukimiya x reader )

♡ a/n — i love yuki ty and gn

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader, kinda angst?, toxic ish relationship, jumps like a few years , established relationship, cuteness

♡ synopsis — You and Yukimiya Kenyu were the kind of high school couple people talked about like a fairytale. but even some fairytales aren’t meant to have happy ever afters.

You and Yukimiya Kenyu were the kind of high school couple people talked about like a fairytale.

The one people whispered about in the halls — They’re so perfect.

The ones the teachers always paired together for projects, because you work so well together.

The ones who made it look like forever wasn’t just possible — it was guaranteed.

Everyone knew you two were meant to be. There was no question in it — just the quiet certainty that love like yours didn’t fall apart. Couldn’t.

You had the kind of love that looked good in yearbook photos, where he’d press a kiss to your cheek just before the flash, and you’d laugh because it tickled. The kind that held hands under desks and passed notes during lectures and carved your initials into the old bench behind the school.

He would bring you breakfast on exam days. You’d pack an extra water bottle and tape notes to it for his practices.

“You’re so gross,” your friends would tease when he kissed your hand in the hallway. “Jealous?” you’d grin.

There were moments you swore you could hear your future in the quiet between your laughter — a shared apartment, late-night grocery runs, him watching tape, you grading papers or writing your next feature.

It was soft. It was golden. It was yours.

In your last year of high school, everything felt golden. He'd wait by your locker every morning with your favorite drink in hand — oat milk latte, light ice, extra cinnamon.

You’d wear his scarf when it was cold, walk home together just to spend those extra fifteen minutes.

He called you his lucky charm. You kissed him before every game, and he swore it made him play better.

“You're gonna be famous one day,” you told him once, sprawled under the cherry blossom tree near the back field, your heads touching.

He smiled, warm and sure. “Only if you’re there with me.”

You sealed it with your pinkies — two dumb kids with dreams bigger than your town.

The days were slow in a way you’d kill to feel again. Long walks home with his bag slung over your shoulder, heads pressed together beneath the soft rustle of trees. He'd whisper things like "you're my peace,” and you’d kiss him just to make the butterflies settle.

But seasons change — slowly, quietly — and one day you look up and realize it’s colder than it used to be.

And dreams get heavy when you're the only one holding them up.

The first shift was so small you nearly missed it.

A late reply.

A practice that ran long.

“Sorry, coach asked me to stay back. We’re prepping for regionals.”

You waved it off, of course. Of course. He was chasing a dream. You were chasing yours too.

But then late practices turned into no calls. Weekend plans turned into, “I really can’t, I’ve got scouts watching this time.”

He’d still smile. Still say, “Next week, okay?”But next week never came.

You held on for longer than you should have.

You made excuses to your friends. He’s just under pressure. It’s temporary.

You showed up to games, even when he barely waved from the field.

You studied in the library until they closed, waiting for a text that didn’t come.

And he’d kiss your temple when he finally saw you. Apologize with tired eyes. Say he was sorry, that he missed you, that he was trying.

But trying started to feel like something you were doing alone.

The last night is etched into your memory like frostbite.

You were sitting in the ramen shop you both used to love — the kind of place that played soft pop music and gave out extra boiled eggs if you smiled at the owner.

He was on his phone, scrolling through his training schedule, muttering about a new amazing team in Europe. You were telling him about your final essay, your interview with the editor of the local paper. You don’t even think he registered what you said.

“You haven’t asked how my entrance exams went,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, confused. “Shit, I didn’t even realize those were this week—”

“They were four days ago.”

He went quiet. You could see it then, the guilt trying to make its way up to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’ve just been so—”

“Tired. Yeah. I know.”

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Like you weren’t breaking in the middle of the table between the soy sauce and the chopsticks.

He reached for your hand. “I’m still here.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

And you knew it. Knew it like people know storms before they see the clouds.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg.

You just left. Quietly. As if you’d never been there to begin with.

“I think I need someone who shows up. Take care, Kenyu.”

And like all the things he meant to say but never did — he didn’t respond.

The conference room smells like coffee and flashbulbs. You keep your head down, scribbling notes, pretending your heart isn’t racing like it used to.

Bastard München. Yukimiya Kenyu. A name you’ve read a thousand times in headlines, in player rankings, on the backs of jerseys. But it still feels unreal to see him like this — pressed shirt, cold water bottle, practiced charm.

He walks in and the air shifts.

He’s sharper now. More elegant. There’s a weight to him, but he carries it like armor. A star who’s used to being looked at — and yet the moment he sees you, he falters.

Just for a second. But you catch it.

You look away.

He answers questions like nothing’s wrong, but his eyes keep drifting. Back to you. Back to everything you used to be.

You leave before it ends.

You can’t breathe.

It’s storming by the time you’re outside. Rain soaks through your coat. You curse the weather, your job, yourself.

And then—

“Hey.”

His voice, behind you. Just like you always remembered it.

You turn.

He’s drenched, hair sticking to his forehead, jacket clinging to him. He looks like a boy again — like your boy, not the world’s.

“I didn’t think you’d actually be here.”

You laugh once, bitter. “Neither did I.”

Silence. Rain dripping from both your chins.

“You look good,” he says.

You meet his eyes. “You look exactly the same,” you snap. “Still late to the things that matter.”

That hits. He steps back, rain dripping from his lashes. “I deserved that.”

“You deserved more than what I gave you, back then,” he adds. “I know that now.”

Your throat tightens.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continues. “Chasing the dream. Getting out. Proving I could survive everything I went through—”

“And I was proud of you, Kenyu. I always was.” Your voice cracks. 

“But I waited. And waited. And eventually I stopped asking you to show up because I knew you wouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d understand.”

“I did. That’s the worst part.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize the pain.

“I miss you.”

It slips out like he’s been holding it in for years. “I never stopped. You were the best thing in my life, and I let it go like it didn’t matter.”

He reaches for you. “Please. Let me try again. Just once. I swear I’d do it right this time.”

And god, your heart wants to say yes. But your chest only burns.

You look at him — this boy who had the world in his hands and forgot you in the process — and say:

“Maybe we can have coffee whenever Mr. Pro Soccer Player finally decides to come home.”

Then you walk away.

You don’t look back.

Because if you do, you’re not sure your mind could win over your heart.

It was a week later when you got a message. Late at night.

Later than anyone in your circle would be awake.

YUKIMIYA KENYU:I’m home.

If you’re still around.

There’s coffee. Extra cinnamon. I didn’t forget.

oh yukimiya they could never make me hate you.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° hypnotic, takin' over me

♡ a/n — airy get back into writing for other fandoms challenge START! ( starting with this drabble :) )

♡ word count — 835

♡ content — suna rintaro x fem! reader, goody two shoes reader, readers parents don't like suna, judgmental parents, probably ooc suna, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Suna Rintaro was trouble, maybe. But he was your kind of trouble.

Your parents absolutely despise Suna Rintarou.

They absolutely loathe your boyfriend.

Not because he's a bad kid, no, but because he just "looks like trouble," according to your mom.

Was it also because they caught you kissing him in your room when you thought they weren't home? Maybe...

You can still remember that day with mortifying clarity—your mom's gasp, the thud of a dropped grocery bag, the way Suna blinked like he was waking up from a dream, then immediately jumped three feet back from you. You’d never seen him move so fast. You hadn’t even kissed him like that, either. It was soft, quick, all lips and little breathless laughs. Nothing worth a scandal.

But that didn’t matter. Not to your parents. Not when he was involved.

You were their “perfect girl.” Their straight-A, curfew-following, college-prepping, never-skipped-a-day-of-class daughter. You always wore your seatbelt. You always said thank you. You always kept your promises.

And yet.

Somehow, this six-foot-something, sarcastic, sleepy-eyed volleyball player had slipped right through the cracks in your armor.

Because with Suna, it wasn’t about rebelling.

It wasn’t about defying your parents.

It was about the way your heart pulsed when he looked at you like you were a secret he was lucky to keep.

The way time slowed when his fingers traced idle shapes against your thigh beneath the lunch table.

The way the world felt muted until he was near, until his voice slid into your ears like your favorite song.

He never asked you to choose. Not once. Never asked you to lie. Never pushed.

But you did it anyway.

You told your mom you were going to a study group—when in reality, you were curled up in Suna’s lap on his couch, his hand buried in your hair as you half-watched a movie and half-listened to him complain about his team’s early morning practice.

You told your dad you were at the library—when you were actually sneaking Suna in through the side gate and into your room, where his shoes would be neatly placed under your bed and his hoodie would hang in your closet behind the ones your parents bought you.

It was a rush. A terrifying, euphoric rush.

Every door click. Every creak of the stairs. Every time you shoved him into your closet when you thought you heard a car pull into the driveway.

Every muffled laugh behind your hand when he mouthed “this is so dumb” from between your winter coats. Every near-catch made your blood sing.

You told yourself you were being careful. That your parents would never think to check your room during the day.

That your friends, suna's teammates, and even Kita would never rat you out. (They didn’t. Ever. Even when your mom grilled them separately.)

You wanted to be good. You still did. You loved your parents. But being good had never felt this hollow before.

Not after you’d tasted something more.

Because the truth was—Suna made you feel alive. Not in the reckless, fast-burning kind of way. But in the way that reminded you you were your own person, not just someone who’d been groomed to check every box.

With him, you could be quiet. You could be chaotic. You could cry. You could laugh until your stomach hurt. You could exist without performance.

And yeah, maybe he wasn’t the kind of boy your parents envisioned for you. He wore his uniform slouched, his hair perpetually tousled, his expressions unreadable. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t flatter them. He didn’t play along.

But he loved you like it was instinct.

He’d tug you away from busy hallways and press a kiss to your temple because he missed you.

He’d send you photos of stray cats with captions like “this one’s you” and you’d know exactly what he meant.

He’d catch your wrist when you were spiraling and say, “Hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” And he always did.

You’d watch the way he held back around your house. The way he tried, even when he didn’t say he was.

He stopped swearing around your mom. He once ate the casserole she made even though he hated onions. He complimented your dad’s car. He called them sir and ma’am and left through the front door when they were expecting him—only to climb in through your window two nights later when he wasn’t.

He was trouble, maybe. But he was your kind of trouble.

And somewhere along the line, you realized you weren’t afraid of getting caught anymore.

You were afraid of a life where you didn’t have him in it.

Where you followed all the rules, ticked every box, and still came up empty.

Because being good never felt half as good as Suna Rintarou saying, “I don’t care what they think. I can play nice with them for you.” and meaning every word.

if you can't tell based off my other account ( @airybcbee ) I love suna

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ taglist : ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @reigensuperstar join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[airybcby]

AHHH BLLK, HAIKYUU, AND BUNGO STRAY DOGS FICS TMRW!! GET HYPE