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mikiruie · 2 days ago

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what? i’m an angel!

── RANZE KURONA ﹕ 黒名蘭世 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. fluff + suggestive — mdni. skater!au. u-20!ensemble cameos. aged up kurona ( 19 ). established relationship. childhood friends -> lovers. bitemarks + hickies. making out. implied / referenced sex. referenced alcohol / drinking. petnames ( baby, angel, cutie, etc ) word count 7256 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

( June 23 — 18:05 )

The familiar graffiti that lines the inner walls of your town’s skate rink has become a second home to you. Not because you skate though, roller blading is way more of your thing anyways as opposed to grinding rails on a board. However, it is very cool to watch.

Many a skater have left their mark on this park and bowl, evident from almost every square inch of its concrete surface having been painted on with spray cans, brushes and splatters of all shapes, sizes and colours. In some places you can even make out the faint brush strokes from decades ago that have now been permanently etched into the creations themselves.

The majority of the once new artistry and its lustre has faded over the years, yes— the colours that used to be brilliantly blinding hues of blue and green are now dulled and grey in tune with the concrete that surrounds it, not as vibrant as some of the much more recent artwork that has been laid down in the last few years by much more professional artists rather than the bored, rebellious teenagers in the bleak early hours of the morning from years past.

Though despite that, much of the original murals and wonderful lettering has still withstood the test of time itself. The bubble words are still completely legible after all these years in spite of hundreds of boards and wheels having skid and worn down the paint layers over time, and you have no doubt that a few particularly artistic individuals in your neighbourhood are definitely coming here to this rinky dink skate rink every so often to relay a fresh coat of paint in the old work’s place— possibly drawing on some even more legally questionable graffiti on while they were at it if you really thought hard enough.

This rink in particular was built for your small city with a population of less than a hundred thousand residents probably somewhere around the late 90’s, so around thirty or forty something years give or take has it been a sanctuary for skaters of several generations. A safe space for the little community that had formed over the many years, grown and passed down to the current generation for them to gather and have a late night skate sesh whenever they desired as the sun set just behind the patch of trees in the distance.

Nobody was barred from the skate park, even if you weren’t necessarily a skater yourself. Which is why you were perfectly content with having your legs hanging off the lip of the rink’s edge as you admired the artwork in it’s hull several feet below you, not needing to worry about someone kicking you out for hogging up the space that was meant for the “real skaters” to use.

At first it was scary hanging around the rink by yourself. For one, it’s pretty deep— nearly half the depth of the average backyard pool. And two, because you didn’t skateboard, though you quickly learned that sliding down the concrete dip is a lot of fun all on it’s own and that the users of your local rink didn’t care whether you actually skated or not.

In fact, they encouraged anybody to come and use the rink whenever and however they pleased, skater or not as long just as long as they didn’t vandalize the equipment the skaters used for their tricks like the rails and ramps, or damage the rink’s artwork. They even let beginner skaters use the bowl to their will as they learned how to master the art of the board, and many of the older and more experienced skaters were well known as go-to’s for skating advice as a newbie.

It was a good thing that this rink was inclusive to others, and especially to beginners. Oftentimes you’d see the regular skaters of the neighbourhood swing by, board tucked neatly underneath one arm with a younger sibling’s hand held in the other.

The smaller child would usually be decked out head to toe in safety gear too; a thick helmet with foam padding on the inside, knee and shoulder pads that were almost the size of their entire forearms, mostly forgotten about hand guards, the whole shabang— with all of their gear so obviously being hand-me-downs from their cool older brother or cousin who had either grown out of the sport or had gotten better equipment as the years passed.

It wasn’t unusual for children to play in the park nearby on their scooters or when just starting out how to roller skate or blade. It was closer in proximity to the local elementary school and had more surface area to ride around on after all. Though the really daring kids (or the ones that just pestered their older siblings enough) would be brought to the fifteen feet deep skate rink just a short five minute walk away, dragging their scooters along or slowly skating their way over hand in hand with their authority figure.

You sat and watched as they slowly eased into the rink, allowing themselves time to mentally prepare as they took their first deep in on their boards even if they were scared shitless. You’d always give an encouraging cheer of applause, paired with a megawatt smile and an accompanying encouraging compliment to go along with it.

“Wow! You’re so good,” or a “You’re much better with your skates than I was at your age, don’t worry,” you’d always tell them with a light hearted chuckle. It was heartwarming seeing the burning determination and passion that each skater, new and old, held in their eyes as they practiced for the first or the thousandth-time on the rink, and it was especially evident in the younger, beginner skaters.

A few groups come and go, but since the sun is setting the majority of the ones with younger kids in tow don’t stay long. You wave each group goodbye as they go about their merry way after their own sessions, and close your eyes as you take in the surrounding tranquility of the skate park’s sounds.

The timid rustling of tree leaves, occasional chirping of crickets in the bushes, and a melody carried by the wing’s song as it chimes all throughout the air around you.

You take it all in slowly, allowing yourself to still to a halt as you sink yourself into nature’s own symphony. You do enjoy the lively chatter of the bustling skating community despite not being a true member, but a moment of silence every now and again is welcome too.

The weather today is great for skateboarding, and as always earlier in the day you had spotted tons of them in this exact rink, socializing and enjoying the start of the summer months. Many came again with siblings of their own as they took advantage of school being out for the year and the clear blue skies to teach the younger ones a thing or two in skating.

Though now, the skate rink is unusually empty. You find it to be a little odd considering that this time of day is what many of the skaters in your area’s called the prime meeting window for a skate sesh, one that isn’t too late but not too early.

Even with the setting sun, it’s still quite hot outside. As expected though during the summer season.

The last handful of the rink’s regulars have already left by now, you overheard in passing conversation with their group that they headed to the Lawson down the street, leaving you alone to your whims as a brisk summer breeze sweeps by to cool your body’s steadily rising temperature.

The wind sends a shiver up your spine as it flies with ease through your baggy, lightweight clothes. It’s not the kind of a shudder you’d get from an artificially made breeze or flurry. Instead it’s a soothing, refreshing one. Your hand reaches involuntarily to rub at your exposed forearms to warm you back up, and you feel goosebumps form along the surface of your skin from the evening air’s chilly wisps.

You click the heels of your sneakers together in boredom. Tongue in cheek, you take notice of a shadow that creeps up from behind you. Though rather than being terrified, you’re filled with giddy excitement inside.

A dark green corduroy jacket soon floats down onto your shoulders and drapes over your figure, warming the sides of your arms back up again as the familiar scent of strawberries embedded within the fibers takes over your senses almost instantaneously, filling your mind and body as you take a deep inhale, being unable to help the cheesy grin that quickly spreads across your face upon recognition of the clothing’s owner.

“Ranze!”

Your boyfriend drops down on the rink’s edge right beside you, settling by your side and slugging an arm over your shoulder to pull you in closer, and you press your face into his chest with a content hum.

The scent of clean soap and shampoo still clinging to his hair mixes with the already overwhelming and intoxicating aroma of honey mixed in with the laundry detergent he uses (that he knows you love so much) from his jacket as you snuggle into the frame of his chest, squishing your cheek against his toned arm in glee.

“Where have you been, baby?” You ask, adding a playful pout and the drawl of a whine towards the end of your question. “Been waiting forever, y’know.”

Your boyfriend hums in response, the setting sun’s orange hues turn his ashy-pink hair to a more auburn burnt sunsietta. You notice that he took out the braid he usually does on the left side of his hair that he keeps in for skateboarding from earlier.

“Shower, shower. I went to go shower after the sesh,” a soft kiss is planted on the crown of your forehead at his words, “Didn’t want angel to hug me after I skated for three hours straight.”

Ranze skates a lot.

When you were both children he actually didn’t know how to skateboard. He instead picked up rollerblading around the same time as you did when you were both seven, doing weekend laps around your little cul de sac before ending the day off with a sweet treat from the convenience store.

And when you got to high school, Ranze mainly switched over to skateboarding, though if you asked he would still be down to rollerblade with you during the weekends, even if he was slightly rusty now.

The change seemed a little out of the blue at first, though it wasn’t until a few months ago that he admitted (shyly, might you add, and on video caught by his skater pals while he was drunk) that he had done so because he thought that you’d find him cooler if he knew how to skateboard.

While the reason was a silly attempt to impress you, ultimately you’re glad that he decided to pick up the hobby. Ranze, the boy you had known since childhood to be quite reserved and somewhat reclusive around others, soon found solace in the little skating community of your neighbourhood after he had made his first trip to the rink the same day he purchased his first skateboard, resulting in him opening up to others and gaining a whole new friend group whose bond was held together by the glue that was their love for late night skating.

Since getting together, you had met the lot of them on numerous occasions. They all got together regularly, normally during sunrise to hang out and skate to their heart’s content. They were nice people, and overall you were just relieved to find out that Ranze wasn’t fraternizing with any bad people.

They were welcoming, not judging your lack of skating expertise and instead asking you more about rollerblading when you found out a couple of them did skate or rollerblade as well when they were grinding or doing kickflips off the skate park’s stairs.

The guy who oddly reminded you of a honey bee due to his blond highlights (who also told you, very proudly, that he did them himself with help from his mom) actually asked if you could bring your skates to the next sesh, he’d bring his too so the two of you could skate together.

Needless to say, you spent a long time digging through your closet for those skates that night.

The group knew you. To them, you were Ranze’s girl, the girl he had known since before he could walk and who liked to sit back and watch her boyfriend do tricks with his friends at the rink late into the night.

And that special title of being Ranze’s girlfriend makes your chest feel heavy with wistful desire, your heart sing joyfully, and your normally polite and reserved smile stretch ear to ear in both appreciation and happiness.

Ranze’s friends learned two things the day he swung around with you hanging off his arm, unable to pull away like stickly sweet tree sap unless it was to watch him skate to his heart’s content in the park’s bowl.

One, You adore Ranze. And two, Ranze adores you.

“Aw, but you know I don’t mind, sweet boy . . .”

You blow a puff of hot air into the cusp of his ear to tease, and when he threatens to reel himself away from you with a loud whine you cling to him even more, watching as he hides his reddened face into the sleeve of his cotton weaved sweater with a satisfied grin.

“Ranze,” you call for him again, with a voice that teeters on the edge of seduction and playfulness. Even with his averted eyes you know he was all ears from the way his head perked up slightly at the sound of your voice,

Your boyfriend really likes the way you say his name.

Whenever you say it, it forces your mouth to break out into a big, toothy grin, something he always loves to see from you. Neither of you tend to smile with your teeth very often for differing reasons— Ranze for his subconscious insecurity of his jagged, shark-like enamel that stemmed from his childhood of dealing with his braces riddled crooked teeth, and you for never liking the way your smile comes out looking in photos or videos, no matter how many times you practiced in the mirror or tried to come to love it on it’s own terms.

Every childhood photo of the two of you is remembered with a closed mouth, simmered smile. Friends, family, schoolmates, they were greeted by it all the same.

But in only the pictures where it's the two of you together, you're both beaming brilliantly in each other’s presence. It became more apparent to him when you began dating, how your carefree cackles and open mouthed smiled were reserved for him, and him alone in the comfort of one another.

“Hm . . .”

Overcome with cuteness aggression, Ranze settles for simply pinching your cheek gently as a means to reprimand you. Not enough for it to hurt, but it definitely feels ticklish. You squirm around in his hold, hand clasped around his as you try to pry his hand off, the skin of your face only stinging lightly when he lets go.

“No, no. You wouldn’t like me when I’m all sweaty, angel,” he insists stubbornly, and you pout at that.

“You don’t smell that bad when you sweat, baby.”

He simply shrugs, letting his head rest atop yours, warm hand intertwining with your own. The cuticles at the ends of his fingers are dry and cracked from his incessant picking, despite your pleas and pouts for him to stop that god awful habit. “Reo told me I do, though.”

You playfully gasp at that sentiment. “Well he’s wrong!” You declare loudly, and Ranze is a bit taken aback, raising a brow at you quizzically.

“Why are you so hung up on this, angel?” He asks curiously, biting the inside of his cheek and tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Is there something wrong with me taking a shower?”

Giggling at his naivety, your grip on his forearm becomes tighter as you snuggle further into his hold, scooching closer to his side. The concrete scrapes at your denim shorts, fraying the hem as the frost-bitten air sweeps its way up the jacket that Ranze has pulled around your frame.

“No,” you shake your head affirmatively with a longing smile, “‘just . . . wanted to see you sooner.”

Your gaze drifts downwards while speaking, flickering from the skin between his eyes, down the slope of his nose and settling on his lightly chapped lips with a low timber in your voice. A chill nips at your heart, yearning to pull yourself closer into his embrace— itching for him to hold you tight as your thighs squeeze together in want.

A strained whimper of his name reaches his ears faintly, although muffled by the sleeve of his sweater. He leans down to your level, acting as if he didn’t hear you clearly enough as he holds your gaze with his own.

“Yeah, angel?”

Another whine rips from the back of your throat at that beloved pet name of yours, lips pushing out into a pout. Glossy and inviting, his mind wanders to endless nights that start with both of you tangled in messy sheets, where your lips become swollen and chapped by the time the sun rises, and he wonders if you’re really the angel he makes you out to be to his friends.

There’s a stark change in the air around the both of you, and Ranze seems to notice the shift in your demeanor too. He can tell from the way you press his arm further into the cleavage of your loosely form fitting shirt, tempting him to take a peek down past your nude coloured bra. Whether intentional or not, he inhales sharply at the sensation of your plush breasts pressed flush against his arm, separated only by the flimsy fabric of the home-tee you threw on without second thought before running over here and the jacket he gave you earlier.

Ranze knows that look in your eyes. Sultry without intending to be, when you avoid looking directly at him to save face but your body gives away your desires without a hint of a lie laced in your actions.

You do this all the time, pretending to be innocent and shying away in order to not be the one making the first move. He knows you want him to be the one to lead you into a kiss first, to take the lead more often because you enjoy the feeling of him taking charge even if the other ninety-percent of the time in the relationship you’re the one who holds the reigns.

So, he listens to your silent pleas, your unspoken cravings for his touch by crashing his lips into yours first. The startled squeak that erupts out of your throat slowly melts away, turning into pleased hums and indulgent murmurs as a satisfied smile settles on your face.

This song and dance is familiar to the both of you. You lead him right into the palm of your hands with fleeting touches and honeyed words of affection in order to get what you want. And it works like a charm without fail, lending it’s 100% success rate to the way that Ranze always manages to find himself succumbing to your whims and pleas each time as he carves his affections for you deep into his heart with each makeout you goad him into.

And despite being the first to initiate this time, Ranze lets you set and control the pace at your own will. Even though he’s definitely more assertive now than from earlier in the relationship, you’re still the one in control. He follows obediently, unwavering.

Not that it bothers you greatly, since it means that you get to have a little extra fun with him on top of that.

“Did you— mm, have to sneak out again?” you giggle in between kisses, tugging on the dog tag of his chain necklace to pull him in closer. Ranze lets out a sound akin to a groan, still too entranced in the kiss but audibly embarrassed by the desperation in his tone.

“No . . .” he admits reluctantly, pulling away from your lips momentarily to catch his breath. His chest rises and falls in sync with yours in a rhythm, perpetual and gentle just like him. “I snuck out again to see you.”

You scoff, biting the bottom of your lip to subside the giggle that nearly makes it’s way up your throat.

“Wow, okay you rebel,” you quip as a joke. “Your parents are gonna get mad at you again if you keep doing it.”

“Then stop making me want to see you all the time . . .” His pout deepens at your teasing, followed by a beautiful red blush that crawls its way up his neck and spreads across his cheeks. It’s so boyish the way he tries his best to conceal as much of it as he can, averting his gaze and bringing the sleeve of his shirt up to his face to hide behind.

You sit back satisfied as you dwell in the giddiness of the moment while you let him calm down his racing heart. Sometimes you have to resist grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him around like a chew toy. He gets so easily flustered when being teased by you, something his skater friends were quick to catch on to and poke fun of after having you hang around with their group for a few skate seshs so they could “see what Ranze’s girl was like.”

(“His eyes never leave you when he skates!” Isagi had huffed once while on a convenience store run with you, as the two of you purchased slushies and boxes of candy at the nearby 7/11 for the rest of the group. “I swear, he’s going to break his head open one day just because you’re watching him.”

You simply giggle at the observation, keen and intrigued about your boyfriend’s habits. “Is that true?” You ask him, the three extra large, overflowing slurpees in your arms starting to numb the bare skin they touched.

Isagi sighs, shaking his head. “Well, yeah. But we want you to stick around.”

“You’re good for Ranze, so it’d be a shame if you stopping coming around.”)

His flustered face is adorable you think as his sleeve drops and his lips draw closer to yours, the warmth from his breath ghosting over your lips invitingly. The hot air of both your breaths mixes with each other, and you can still make out a light pink reminiscent of his roaring blush from earlier that still dusts his cheeks.

The only difference now is that his eyes are more narrowed, glazed over and darkened with desire that swirls in his eyes— and a deep sense of want pools inside your tummy at the dreamy sight.

“And who made me like this, angel?”

The delicate skin around your lips is swollen now from his work as he tries not to bite down too hard on the fragile skin, cautious to not accidentally cause you to bleed with his sharpened teeth.

It’s happened before, you still remember the horrified look on his face when he pulled back and all he saw on your lips was scarlet red blood, the colour draining from his face before you knew what was happening as he quickly puller out a box of tissues from his bedside drawer.

(‘Baby, what’s wrong?’ You asked, confused at how your boyfriend’s mood could apparently flip on a dime, tongue darting out instinctually to lick away your spit before your eyes widen at the recognizable metallic taste in your mouth.

It wasn’t long until you had pulled out your phone’s camera app to check for sure, slightly surprised and maybe a little bit amused at the sight of bright red splotches staining your mouth as Ranze scrambled to grab a fistful of tissues for your bleeding lip.

“Wait— Ranze, I don’t need this many tissues!”

“Tissue, tissue!”)

The first couple of times it occurred he grew hesitant to make a move again, scared of kissing you again in fear of hurting you for a second time. His kisses for the next little while gentle and featherlight, akin to how he’d treat a priceless glass dove perched atop the mantle of his grandma’s fireplace. Meant to be out of his reach, for good reason lest he accidentally sent it tumbling to the floor, shattering it into a million pieces beneath him.

Little pecks here and there aren’t enough to satisfy you, though. They were sweet, and filled with the same innocent love he held in his heart for you that made you giggle relentlessly when you thought of him, but you simply craved more from your too timid and reserved boyfriend.

His pliancy towards you left a searing, aching fire in your heart that just couldn’t be contained, though Ranze hates to think about how he could hurt you in any capacity with his jagged enamel (and you’d hardly call a nipped lip an injury at all until you assure him that it was no big deal— slyly admitting to him that a part of you liked when he got so into the feeling of your warm mouth and pillowy lips that he bit down on the fragile skin, all while you pawed at the underside of his hoodie with a certain resolve twinkling in your eyes.

Your lips weren’t the only thing that went red that night, evidenced by the morning after you spent the night at his house while his parents were away and you woke up to a few red indentations of bite marks littering your shoulders and expanse of your skin, along with a very worried boyfriend whom you had to calm down repeatedly after he got an eyeful of the handiwork he had left on your body a few hours prior.)

Your head tilts in faux innocence and glee at his words, maintaining your facade of blissful ignorance.

“Me?”

Dusty pink gemstones for eyes sweep all along your face, studying your facial features intensely before landing on your soft, plump lips. They twitch up slightly at the ends, shiny and slick with both of your spit from earlier. Without a word, he wipes some of it’s remaining essence away with the pad of his thumb, and you pucker your lips to kiss it’s grooved surface as one final push over the edge before he tucks it under your chin swiftly.

A simmered “yeah, you” manages to barely escape past his lips before tilting your head upwards and encasing your mouth with his once more. Pleasantly surprised, you happily abide by his lead when his hand drifts to the side of your face, holding you close as the sunset behind you warms both your hearts full.

He drinks up all the delighted giggles and squeals that come from you with ease, the feel of your warm mouth molding and meshing with his own in perfect harmony. The familiar taste of strawberries on his tongue soon begins to coat yours too, and you hungrily pull him in closer by the hem of his sweater’s hoodie to taste the delicate flavour more carefully.

His hand presses lightly against your backside as he lets you reel him in further, and then there’s the sharp edges of his teeth too. You love it when he’s like this; lost in the sensation of your lips on his while still trying to keep himself in check, and while it is adorable how careful he is, you bite down on his lip as a tease, enabling him to groan into your mouth and push his limits further.

“Ranze,” you whisper his name in between kisses like a gentle melody to his ears, “Stop holding back.”

He makes a noise of dismay, muffled by you slipping your tongue into his mouth before he can protest. “Can’t, I can’t.” He surmises weakly, eyebrows knitting as he tries to pull away from your soft lips before being pulled back in by you.

You’re Ranze’s first girlfriend (and you intend to be the last, too) so everything about love he knows has been taught by you, for you.

His demeanor is akin to a little puppy who hasn’t been trained or taught any tricks yet. When you first became boyfriend & girlfriend, it was up to you to show him the ropes. Adjusting to PDA that wasn’t platonic (though honestly with him you don’t think it ever was), helping him build the courage to tell his parents you two were a thing now (they suspected it for years), and showing him what made you feel good.

It was a long winded and careful process. It felt . . . odd that the shy little boy you had known since childhood who kicked a soccer ball around with you when bored was now giving you featherlight kisses along your tummy before going down on you. It was strange that the friend who used to hide behind you in line when you corrected the cashier, saying “he asked for no pickles” was now sucking hickies so deep and noticeable onto your neck that you’d have to hide them later with thick layers of colour corrector and concealer while he muffled the sounds of your moans with two fingers slipped past your glossy lips.

It was scary knowing that the bite marks that littered and tainted the surface of your once untouched and smooth skin had been caused by the same guy who had practically pleaded with you to come with him to the pet store to buy a new pet once his parents had finally relented and given him permission. That same innocently delighted gaze you had grown to know and love through the years, one that filled with glee when he first laid eyes on a cute little hedgehog in the shop’s window now looked up at you, his eyes now hazed and clouded over with lust while he sucked on your clit like a baby to it’s bottle until you let out a loud, hiccupy cry as you came all over his tongue.

He keened into your perverted fantasies wordlessly without question or fear, letting you take him by the hand and dive head first into a scary new world of firsts that neither of you had ever experienced or encountered before.

Your first kiss? Stolen by him at the doorstep of your home after your first date, granted it was just a quick peck on the lips. His first time? Gave his virginity to you on his 18th birthday when he nervously admitted that was all he wanted as his present (and damn, you did not disappoint).

Everything is all so new, so raw to him. And he wants to experience as many new firsts as he can with you. So he’ll let you have his way with him, let you prod and poke around to test what he’s comfortable with.

And though he’s still a little hesitant each time (he still gets all nervous and red in the face if you so much as even smile at him while he’s with his friends), he’s much bolder now than he was a few months prior.

He takes control more often, something that delights you as he tries to push your lips away from his in order to bare himself from becoming too greedy, but you manage to reel him back in each time.

He knows you like it when his hand settles on your thigh when you make out, so he lets it trail downwards to hug you by the waist before letting it rest right above your shorts. Skimming the hem and threatening to slip his fingers underneath to palm at the soft, plush skin of your thighs.

Ranze knows you love when you can easily hold onto his hair when kissing, so he makes sure to guide your hand up the back of his head where he relishes in the feeling of your knuckles curling into the hair, grabbing fistfuls for your own enjoyment and pulling him closer and deeper into your embrace.

He hates to admit it but whenever you do tug a little on his hair, it turns him on just a bit.

Or maybe a whole lot if the bulge in his sweats has anything to do with it.

The sudden realization of his growing boner shocks him back into reality as he pulls away from you in a hurry out of sheer embarrassment, reeling backwards with his hands on your shoulders in the hopes that you didn’t feel the massive hard on of his that he’s now sporting against your thigh. Only this time when he detaches himself from your lips it’s a lot more forceful, pushing you away with his palms and shifting himself over to the side.

“House.” He breathes out, need dripping from his tongue. His face is flushed pink, matching the maroon in his hair. You have to resist biting his cheek from how cute he really is to you.

“House. Let’s go back to my house . . . please.”

“Sure thing, cutie.”

. . .

( August 24 — 13:35 )

Today, Ranze is out skating with his friends again. Only this time you’re not here, having a prior commitment to attend to— much to his dismay.

“Sorry, baby:((” You had texted him early this morning, this crisp, wonderful morning that he can’t share with you because you’re not with him. “My mom asked me to go grocery shopping this week, and it’s kindaa like a whole day affair so I won’t be able to see you today:( I’ll make up for it tho, kk?”

Although he responded with a heart reaction to your messages and a casual “sure. see you tmrw angel,” not being able to see you today was fucking with him in a lot more ways than he thought. Normally on the weekends he’d skate around the neighbourhood with you in tow for the majority of the day (slowly, so that you could keep up with his pace) before ending it off with a convenience store run and a quick make out on his living room couch before his parents came back home from work.

Weekends are his favourite, but with you unavailable they’re not all that special. He’s fed and watched Pocari for quite a few hours now, and even though he loves the little hedgehog he adopted with you, there’s only so many hours he can sit and watch Pocari play with his nutrition ball on the floor of his bedroom until one grows tired of it.

So when his friends call him up spontaneously asking for another skate sesh at the park later on in the afternoon, Ranze agrees almost immediately, grabbing his deck propped up against his bed and bolting out the door and down to the park in an instant.

But it’s almost like as soon as he meets up with them and instead of dipping into the bowl he sits on it’s rim and stares at the graffiti art etched into the concrete (most of it was done courtesy of Bachira) that they can tell something is . . . off today about him.

Once they realize that a certain someone isn’t hanging off his arms today is when it all clicks for them.

It feels strange not having you around for once hanging out with him and his friends at the rink. The shift in character from both Ranze and the general atmosphere of the session is obvious, and the guys try not to point out the way Ranze is obviously not putting his all into his grinds like normal.

That is until Reo pipes up.

“. . . Sooo,” he decides to be the one to break the ice first, taking a swig from the beer bottle in his hand while he makes a huge show out of searching the rink for your lack of presence. It’s quite obnoxious how he puts a hand up to his head and scans the so obviously empty skate park for any signs of life while the rest of the group laughs along.

“Where’s your angel baby, Kurona?” He muses jokingly, plopping his skateboard onto the ground right beside him. “She seems to be missing right now.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ranze merely huffs in response, barely entertaining him and his antics.

“It’s really really weird when you call her angel.”

The other guys of the group stifle a giggle as Nagi elbows the billionaire just below his rib cage before he can open his mouth again. “Can you please keep your mouth shut for once?” He drawls, and their gazes shift towards Ranze, who simply spins the wheels on the underside of his board with a complacent but distant look on his face.

“He’s acting like his girlfriend went and died,” Bachira comments cheekily with a grin, to which Kunigami nods. “Yeah, it’s a little weird. It’s not like she left the country or even city either . . .”

“Geez, man. If you’re that miserable without her here, then go hang out with her instead of us.” Chigiri quips up wittily without thinking. The other guys protest in good fun, saying “Aw, Chigiri! Don’t be so mean to him!” and “Yeah Princess, Kurona’s just missing his angel baby so much right now!” paired with loud hollers and the sounds of kissy faces being made at him (probably by Bachira, if he’s being honest).

Ranze to their shock merely lets out a dejected sigh over their jeers, much to the group’s collective astonishment.

They raise their eyebrows at him, the silence that takes over urging him to explain or at least elaborate.

“Something, something. She said she had something to do today,” is all he mutters to them, groaning “But I’m so bored, bored without her here” and resting his face in the palm of his hand, gazing at the cracked concrete underneath his feet.

His friends purse their lips in response, glancing at each other with blank expressions that simply read ‘This guy is hopeless’.

Ranze pays no attention to them, ignoring their stares quietly. He knows what they're thinking, he’s not stupid. He just doesn’t have it in him to care, not when you’re absent from his presence.

Today is windy, and Ranze doesn’t like wind. It messes up his braid and it’s always such a hassle to redo it each time, but he knows you adore windy weather, and would do anything to fix his wind whipped hair in an instant.

If you were here with him, that is.

Eventually Ranze gets up and onto his feet and dons his skateboard, in spite of the numerous jokes and mentions of you that his friends throw his way. It’s a skate park, he might as well skate. Even if you’re not there to watch him.

A few hours pass by, full of obnoxiously boyish laughter from the group as they watch their friends repeatedly attempt and fail at several trickshots. Though busted up ankles and arm rashes aren’t anything new to them, just another aspect of skating one has to become accustomed to when they dive into the sport.

When it hits noon the gang dips the park and heads down to the nearby mall for a well needed break inside a heavily conditioned space. Chomping down on their grub for awhile, they’re back out onto the streets and skating back to the park in just under two hours because Isagi really wanted to show off a new kickflip he had been practicing.

Though the hottest time of the day has since passed, mother nature is wicked in the summer. It’s only been about an hour and a half since they’ve left the mall, but the sun’s rays are relentless as it continues to blast them with continuous heat throughout the rest of their sesh.

“Man, it’s getting hot again,” Bachira begins to whine, hastily unzipping his sweater to reveal the Zico, #10 jersey he wore underneath. “I thought when the sun sets it’s supposed to get colder! Isn’t that how it works, right?”

“The sun won’t be setting for another few hours,” Chigiri comments, whacking his friend’s helmet-ed head hard with the base of his water bottle.

One by one, the other guys follow in Bachira’s lead, each taking off various pieces of clothing in order to cool off from the sweltering summer sun. Kunigami wipes the sweat from his brows away with his forearm, Nagi pulls at the collar of his shirt repeatedly to fan himself, and Chigiri settles for tying his hair up in a loose bun for more air circulation at the nape of his neck.

(Even stuffy mister “I’m too cool to skateboard” Rin Itoshi eventually starts feeling the sun’s rays beat down on his head too, flipping his hoodie up over his head with a disgruntled groan.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?” Isagi jests lightly, and Rin scowls in response before skating off with the older boy behind him in tow.

“Piss off, Isagi.”)

The heated summer’s itch soon gets to Ranze as well, panting from the scorching sun burning down on the nape of his neck he grabs at the ends of his hoodie and yanks upwards. His braid becomes tangled as he does so, struggling to pull it off of himself after a few seconds of discomfort.

It’s only when Ranze tosses it aside and breathes out a sigh of relief as the refreshing summer breeze blows into his shirt and cools him down does his friends’ conversations come to a standstill, quite abnormal for a group of rowdy and loud teenage boys.

“Uhhh . . .”

“Should we tell him . . .?”

“Ranze,” Reo is the first to call his attention to the matter, pointing at his own neck with a grin. “You got a little, uh. Something, there.”

“What, what?”

“Look down, man.”

Ranze tugs at his shirt’s collar, and his face near bursts into flames on the spot. Large splotches of hickies dot along the fair skin of his neck’s expanse, staining it all sorts of shades from angry reds to muted purples.

“I— I . . .”

His friends begin to chortle and tease him, further smothering him in embarrassment as he desperately tries to hide the bruises when Hiori joins in. “It’s not just your neck, Ranze,” He pipes with a coy smile, motioning to the bottom of his friend’s shirt.

Pulling up the hem, Ranze gets the fright of his life.

All along the skin of his tummy, the sides of his chest and the slopes of his abdomen are fresh bites and scratches, still tender and new, left behind from the last few nights this week. And no one in the group has a single doubt in their mind on who left them on his skin— they’re not just a sign of how insanely needy you are for your boyfriend, they’re a fucking mark of possession in his friend’s eyes.

Informing them that while you may be known as ‘Ranze’s Girlfriend’ to the rest of the group, you’re really the one who wears the pants in this relationship.

“Didn’t know Ranze had it in him to be so . . . active?”

“Me, personally— I think he’s a little bitch, letting his girlfriend use him like a scratching post.”

“Damn it, angel . . .”

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

taglist form

#blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk fluff #kurona x reader #kurona fluff #ranze kurona #kurona ranze #blue lock #blue lock imagines #kurona ranze x reader #ranze kurona x reader #𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 ﹕ 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 ৻ꪆ #ブルーロック * ( bllk )#𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻

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mikiruie · 3 days ago

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❝ COLD HANDS, WARM HEART ❞ — multiple characters

tags. smau shot, f!reader, fluff, established relationship

when the boys find out you’re cold on a rainy day → sae, yukimiya, isagi, reo

masterlist

taglist. open (link to form) @saucejar @somjuie @returntothefae @daisy-room @stellar-headquarters

@whatisnureotypical @haruhi269 @cherrysurf @cyxjz @irethepotato

notes. incredibly self indulgent, i’m so sorry, sae’s and yukki’s literally happened to me today

#what if i blew reo up. he’s so caring n thoughtful HE TEXTED FIRST THIS IS SO #CID!! YOU ARE SO!!!!!!!!!#GRRRR BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM BITES HIM #what if i js:((( blew him up:(( w my mind:((((#staring at my reo plush n sighing SO LOUDLY.#𓏲𝄢 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 &&. 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵

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mikiruie · 3 days ago

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➜ This Work Contains The Following: Divorce, some love still there, slight nsfw, implies one night stand, unresolved feelings, reader and karasu need to just talk and get back together smh, no beta we die like me dying from this cold

➜ WC: 415

➜ Small Note: This small drabble all came from me, @tetsuskei, and @mikiruie talking about divorce AUs with our f/os and some of this stuff thrown in was by them so give them some love 🫰🏽. it's so funny that i tend to write well when i'm sick sometimes lmfao.

Divorcing with Karasu was something you never anticipated even in your wildest dreams. Every small issue building up for the worst and it has caused a lot of problems even while talking/arguing it out. It hurts that divorce had to be the final solution but it was the best option for the both of you.

But despite that; you haven't dated anyone since the divorce as a small part of you still feels for him after all this time. You think he's moved on but he's just in the same boat as you. Karasu still loves you even after the issues you've faced and couldn't resolve as a team, and yet he needed to keep his distance for his own sake. Even if it hurts to hear you now refer to him as “Karasu”. No “babe”, no “my love”, not even a “crow boy” as you used to teasingly refer to him as; just his last name.

That is, until one night in a moment of weakness…

It all began when your car broke down during a heavy rainstorm. And un(luckily) for you, your car just decided to be near your ex husband’s house. Despite your worries, you remembered what he told you: “I know we ain’t together anymore; but if ya need help with anythin’, ya can always call me. I’ll be there every time.” And if there’s something you know about Tabito Karasu, it was that he always kept his word no matter what.

You wish he didn’t help you get your car towed. You wish he didn’t let you take a warm shower and wear some of his clothes thanks to the pouring rain. You wish he didn’t chat with you so freely as he offered you some soup. You wish you didn’t chat so freely as if it were another couple’s night with him, as if you two never split up in the first place.

And you especially wished you didn’t let yourself go to bed with him so easily. If only your will was stronger than that.

It only took Tabito one single thrust for the both of you to cum at the same time, having been too long since you’ve been intimate with someone, with each other. And it sure didn’t stop him as he kept going, overstimulation be damned.

But no “I love you” yet even you almost let that slip in the aftermath. He can’t know just yet.

#I AM HERE COTTON #𓏲𝄢 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 &&. 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 #okay first the divorce au 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ we love to see it… ex husband karasu yummy….#also js the ‘i’ll always be there for ya’ like omg… still caring for your past partner even if you’re separated now:(( like how sweet is #that*#and his hospitality? 10/10. he rlly wasn’t lying when he said he would be there no matter what like omfgggg 😭😭😭#ALSO CUMMING FROM ONE THRUSTTTT??? AND OVERSTIM? SIGN ME TF UP #in short i love you cottabi (and you cotton teehee)#still no i love you bcs you hate me tho 💔💔/j

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mikiruie · 5 days ago

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cologne.

── REO MIKAGE ﹕ 御影玲王 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. suggestive — sfw. pro-player! + ceo!reo. established relationship. making out. implied sex. petnames ( baby, sweetheart, handsome ). word count 1470 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

Reo Mikage has tried damn near every single high end cologne on the market, yet he can’t for the life of him figure out which ones don’t make your head spin like crazy. In a bad way.

It’s an almost infuriating song and dance. He thinks he’s finally found the one on his way home from the store, raved about and recommended by his most trusted friends. “It’s foolproof,” they tell him, enabling him to drop the average Japanese citizen’s monthly salary on a full bottle of this stuff. “She’ll be all over you for sure.”

Their assurances ring loud and clear in Reo’s ears as he spritzes a few pumps of the perfume onto himself before he knocks on the door, his confidence soaring through the roof. There’s no way you won’t be able to resist him like this, coming home from work after hours apart and smelling like a million bucks.

You open the door for him as always, all smiles as he leans in for an open mouthed kiss, only to be left high and dry when you furiously shake your head and wriggle out of his hold as soon as you catch a whiff of his new perfume.

“Yuck,” you gag, pulling away from his bear hug with a grimace, nose wrinkling up at the stench of artificial fragrance lingering on his skin. “You smell weird.”

Reo frowns, tugging at the collar of his shirt and giving it a sniff. It smells normal, and the notes in the cologne are quite pleasant— he’s confused as to what you find so extremely repulsive. “It’s Christian Dior, baby.”

The palm of your hand comes up to cover your nose as you step away from your fiancé, even dodging his attempts to press a kiss to your cheek when he inches closer to you while stating simply “Well it smells nauseating.”

There are boxes upon boxes of full, practically unused perfumes and colognes that Reo has bought over the months due to this debacle, all shoved haphazardly and stored away in some closet in the house that he can’t remember. He’s been meaning to just fork them over to Nagi and maybe even Chigiri to save storage, though he’s not too sure that his friends will ever be able to use all of them up anyway. It’s well almost a lifetime supply at this point.

Reo’s search for the perfect scent that will make your heart sing is long and gruelling. He’s done countless forum quizzes on which scent he thinks you’ll like best, scrolled through all the recommendation reels he can, and has even asked for help from staff at his work. It’s a bit humiliating to say the least— watching the CEO of the Mikage Corporation stumbling from floor to floor, going around and asking every person who will give him the time of day (which to be fair, is most people) on what perfumes their spouse prefers they wear.

“What are you wearing?” You ask when he offers his wrist to you after another perfume haul, giving it a quick inhale before choking. “It’s so strong, I can’t think.”

Reo caps the bottle with a sigh, embarrassed and shrinking away as he tucks it back into its box. Another failed attempt, it seems. “Versace?”

“It’s awful.”

Hastily he pulls out another tester from the inside of his shopping bag, one of the freebies that the employee at the store gave him. She said it was a bestseller of theirs. “What about this one, baby?” He spritzes it a few times onto the skin of your wrist, rubbing it in with circular motions with the pad of his thumb before looking up at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“Chanel?”

You inspect the skin momentarily, Reo’s heart is thrumming loudly in his chest. He’s been nervous before, but this feels like sitting on the edge of a cliff. You give the tester a preliminary smell, and Reo’s jaw dropped, in pure disbelief when you pull your wrist away almost immediately, disgust written all over your face. “No, no no.” You queaze, “This smells even worse than the others.”

Reo is absolutely dumbfounded. The receipts he carries for all his perfume purchases are starting to litter the space of his desks both at work and at home, strewn about in messy piles and seemingly mocking his pointless journey of trying to figure out what your tastes are.

It can’t be that you don’t like fruity scents, he’s tried all the mild and subtle combinations there are out there. Is it the stench of alcohol in the mixes that you hate?

Frustrated, Reo takes a shower to try and calm his mind, attempting to wash away the abhorrent smells of all the types of cologne you hate from the surface of his skin before your date tonight. He scrubs extra hard on his wrists and the expanse of his neck, the most common pulse points to put fragrance on. Part of it is anger management, ensuring that he doesn’t immediately flip every bottle of perfume over in your house until there’s glass covering each inch of your floors.

With all of the scents he piled onto his skin having been stripped away with reliable soap and running water, Reo sits on the edge of your shared bed in nothing but a towel, using another to dry his hair when you come slinking not too long after, closing the door behind you and making your way over to him eagerly. Your gaze is low, eyes half lidded as you lean on his shoulder, snuggling into it warmly. The affection is much welcomed by him, seeing as you practically try to avoid him every time he comes home with a new scent sprayed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” He greets you like normal, still a bit peeved and disappointed in himself all because he can’t nail your perfect scent down to a tee. His brows are knitted in deep concentration, towel still rifling through lavender tresses when he’s snapped out of his stupor by the realization of your hands creeping up his biceps, curling around his toned arm and pulling his almost naked form closer to you.

“You smell so good, baby.”

He’s frozen for a moment's notice, too nervous to move just in case he’s dreaming. “I— I do?”

You nod, pulling him in by the nape of his neck for a kiss. His eyes are blown wide at the sudden surge of brazenness and want from you before he melts into your touch like honey, letting you take the reins as you push him down onto your bed, straddling him and hovering dangerously close to the knot of his towel when you lean down to pull him into another hot and heavy make out.

Reo doesn’t understand it at all, still revelling in all of the attention and love he’s receiving when he pulls away from your lips breathlessly, a whine threatening to rip from both your throats. His face is flushed, wet bangs still sticking to his forehead, and your skin is hot and feverish to the touch in his palms.

“I’m so lost,” he whispers, flustered by how close your lips are to touching. Yours are soft and plump, kiss-bitten and barely grazing his with a coy smile.

“I like when you smell like this.” You confess, giving him another peck and pulling away before he can yank you down himself to finish the job. You’re too much of a tease. “Smells much better than those colognes.”

“I only took a shower, though . . . ?”

You scoff, like it was obvious all along. Because it was— except to your poor fiancé. “That’s the point, idiot.”

Reo doesn’t get it. His whole life, his family has placed great emphasis on maintaining appearance. His parents only used the most luxurious of scented products when going out, and encouraged him to do the same. “First impressions matter, Reo,” they told him, “especially when it comes to having a signature scent.”

But if this is what you, his future wife likes; all clean and natural, nothing synthetic or overdone, then he’s happy to appease you by however means necessary.

His towel feels tight around his waist, and his eyes are glazed over with checked hunger as he struggles to keep his hands from drifting down past your hips. Your own eyes swirl with ardent desire too, panting in sync with the beats of his chest as you lay atop him. He’s eager to continue from where you left off, wanting more of your searing and unbridled touch, and you don’t look like you’re about to let him go unscathed for the next few hours while he smells like this.

“But— but our date tonight, baby . . .”

“You own the restaurant. Figure it out, handsome.”

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

#thank u all for 300+ notes on cologne!! i did not think it would be this well received or well liked jehdjwhsj #a lot of u find it very relatable and i’m glad cuz me too </3 i hate cologne and most perfumes so im glad this encapsulated that

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mikiruie · 6 days ago

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kurona longfic will prob be posted tmrw while i bust my ass cramming for stats midterm,,,, 🥹

#sorry the fic is gonna be so incredibly self indulgent JSNJDSHS #sorry for the rapid fire of bllk fics i needed to get them all out lol n then im gonna disappear for awhile again writing wise!!#ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ #this is my new ramble tag idgaf

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mikiruie · 6 days ago

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oomf don’t kys ur too pretty haha

i must tho vessa 💔💔 repenting for my sins (editing my fic after i alr posted it)

#too lazy to tag my stuff anymore el oh el #ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ

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mikiruie · 7 days ago

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when im rereading my fic after oomf reblogs it w nice tags n then i realize i wrote smth wonky in it 💔

#sorry you did not see my best work should i kms to make up for it

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mikiruie · 7 days ago

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fell in love with the fire long ago.

── REO MIKAGE ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. fluff — sfw. slightly selfship coded. one-sided love. first love. childhood friends of sorts. older!reader (7 years). yes i saw that reo canonically likes older women and i fucking floored it. word count 1263 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

bachira. ⊹ hiori. ⊹ chigiri. ⊹ reo’s part 2.

“So, who was your first love?”

The question that comes from the reporter is not one that Reo expects. Knee jerk instincts cause him to immediately sit up in his seat, straightening his back as his eyes blow slightly wide.

A shaky grin appears on his face before his head dips back down into the crook of his hand, turning to the side as the cameras follow his movements in an attempt to shield himself from them while a growing blush blooms on his face, tips of his ears and the nape of his neck mixing with the silky purple strands of loose hair that frame his face.

“Ah, I can’t admit this on live television, can I?” He chuckles, trying to alleviate the awkward tone in his voice as he pulls at the collar of his pristinely pressed dress shirt, a sight that the show producers gleam at.

Oh, this is good content.

“Well, it’s what we asked Mr. Mikage, isn’t it?” The reporter continues to push, and Reo glances around to the others in the studio, the ones behind the cameras before breaking his gaze again, like he’s trying to avoid looking at everyone entirely.

He coughs into his palm with a boyish laugh, light and airy, his gaze perpetually stuck to the floorboards beneath him— akin to recalling quite the embarrassing memory. “Alright, alright.” He relents, wiping sweaty palms on the knees of his suit pants. “Well, she was . . . an older family friend of mine.”

“How much older?” The reporter asks, amused by the revelation. The Mikage Corporation heir did say he had an affinity for older women in past interviews, after all.

“Only a few years older!” Reo scrambles to salvage himself, laughing at his own lack of composure while trying to recount his older memories, one that had been buried away deep into his heart in order to protect it.

Fiddling with his hands constantly, the billionaire’s smile grows with each word he tells of the girl from years past who had once stolen his heart in it’s entirety. “She was, uhm. She was a girl who helped me learn piano, while she also knew the violin.”

“Was she good at it?” The reporter scoots closer to the edge of his seat eagerly, inching his way over the edge of the cushioned chair to hear more of this juicy story of the soccer player’s first crush. “Playing violin and piano, I mean.”

Reo gulps unsurely before smiling again. It’s not a smirk like what he usually flashes the photographers after scoring a goal, or a prideful grin when he’s making another multi-million contract deal with Manshine City. With a smile that can only be described as serene and peaceful, his voice quiet and hushed, he opens his mouth as the memories from childhood come flooding back to him.

“Oh, she was the best.”

. . .

Reo still remembers the day he met you. At age seven, sat on the bench of his family’s grand piano alone in the empty foyer of his family’s estate while sun dappled rays of faint spring glow peaked in through the windows and fell onto the smooth roof of his piano as he practiced piece after piece.

He’s found that the hours pass by quickly when he’s deep in concentration, fingers gliding over the white and black keys like second nature as he forgoes the need for his sheet music, learning by ear now at the melody he’s been rigorously playing for days at a time to perfect it in time to show to his parents.

Eyebrows cinched and glued only to the keyboard beneath him, Reo plays diligently. Synced to the tune of his piano and the beat of his own heart that thrums in his chest, entirely immersed in the music that he hardly registers the door opening, or the footsteps that follow suit and only get louder along with the music’s rhythm that soon stop momentarily from just behind him.

“That’s a lovely tune,” an unknown voice breaks his concentration abruptly, causing him to accidentally press the wrong one on his next note.

“Damn it.”

“You look like you’ve been practicing a lot.”

Reo turns to the intruder with a huff, the frown on his face relaxing slightly when he notices that it was a young woman who greeted him. Clearly much older than he is, perhaps even five years older or more.

“I was,” he bemoans, hand frustratedly raking through lavender locks of hair that only reach past his ears. “Until you interrupted me.”

The heir of the Mikage Corporation is usually rather polite when speaking to his older peers, always taking great care in making sure his tone is soft spoken and polite while addressing those necessary by the appropriate titles and honorifics. Though now he’s a little peeved, mind-riddled and fuzzy with the many failed attempts he’s had at playing this piece over the past few hours, and now being unceremoniously interrupted by what seems to be another one of his parent’s family friend’s daughters.

His tone this time comes out harsher than he means for it to be as he speaks, abrasive and abrupt, a fact he quickly realizes and begins to backpedal on with a stammering stream of apologies. Instead of seeming offended, the girl before him smiles warmly, eying the piano with keen intent.

“Ah, it’s my fault,” you offer a sincere apology to the young boy at the bench, “I should’ve waited until after you were done playing before I spoke up. That was my mistake, I’m sorry.”

Reo eyes you carefully, noting the thick binder full of papers that you hold close to your chest, one that’s spilling with sheets of paper at its sides. He searches through his memories, recalling something his father had mentioned briefly a week prior to now before asking, “Are you the mentor my father said would be coming over to help me?”

You nod, stepping onto the carpeted flooring of the foyer and sitting down beside Reo (who scoots over appreciatively) before setting your binder down on a nearby stool you scoot towards the two of you.

“Yes, when I was your age I picked up piano and eventually violin. While I no longer actively play piano, I think you’ll be in good hands with me as your mentor.”

“Bragging much?” Reo grins, a satisfied grin settling onto his face. You look like you know your stuff well, and he’s not one to go against his family’s wishes if they believe that you are in his best interest for success. “I don’t mean to,” you respond back coyly, opening the binder that happens to be full of sheet music.

The pages are wrinkled and worn, and Reo assumes it’s the same ones you used to practice with when you were younger. He ponders on if he should tell you that he doesn’t need sheet music, but the content look in your eyes stops him before he can.

‘This is fine,’ he thinks, heart thrumming in his chest. ‘I think I like this more.’

“Let’s start with this melody, okay?” You offer, setting one of the pages down in its stand. Your gaze flickers back to Reo, and his heart blooms with warmth at the encouraging smile you give him.

“Should be easy for a genius like you, what do you say?”

Reo Mikage’s first love was his violin instructor— pretty like a daisy, bright as a warm summer’s evening and with passion that blazed like a roaring fire, only fuelled further with the tinder of his unrequited love.

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

#zᶻ ૮꒰◌´ତ `◌ ꒱ྀིა #ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ

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mikiruie · 7 days ago

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fell in love with the fire long ago.

── REO MIKAGE ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

bachira. ⊹ hiori. ⊹ chigiri. ⊹ reo’s part 2.

“So, who was your first love?”

The question that comes from the reporter is not one that Reo expects. Knee jerk instincts cause him to immediately sit up in his seat, straightening his back as his eyes blow slightly wide.

Oh, this is good content.

“How much older?” The reporter asks, amused by the revelation. The Mikage Corporation heir did say he had an affinity for older women in past interviews, after all.

“Only by a few years!” Reo scrambles to salvage himself, laughing at his own lack of composure while trying to recount his older memories, one that had been buried away deep into his heart in order to protect it.

“Oh, she was the best.”

. . .

Eyebrows cinched and gaze glued only to the keyboard beneath him, Reo plays diligently. Synced to the tune of his piano and the beat of his own heart that thrums in his chest, entirely immersed in the music that he hardly registers the door opening, or the footsteps that follow suit and only get louder along with the music’s rhythm that soon stop momentarily from just behind him.

“That’s a lovely tune,” an unknown voice breaks his concentration abruptly, causing him to accidentally press the wrong one on his next note.

“Damn it.”

“You look like you’ve been practicing a lot.”

“I was,” he bemoans, hand frustratedly raking through lavender locks of hair that only reach past his ears. “Until you interrupted me.”

“Ah, it’s my fault,” you offer a sincere apology to the young boy at the bench, “I should’ve waited until after you were done playing before I spoke up. That was my mistake, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, when I was your age I picked up piano and eventually violin. While I no longer actively play piano, I think you’ll be in good hands with me as your mentor.”

“Bragging much?” Reo muses, a satisfied grin settling onto his face. You look like you know your stuff well, and he’s not one to go against his family’s wishes if they believe that you are in his best interest for success. “I don’t mean to,” you respond back coyly, opening the binder that happens to be full of sheet music.

‘This is fine,’ he thinks, heart thrumming in his chest. ‘I think I like this more.’

“Should be easy for a genius like you, what do you say?”

Reo Mikage’s first love was his piano instructor— pretty like a daisy, bright as a warm summer’s evening and with passion that blazed like a roaring fire, only fuelled further with the tinder of his unrequited love.

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

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#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #reo x reader #reo x you #reo mikage #mikage reo #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage x you #blue lock #reo fluff #blue lock fluff #ブルーロック * ( bllk )#𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 ﹕ 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 ৻ꪆ

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mikiruie · 7 days ago

Text

cologne.

── REO MIKAGE ﹕ 御影玲王 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. suggestive — sfw. pro-player! + ceo!reo. established relationship. making out. implied sex. petnames ( baby, sweetheart, handsome ). word count 1470 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

Reo Mikage has tried damn near every single high end cologne on the market, yet he can’t for the life of him figure out which ones don’t make your head spin like crazy. In a bad way.

“Yuck,” you gag, pulling away from his bear hug with a grimace, nose wrinkling up at the stench of artificial fragrance lingering on his skin. “You smell weird.”

There are boxes upon boxes of empty, practically unused perfumes and colognes that Reo has bought over the months due to this debacle, all shoved haphazardly and stored away in some closet in the house that he can’t remember. He’s been meaning to just fork them over to Nagi and maybe even Chigiri to save storage, though he’s not too sure that his friends will ever be able to use all of them up anyway. It’s well almost a lifetime supply at this point.

Reo’s search for the perfect scent that will make your heart sing is long and gruelling. He’s done countless forum quizzes on which scent he thinks you’ll like best, scrolled through all the recommendation reels he can, and has even asked for help from staff at his work. It’s a bit humiliating to say the least— seeing the CEO of the Mikage Corporation stumbling from floor to floor, going around and asking every person who will give him the time of day (which to be fair, is most people) on what perfumes their spouse prefers they wear.

“What are you wearing?” You ask when he offers his wrist to you after another perfume haul, giving it a quick inhale before choking. “It’s so strong, I can’t think.”

Reo caps the bottle with a sigh, embarrassed and shrinking away as he tucks it back into its box. Another failed attempt, it seems. “Versace?”

“It’s awful.”

“Chanel?”

It can’t be that you don’t like fruity scents, he’s tried all the mild and subtle combinations there are out there. Is it the stench of alcohol in the mixes that you hate?

“Hi, sweetheart,” He greets you like normal, still a bit peeved and disappointed in himself because he still can’t nail your perfect scent down to a tee. His brows are knitted in deep concentration, towel still rifling through lavender tresses when he’s snapped out of his stupor by the realization of your hands creeping up his biceps, curling around his toned arm and pulling his almost naked form closer to you.

“You smell so good, baby.”

He’s frozen for a moment's notice, too nervous to move just in case he’s dreaming. “I— I do?”

“I’m so lost,” he whispers, flustered by how close your lips are to touching. Yours are soft and plump, kiss-bitten and barely grazing his with a coy smile.

“I only took a shower, though . . . ?”

You scoff, like it was obvious all along. Because it was— except to your poor fiancé. “That’s the point, idiot.”

But if this is what you, his future wife likes; all clean and natural, nothing synthetic or overdone, then he’s happy to appease you by however means necessary.

“But— but our date tonight, baby . . .”

“You own the restaurant. Figure it out, handsome.”

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

#zᶻ ૮꒰◌´ତ `◌ ꒱ྀིა #ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ

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mikiruie · 8 days ago

Text

cologne.

── REO MIKAGE ﹕ 御影玲王 ┊͙ BLUE LOCK ✩

❤︎ fem!reader. suggestive — sfw. pro-player! + ceo!reo. established relationship. making out. implied sex. petnames ( baby, sweetheart, handsome ). word count 1470 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist

Reo Mikage has tried damn near every single high end cologne on the market, yet he can’t for the life of him figure out which ones don’t make your head spin like crazy. In a bad way.

“Yuck,” you gag, pulling away from his bear hug with a grimace, nose wrinkling up at the stench of artificial fragrance lingering on his skin. “You smell weird.”

Reo’s search for the perfect scent that will make your heart sing is long and gruelling. He’s done countless forum quizzes on which scent he thinks you’ll like best, scrolled through all the recommendation reels he can, and has even asked for help from staff at his work. It’s a bit humiliating to say the least— seeing the CEO of the Mikage Corporation stumbling from floor to floor, going around and asking every person who will give him the time of day (which to be fair, is most people) on what perfumes their spouse prefers they wear.

“What are you wearing?” You ask when he offers his wrist to you after another perfume haul, giving it a quick inhale before choking. “It’s so strong, I can’t think.”

Reo caps the bottle with a sigh, embarrassed and shrinking away as he tucks it back into its box. Another failed attempt, it seems. “Versace?”

“It’s awful.”

“Chanel?”

It can’t be that you don’t like fruity scents, he’s tried all the mild and subtle combinations there are out there. Is it the stench of alcohol in the mixes that you hate?

“You smell so good, baby.”

He’s frozen for a moment's notice, too nervous to move just in case he’s dreaming. “I— I do?”

“I’m so lost,” he whispers, flustered by how close your lips are to touching. Yours are soft and plump, kiss-bitten and barely grazing his with a coy smile.

“I only took a shower, though . . . ?”

You scoff, like it was obvious all along. Because it was— except to your poor fiancé. “That’s the point, idiot.”

But if this is what you, his future wife likes; all clean and natural, nothing synthetic or overdone, then he’s happy to appease you by however means necessary.

“But— but our date tonight, baby . . .”

“You own the restaurant. Figure it out, handsome.”

reblogs ++ comments are greatly appreciated !! ꒰ ˆ ᗜ ˆ ˶ ꒱

#zᶻ ૮꒰◌´ତ `◌ ꒱ྀིა #ദ്ദി（• ˕ •マ.ᐟ

488 notes · View notes