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ceruark · 4 days ago

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“so he’s not your boyfriend?”

your fingers twitch restlessly, hovering in the air where you’ve paused in the middle of typing away at your laptop. you exhale, slow and heavy, through your nostrils, trying to shove the irritation, embarrassment, and shame that the questions rouses in you deep down in a box that you will most certainly not be unpacking later.

“no,” you mutter in response, poking at your keyboard more furiously than before. you refuse to meet your friend’s eyes. “can we get back to the project now?”

they’re quiet for a moment, observing you with that critical glare they usually have when the topic of your… childhood “friend” is involved.

they put their coffee cup down, and just when you think they’re going to drop the topic without much pushback for once, they ask, “when was the last time you slept with him?”

you choke on nothing but your own saliva at that. jaw agape, you answer, “i haven’t.”

“oh, i get it.” they smirk at you in approval. “gave him a taste, and now you’re holding out on him until he gives you the title, huh? smart.”

your face is burning at this point. “i haven’t given him anything.”

it’s your friend’s turn to freeze. they stare at you, gaping, their cup suspended in the air, halfway to their mouth.

eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, they shake their head slowly. “but you two cuddle and shit.” they wave their cup around in incredulity. “you literally declined my call last saturday because he was asleep. in your bed.”

you wrap your arms around yourself, slumping in your seat. “i know,” you hiss. “i know it seems that way, but he’s not my boyfriend and we’ve never had sex.”

it’s a little disconcerting, the way this information makes your friend look more horrified than you’ve yet to see them.

your entire friend group has disapproved of your… relationship with kaiser since you two found your way back to each other about a year and a half ago, but this friend in particular has been adamant that you cut him off. you know that kaiser doesn’t have the greatest reputation— he’s a massive flirt in front of the cameras, but no one besides a few of his teammates and you know that he hasn’t actually been with anyone— so you can understand where your friends are coming from. you can see why they would think he has some… ulterior motives involving you.

but that just means their reaction confuses you even more. shouldn’t they be happy to hear that you and kaiser haven’t done anything with each other?

“you—” your friend cuts themself off, still shell-shocked. “you haven’t fucked him and he acts like that?”

something flares up in your chest, and you immediately get defensive. “like what?”

your friend holds their hand out, and you groan as they begin ticking things off on their fingers, laying out a list for you. “monopolizing your time, blowing up your phone when you’re with other people, falling asleep in your bed, leaving half his shit at your place, treating you to nice dinners, giving you his card information, paying your goddamn tuition, i mean, seriously, do i need to go on?”

your face is buried in your hands by the time they’re done. “no,” you utter in embarrassment. as you peek at them through your fingers, they shake their head at you.

“well, you really better not fuck him.” they grimace. “he already acts like your boyfriend and you haven’t even screwed. he’s, like, operating on emotion alone. that’s scary.”

you scoff. “you know, some would say that’s a good thing. it means he’s not just after my body.”

your friend rolls their eyes. “it would be a good thing if he wasn’t the poster boy for red flags everywhere.”

“you’re so damn dramatic.”

“hey, i’m just looking out for you! i don’t want you to disappear into that man’s basement one day.”

“what? what the hell does that even mean?”

“well, fuck, he’s already super territorial over you and he doesn’t even have a reason to be!”

the remainder of your study session is spent with you miserably putting together the rest of the slideshow deck for the presentation while your friend just continues to rant and lay into you about how you should stay far away from kaiser and just cut him off before things get messy.

by the time you’re heading out of the small cafe by campus and unlocking your car doors, you feel exhausted. you start your car and spend the short drive home blasting music— not that it does much to distract you from your thoughts.

you don’t like talking about kaiser because you yourself don’t even know where you stand with him. you’re well aware that most of the things he does is not what just a good friend would do, but you’re too scared to even broach the topic because it took forever just to get him to be okay with your touch. he doesn’t shove you away anymore when shower him with affection— if anything, he vies for it now— and you’re scared that bringing up the nature of your relationship will undo over a year of progress and you’ll be left right back where you started.

you sigh as you kill the engine and step out of your car. it’s a BMW, relatively new— nothing a college student with no parental support should be able to afford, but of course, you weren’t the one who bought it.

your friend’s words rattle around in your head, and you slam the car door, agitated. you were supposed to spend today wrapping up your final presentation and having a relaxing evening putting a dent into the ice cream in your freezer and watching whatever trashy reality TV show would be on tonight. now, you’re too worked up about your not-boyfriend to be able to settle in right away.

your not-boyfriend, whose obscenely expensive metallic blue mclaren is parked in your complex’s lot.

you stop dead in your tracks. a deep, long sigh leaves you as you pinch the bridge of your nose and shut your eyes, trying to pull yourself together and smother the frustrated scream threatening to burst free from your throat.

you should have never agreed to give him your spare key.

you can’t deal with this right now. kaiser is always able to tell when something is even slightly off with you, and he will keep grilling you until you cave and tell him what’s bothering you. and you don’t really trust yourself to not snap at him, given that he’s the problem— sure, your friend is the one who irritated you, but you know where the real problem lies.

after staring at the back entrance to the complex for a few minutes and contemplating getting back in your car and speeding off, you force your legs to cross the rest of the lot and into the building. you force a smile and nod at the familiar faces that greet you, a facade that slips the second the elevator doors slide shut.

you thunk your head against the back wall of the elevator as you watch the floor numbers tick up, up, up, until finally, you reach the tenth floor. you force yourself to relax your shoulders and smooth out your face as you exit the elevator. you let out one last sigh as you insert your key into the lock, then brace yourself as you push the door open.

immediately, you’re greeted by the sight of kaiser sprawled out on the couch in your living room, appearing perfectly at home. his hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his glasses are perched on his nose as he watches highlights of bastard’s most recent match against re al.

it’s not this that gives you pause— no, kaiser settling into your apartment like he owns the place is a familiar sight.

what has you freezing in your tracks is the spread of food set out on the counter: spaetzle with beef goulash, and a tray of bread crust rusks for dessert.

it all looks homemade.

kaiser doesn’t cook. there was a time many years ago where he did out of necessity— for himself, and for his drunkard of a father— but it’s a survival skill, a reminder of a darker time that he’s left behind that he chooses not to engage in anymore. he doesn’t have to, not when he has the money to dine at the nicest restaurants in Munich or have a personal chef on-call at all times.

kaiser doesn’t cook. but his personal chef always leaves his kitchen looking spotless, and the unwashed dishes in your sink tell you that this isn’t her work.

without turning around, the blonde gestures to the TV and immediately starts complaining, having full confidence that he’s able to command your attention without asking for it. “look at this shot yoichi missed,” he says with childlike glee. “if i break into noa’s office, i can probably sneak it into his end of year highlights before the coaches send him the footage.”

you don’t respond. your voice is still lodged somewhere in your throat, caught on the emotions welling up in there.

you’re still staring at the kitchen counter, shell-shocked, when the sounds of the crowd shouting abruptly cut off. he’s paused the TV, and you can feel his gaze on you now even though you’re not looking at him. “schatz?”

it’s not the first time he’s called you that— far from it. but combined with the lecture you’d just gotten from your friend, it has you at your wit’s end.

the best way to deal with sudden and drastic changes in your dynamic with kaiser is to not overreact. of course, he wants acknowledgement of some kind or else he’ll get fussy and make it everyone’s problem, but making a big deal out of it will just have him retreating. you know this. you’ve always known this.

so your mistake is immediately clear to you when you look him dead in the eye as you open your mouth and say, “you’re not my boyfriend.”

it’s so quiet, you can hear the sounds of the neighbor’s radio and their cat scratching at a post through the wall.

his face has gone eerily blank. his eyes are slightly narrowed and his gaze is sharp, but there’s nothing readable in his expression, no emotion on his face to tell you just how badly you’ve fucked up.

but maybe that’s enough of an indicator itself.

calmly, so evenly it makes your hairs stand on end, kaiser asks, “what do you mean?”

swallowing thickly, you echo, “you’re not my boyfriend.” it’s said as something between a statement and a question.

kaiser sets the remote down and gets to his feet. your heart thrums in your chest as you watch him cross the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. he crosses his arms in front of his chest as he leans against the counter just a few feet away from you.

he hums, then asks, “where is this coming from?”

you feel unsteady. he hasn’t challenged it— not that he really can, not when it’s technically true.

but he’s not agreeing with you, either.

“my friends say you’re my boyfriend,” you blurt out, “but you’re not.”

he’s quiet. he’s looking at you critically, eyes scanning your face, posture, and fidgeting hands, but for a long moment, he decides not to say anything, electing to simply study you instead.

you’re uncomfortable. you’re nervous. this would be clear to anyone, but most of all to him, who has never had any trouble reading you.

“your friends should mind their business,” he finally says, but there’s still nothing there, no tension or displeasure or irritation to indicate he’s gone back to being himself. “why do they care whether or not i’m your boyfriend?”

he’s still skirting around the verity of the original statement.

you shrug. “they’re nosy,” you answer, feigning indifference, even though it’s far too late to pretend that the subject isn’t at the forefront of your mind. you take one of the bread crust rusks and pop it into your mouth. the sugar coats your tongue. “maybe they want to set me up with someone and want to make sure i’m actually single.”

“and are you?”

you raise an eyebrow. “am i what?”

blue eyes bore into yours as he says, “single.”

you clench your jaw so hard your teeth ache in protest. why are you always the one who has to draw the definitive lines in this relationship?

firmly this time, you say, “i don’t have a boyfriend.” when he doesn’t say anything, you push further, “no one’s ever asked me on a date or anything, so yeah, i guess i would say that i’m single.”

you spend the next couple of minutes staring at each other. the neighbor’s cat scratches furiously at its post.

“and what exactly do you consider a date?”

it bothers you, all of it. the lack of anything in his tone and expression, the way he’s not agreeing with you but not directly challenging you, either. the way he won’t just let it go when you’re not wrong, but also won’t just say what he means. what you both know he means by asking these questions, by drawing this conversation out.

“i wouldn’t know,” you say slowly, “i’ve never been on one.”

“how can you say you’ve never been on one if you don’t know how to classify one?”

“oh for fuck’s sake, micha,” you snap, “i haven’t been on a date. i haven’t been on a date with you. you’re not my boyfriend.”

“no,” he says, then reaches out and takes your chin firmly into his grasp. you gasp as he tilts your head up, pulling your face toward his.

“i’m much more than that.” his lips brush against yours with each word. “such a flimsy title is insulting.” he drags a thumb across your cheek. “anyone could be your boyfriend, schatz, but no one could be what i am to you.”

there’s a lot of things on his face now. things you’ve only ever caught the slightest glimpses of are on full display now, things that make your stomach flip over and make you feel hot all over.

reaching up, you gently wrap a hand around his wrist and ask, “well what are you, then?”

“i’m yours and you’re mine,” he answers immediately, unflinchingly, as if it’s truly that simple. “you and i do things differently than others. it’s always been that way.”

and maybe he’s right, but,

“okay,” you say, “i’m still gonna say i don’t have a boyfriend, though.”

kaiser groans, and you giggle a bit evilly as he releases your chin. his hand doesn’t stray very far, though, and he’s cupping your cheek as the last of your laughter peters out.

when he calls your name, it’s with a sincerity and vulnerability that he hasn’t allowed himself since you were both children. “would you please be mine?”

you tilt your head to the side. “but you already said i’m yours.”

frowning, kaiser reaches his thumb out to the other side of your face, squeezing your cheeks roughly. “you’re gonna make me say the word, aren’t you?”

you nod, and he sighs egregiously, like you’re being particularly difficult. you think you’re being perfectly reasonable.

rolling his eyes, he asks, “can i be your boyfriend or whatever?”

“how romantic,” you say drily. “however could i resist such a heartwarming proposal?”

“how could you?” he coos back at you. “after all, i made you dinner and everything. isn’t that what a good boyfriend would do?”

well, you couldn’t really argue with that.

#i was cheesing writing this im ngl #being in a relationship with kaiser is a nightmare because you dont know it's a relationship #he doesnt like labels #he just subjects you to his will #and makes it your problem to figure out #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #ceru.writes #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x you

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ceruark · 3 months ago

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campus crush, pt. 2

synopsis: blue lock boys as crushes you’d develop at university! [ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, and michael kaiser (pt. 2)] (pt. 1 here) words: 2.6k notes: gn! reader. a/n: thank you to everyone who supported part 1! let me know who else you'd like to see for this series :>

kaiser pt. 2 req taglist: @lizzzmm @mochiii-sama @anyaslittlepeanut rin req taglist: @levihanmyotp @ieathairs

isagi yoichi - lab partner

general education courses are the bane of your existence. wasn’t that high school’s job? why should you be forced to pay to take a class you have absolutely no interest in when you could be putting your time to good use pursuing what you love instead?

whether it’s as a gen ed course or a prereq for your major, you somehow find yourself in a chemistry class that, of course, starts at the crack of dawn (8 a.m.). you go into the class fearing for your life; you’ve heard horror stories from your friends about their own lab partners who would skip the lab period, slack off, and push all the work onto them while reaping the benefits of earning the same grade.

fortunately for you, your lab partner is nothing like that. isagi is the epitome of politeness, and as the semester goes on, you find him to be super sweet and extremely competent— at times, you find yourself feeling bad because he picks up the material much faster than you and sometimes ends up doing the brunt of the work. he always brushes off your apologies, saying that he doesn’t mind at all and that you’re plenty helpful during lab.

it’s extremely easy for you to get comfortable around isagi. his kindness is so genuine that it’s easy to fall into a real friendship with him. you end up grabbing lunch with him after lab every week, waving to him when you pass each other on campus, and even texting him about things other than your shared class, and soon enough, you find yourself mentioning him more frequently in conversation. you start talking about him so much that your friends start teasing you about having a crush on him, which you vehemently deny despite the blush that paints your cheeks bright red.

it’s around midterms when their casual teasing becomes far more serious, though, when two of your friends get out of class early one day and decide to sit with you and isagi at lunch. unintentionally, isagi is a social butterfly and hits it off with your friends immediately, who are just as charmed by his warm nature as you are.

“that’s boyfriend material manifest,” your friend says the second he’s out of earshot, “you better get on that, and fast.”

you spend the next couple of weeks continuing to spend time with isagi outside of class whenever you can, and skirting around your friends’ accusations of a crush. isagi is sweet, very much so, but it’s simply just not like that. besides, sometimes you worry that he’s a little too nice. you’re plenty capable of taking care of yourself, but it might be nice to have a boyfriend who can bite back on your behalf.

your doubts go up in smoke one day when you walk into lab a few minutes later than usual, only to see a tall blonde standing next to isagi at your shared workstation. you can’t see the stranger’s face, but you can see isagi’s: lips pulled down into a mean sneer, eyes blazing as he fires out insult after excruciating insult, exposing you to some of his more… colorful vocabulary. you feel yourself blush despite yourself, trying to crush the butterflies in your stomach.

it’s— well, it’s hot, to be quite honest.

you’re not really able to act normally around him after that. the feelings you’d been denying and suppressing have now arisen completely, refusing to be stamped down. you’re a blushing mess around him and, despite your best efforts, are now acting like a shy, awkward schoolgirl around a guy you’ve been casually talking to for months now. that would be embarrassing enough by itself, but everything is made worse by the fact that isagi isn’t stupid, and he’s able to pick up on your shift behavior and the likely feelings behind it—which, of course, leaves him a blushing, stuttering mess as well.

you’re wallowing in frustration over your helplessness, slouched over the workstation with your head in your hands before lab starts, when you hear something being placed down in front of you.

you look up, surprised. a box from a popular bakery near campus sits in front of you. you lift your head further and lock eyes with isagi, who is flushed red—from nerves or the late spring heat, you can’t tell, but you can appreciate the way his tank top shows off the toned arms you’ve rarely gotten to see in time’s past.

he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, clearly riddled with nerves, yet you can see the determination in his eyes, which he refuses to avert away from yours.

“the first showing of this semester’s play is this saturday,” isagi says, fidgeting a bit with the hem of his sleeves. “i was wondering if, uh, you’d like to go with me? and maybe get dinner before that? if you’re available, of course.”

you lift the lid of the bakery box. inside is a cupcake of your favorite flavor, which you had offhandedly mentioned to isagi in conversation once.

you smile up at him softly. “of course,” you say, “i’d like that.”

you both stay like that for a moment, smiling shyly at each other, until the professor walks in and loudly asks isagi to take his seat.

the fanfare your friend group chat meets the news of your date with does little to distract you from the side glances and sweet smiles he shoots you throughout the period.

itoshi rin - library worker

you seriously regret taking this literature course.

you’re just taking it to fulfill a requirement. it’s supposed to be a low-stress class; you’d done your research, and the professor was very lax, making the course an easy A so long as you were competent in stringing together an argument and structuring an essay. the only thing that gave you some pause was the fact that there was a research component to it, but a friend who had taken the course told you that it wasn’t anything super intense or difficult, so you went ahead and signed up for the course.

and it’s been fine the whole semester. the assignments haven’t been stressful at all, and the professor is incredibly funny and kind. it’s everything you could have asked for in a class. but things have taken a turn since midterms hit, which is when you had to start pulling together an outline for your final research paper. you have free range over the topic, and you’ve settled on exploring victorian gothic literature, so it’s not the paper itself that’s giving you grief, either.

no, it’s the damn student worker stationed in the library who’s been giving you your daily dose of migraines these days.

of course you know of itoshi rin; he and his brother are notorious on campus for their beauty yet cold personalities that leave them “untouchable.” your friends have fawned over the younger one more than once, given that he’s the same year as you all. you can admit that both brothers were attractive—you’d either be a liar or a contrarian to say otherwise—but you never really understood openly gushing over them when they could both be quite rude.

and now that you’ve actually interacted with rin, you are firm in your belief that the itoshi brothers are overrated and undeserving of their many admirers.

rin glaring at you when you approached the reception desk was enough on its own to rub you the wrong way—god forbid you ask a man to do his job. and then, when you asked him to point you in the direction of the section related to your research topic, he sighed under his breath like you were inconveniencing him and told you the approximate location of what you were looking for in a deadpan voice that still somehow managed to come across as condescending.

it only escalates from there. he seems to always be on the clock whenever you have time to stop by the library to pick up books you checked out, and the cool glare he greets you with always manages to get under your skin.

it’s as you’re checking out a copy of wuthering heights and returning a copy of dracula that he says, “your picks are very basic.”

your eye twitches. this is the first time he’s spoken a word to you outside of what his job requires him to say, and of course, it’s something that pisses you off.

“they’re classics for a reason,” you respond easily, feigning nonchalance.

rin gives a noncommittal shrug, but you can feel the condescension in his gaze as he hands you the book, grating on your nerves.

next time, you request a copy of the beetle by richard marsh. the mysteries of udolpho by ann radcliffe next.

you’re picking up the last novel you selected for this paper, flatland by edward abbott, when he finally bothers to talk to you again.

“this one hasn’t been in print for very long,” he mumbles as he scans it into the system, registering your rental.

“i know,” you say, not bothering to keep the smugness out of your voice. “not a very basic pick, is it?”

he fixes you with that blank stare again, but you don’t quite miss the way the corner of his lip quirks up into the slightest of smirks as he slides the book over the counter to you.

despite the fact that you really don’t need to, you keep renting out a book from the library every week even after you’ve finished your essay. every time, you make sure it’s something that’s in the realm of horror but not a super common title, spending hours researching and compiling a list of novels that fit your criteria. it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the smart-mouthed guy handing the books off to you every week, who you’ve actually gotten to the point of bantering with (because, quite frankly, you don’t think your takes on the novels are as bad as he claims they are).

half your friends think you’ve just picked up a new hobby. the other half think you’ve gone insane. only one knows the truth, when they catch you taking a handwritten note out of the most recent book you’ve just picked up from the library, shaking your head and scoffing at whatever’s written on it, but also struggling to keep the smile off your face.

her curiosity spurs her into following you to the library the next week, where she catches you and itoshi rin in heated discussion over the novel, the man actually fully engaged in the conversation and having eyes only for you.

well, she can keep a secret just this once. far be it for her to interfere with your accomplishment of the impossible.

michael kaiser - study date (pt. 2)

you shouldn’t have agreed to come to the cafe with him—you’re in way over your head.

it’d taken four hours, the consultation of every friend you have on campus, and a seemingly endless amount of cycling through every article of clothing you own, but eventually, you’d looked into your full-length mirror and deemed yourself ready for your date with kaiser.

you thought that calling it a “date” was being generous, but your friends insisted otherwise. he asked you to go to a cafe with him, one-on-one. to study, you’d argued, but they just amended their statement to call it a study date. which is a thing, apparently.

regardless, you’ve gone with a relatively safe outfit—nothing too fancy, in case it really is just another study session, but still something nicer than you would normally wear around campus, especially to the library.

you headed out at about six-twenty, since you’d agreed to meet at the library at six-thirty. sucking in a shaky breath and wiping your sweaty palms off on your shirt, you threw your laptop into your bag and slung it over your shoulder, then began the trek to the library.

it felt like a death march. each step closer to the entrance had your heart rate increasing, and by the time you found yourself climbing the final steps to the floor that your usual study spot is on, you felt like you might have actually been having a heart attack with the way the organ felt like it was about to burst out of your chest at any moment.

remember, he asked you, your friend’s voice echoed in your head as you steeled yourself and ignored the instinct to turn tail and flee while you still could.

now, you’ve been sitting with kaiser at a cozy table by a window in the back of the cafe for just over an hour now, but you’ve felt like your face is going to melt off the entire time. the cool detachment from your previous encounters is gone now, leaving you in the wake of the flirtatious nature you’d only heard about from others, something so rare to behold it’d become something of a myth on campus.

an hour, and neither of you had brought out a single notebook or laptop. after ordering your drinks and sitting down, you didn’t feel like you had a moment to even breathe; kaiser kept your gaze trapped within his own intense one, his blue eyes locked onto yours as he made “casual conversation,” which mostly just ended up being him coaxing you into talking about yourself.

he answered some of your questions, too, about his major, plans post-grad, and even the people he insisted weren’t friends (you’d felt your nervous smile go a bit fond at that; he could say whatever he liked, but if he really didn’t like alexis and yoichi, he probably wouldn’t be spotted around them as much as he was). after expertly dodging your questions about his home life and family twice, you took the hint and backed off, steering the conversation back to yourself.

there’s finally a lull in your conversation, prompting you to finally tear your eyes away from his and look down at your backpack. fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you ask, “should we, um, get started on work?”

a sense of deja vu washes over you when you don’t get a response. it seems his silence is a command for your attention, and you shyly peer up at him, nearly cowering under the bored glare he’s now sending you that very much reminds you of the day in the library that had landed you in this situation to begin with.

“why bother?” he asks, tilting his head against the palm it’s propped up against. “it’s irresponsible to start another assignment when you haven’t finished the one you’re currently working through.”

you raise an eyebrow at the implication behind that statement but decide to indulge him, anyways. “and just what assignment might you be working on right now?”

his smirk reemerges, and you feel your own face heat up again. “a research project, of sorts,” he answers breezily. “i’ve yet to collect enough data to satisfy me.”

“what a shame,” you say, somehow managing to keep yourself together enough to go along with the bit. “do you plan to gather more?”

he lets out a hum, then begins to trace his finger in circles along the rim of his mug. his eyes are so sharp as they gaze into yours that your breath hitches before he even answers.

“if my subject is willing to meet with me again, then yes.”

yeah, you’re definitely way in over your head with this one.

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