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rindreamery · 7 months ago

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to be loved is to be seen.

the little things that the blue lock men do for you as their way of saying, "i love you." featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: fluff

note. spreading down bad bllk men agenda 🫦 finals is this week, so that means i will not be able to write at all for 3-4 days, so i just wanted to pop this out rlly quickly (event fics will be written as soon as i wrap up this sem, PROMISE)

itoshi rin picks out the things you don't like in your food.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but rin has a folder in his notes app about you— things you like, things you dislike, and every little thing you’ve mentioned to him in passing. he wants to know every little detail about you, to write it down and memorize it until the knowledge becomes stuck in the back of his head. to the point that it becomes like common sense to him (if there were ever a pop quiz on facts about you, he would pass with flying colors.) at the end of every date, or every time he hangs out with you, he’ll update his notes with another little thing he’d learned. you will never catch him admitting it out loud, but it definitely shows in how he treats you.

there is one thing he’d memorized about you, by now, though. it’s written in bold, italicized, and underlined in his notes: you hate mushrooms.

rin catches himself looking at the ingredients of certain meals whenever the two of you would eat at a new restaurant, or order food from an unfamiliar place. it’s not that he’s necessarily a picky eater because, frankly, he really doesn’t care. but he wants you to enjoy it, he wants you to be able to eat without stressing about having to pick it out. his eyes are always scanning through the print, actively checking if mushrooms are one of the ingredients listed.

but, there are times when the ingredients aren’t listed, and there are times when you end up ordering something with mushrooms in it.

he may be dense in certain aspects, but it’s hard for him to miss the disappointed look on your face. the way your expression falls ever so slightly, and your smile falters for half a second. before you could dig in, before you could even put yourself through five minutes of digging through the food— he’s swiftly grabbing it from you.

truthfully, he does it without thinking. he’s acting on his thoughts before he could even process what he’s doing. rin tries to fight the blush that threatens to form on his cheeks, the way the heat crawls up his neck and to his face at the realization of what he’d done, and he fails. but he’s committed to the act now, and he’s not going to give it back to you until he’s done what he needed to do.

he tries to ignore the somewhat perplexed look on your face, and the way you watch him closely as his fingers make quick work of moving the mushrooms from your plate to his. (he tries to sneak in some of your favorite food from his plate to yours, but he’s not slick, and you definitely notice.)

“here,” he says, pushing the plate closer to you after a few minutes. “you can eat it now.”

he sees you glance at the plate, and then back up at him— he looks away as you beam at him with a grateful smile, trying to ignore his ever-increasing heart rate.

itoshi sae remembers the small details about your routine.

it is almost guaranteed that sae will wake up before you do. his alarm is set to go off at the crack of dawn, right as the sun starts to peek through the horizon, and he's starting his day while you're still in deep sleep. there’s a set routine that he follows, to a tee: wake up (and then contemplate staying in bed, just to cuddle with you a little longer), stretch, do morning yoga, and then go on a jog. it’s something he’d been doing for years, and he has never gone out of his way to add anything new to his routine— that is, until one morning.

at first, it started with a random thought. as he was getting ready to leave the house, to go for his morning jog, he had unsystematically decided to set out your favorite mug and go-to morning snack.

sae didn’t think it would be that significant to you, and he, initially, had no plans of doing it again. he simply had extra time to spare, and he knew that making your morning drink was always the first part to your routine, so he decided to get the first step out of the way for you.

truly, he wasn’t planning to make a habit out of this. but then, you told him, “that was a sweet way to start off my morning,” with that sleepy, morning smile of yours. he tries to not pay attention to the way his heart softens at the sight, and the realization that that had made him happy. yet now, he does it every time.

from then on, his alarm was always set to go off two minutes earlier. it’s rewarding, in his opinion, to come home to you— sitting at the dining table, messy hair and still in your pajamas, eyes half-lidded from sleep, with a smile on your face as you take a sip from the mug. and then you greet him with a thank you and a kiss, without fail, even when he tries to lightly guide you away because he’s sweaty.

it never works, because he folds the second you tell him, “g’morning. i missed you.” and he finds himself adding another part to his schedule.

before sae’s even aware of it, much of his daily habits had been molded to fit with yours.

on days where he’s far from home, in another country, he finds that his morning just never feels right without you. it feels weird not having to set out your favorite mug, and it feels even weirder not having you there to smother him in kisses. his routine had always determined his mood, and without you, he’s extra sour.

“i miss you,” he ends up texting you. (that, too, becomes part of his routine when he’s far from you.)

michael kaiser has all your subtle behaviors memorized.

if kaiser were to be asked to name one annoying habit of yours, it would be the fact that you, sometimes, say things that contradict how you truly feel. he calls you pesky, he tells you that he’ll take your word for it and not read too deeply into whatever you’re saying— but, in a way, he’s contradicting himself too by saying that. he’ll always read into it; he’ll always analyze you, gaze narrowed, and watching for every subtle sign in your body language. he knows you, all too well.

but there’s one thing you always say, one contradictory statement that you always make, that he’d memorized at this point. “it’s okay, i’m not cold,” even when you visibly are.

it irks him to no end. he doesn’t understand why you would say that even when there are goosebumps scattered all over your skin, when you have your arms wrapped around yourself, and you’re visibly trembling. he can practically see the bones under your skin, rattling, making some comical, cartoony noise in his head. you know that he can see you, and yet, you still lie to him.

and, at times, he does this on purpose— he puts the air conditioning in the car on full blast, all vents pointed at you, just to see how far you’re willing to go. and every time, it’s always the same, with the same answer.

kaiser isn’t completely cruel, however. he’s tucked one of his spare hoodies (your favorite, actually) into the backseat, existing purely for your use. first, he’ll scoff at you, roll his eyes, and let you suffer for a few more minutes. but eventually, the guilt will catch up to him, and he’ll constantly be glancing at you through his periphery, shaking and looking absolutely miserable in your seat.

he’ll think to himself for a second, as if contemplating whether he’ll actually help you out (he always does, he does not want you to actually suffer). and then, he’ll internally sigh, before speaking up. “stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “i have a spare hoodie in the back, take it.”

it’s almost laughable, the way you quickly turn your body around to reach for the backseat, visibly seeking warmth. he sees the look of pure joy in your eyes when you realize that it’s your favorite, and he smiles to himself.

“you’re the best,” you always tell him, as you pull the fabric over your head, and he's content.

he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t reprimand you— he lets you do this, every single time.

oliver aiku is always willing to listen to you ramble.

it doesn’t matter if aiku’s had an exceptionally long day, it doesn’t matter if he feels as if he’s on the verge of succumbing to sleep— he will always make time for you. he will never pass up a chance to call you, to listen to you talk about whatever you want, whenever you want. you could talk for hours, going on and on about something that he doesn’t quite understand, and not a single complaint will slip past his lips. then again, he thinks to himself, why would he complain? hearing your voice is the best part of any day, good or bad. and every night, he finds himself waiting by his phone, waiting for your contact to appear on his screen.

he finds no shame at the speed in which he accepts your call, which is immediately, nor does he try to mask the anticipation in his voice.

and if he were to look into a mirror at that exact moment, he would also see the lovesick smile that had started to tug on the corners of his lips. you can’t see him, but he’s sure you can hear it in his voice. the way it softens, the way it loses its rough edges and lightens up ever so slightly, when he greets you. you probably know he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. (he doesn’t think he is, but when it comes to you, he’s completely transparent.)

it doesn’t take long before you’re divulging into another one of your endless tangents. but aiku’s attention remains undivided, only for you. he sits on the other side of the phone, silently, only responding when you want him to. it doesn’t matter if his own thoughts are clouded with exhaustion, his mind racing with the weight of the day—when you call, everything else fades into nothingness.

“did you know that venus is an evening star for 263 days out of the year?” he can hear the excitement in your voice, he can practically see the sparkle in your eyes, even without seeing you. it’s been three hours, and he’s sure that he should’ve been in bed one hour ago. but you’re still as energetic as ever, so he fights the way his body craves for sleep. he locks his jaw, and bites back a yawn, and listens. “and then, the fact that it disappears from the sky for 50 days, before returning as a morning star?”

there’s silence on your end, and aiku takes that as his cue to talk. “no,” he responds, and there’s an amused lilt in his tone. “i didn’t, actually. you should tell me more.” and you do.

one look at the clock to his side tells him that, at this point, he won’t be getting enough sleep. he’s sure he’s going to be exhausted when he wakes up in the morning— though, he doesn’t really care, and he’s sure he won’t regret it. he’ll let you ramble about the stars for as long as you want, even when the stars themselves start to fade into the morning sky.

#blue lock #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku fluff #oliver aiku x reader

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sixeyesonathiel · 3 months ago

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what happens when the pint-sized copy of gojo satoru fails the quiz his dad helped him review?

the door slams.

not shuts. not closes. slams—with the full, righteous fury only a small, betrayed child can muster. a tiny, furious body with too much emotion and too little upper-body strength, using every ounce of indignation to make an entrance.

a backpack ricochets off the hallway wall, landing with a sad, almost pitiful plop. you pause mid-slice, knife hovering above half a strawberry on the cutting board, sugar-dusted fingertips twitching.

from the living room, satoru blinks behind a pair of wire-framed reading glasses—askew on the bridge of his nose, balancing in the space where his usual sunglasses would sit. he’s sprawled lazily on the floor, legs kicked up onto the coffee table, wearing a pair of navy blue pajamas patterned with tiny mochi cats. an open manga flutters against his chest.

he doesn’t sit up. not yet. just slowly turns his head toward you, peering over the edge of the couch with the exact caution of prey sensing a distant predator.

“...was that the wind?” he asks, voice very hopeful.

you lift a brow, flicking your eyes toward the front hallway.

“baby,” you deadpan, “we don’t get wind indoors.”

and then—like a summoned curse echoing from the depths of a broken heart—a sound shatters the air.

a wail.

high-pitched. raw. as if the whole world had crumbled under a pair of light-up velcro sneakers. you barely have time to process it before—

“mamaaaaaa!! daddyyyyyyyy!!”

satoru flinches like he’s taken physical damage. the manga slips off his chest and hits the floor with a soft thup. both your heads snap toward the hall just in time to witness the grand, devastating arrival of your son.

he’s tiny. flushed pink from the cold or from his tears, it’s hard to tell. his white hair is a mop of fluffy chaos—tufts sticking up where little fingers must’ve raked through it on the playground, a single rebellious cowlick curled toward the sky like a question mark. cheeks blotchy. nose red. lower lip trembling so hard it casts its own shadow.

and he’s crying.

not sniffles. not whimpers.

crying. open-mouthed, sob-shattered wails that rattle the windows and tug at your heart. arms flailing, body stumbling forward like a tragic protagonist in a historical drama. his sleeves are too long—he must’ve tugged at them all day—and now they flap as he wipes his eyes with the cuffs, trailing streaks of moisture across the fabric.

your knife is already down. you round the kitchen island in record time and crouch, arms open.

“baby, what’s wrong?!”

he doesn’t just run into your arms—he launches himself, full body-weight, like a little cannonball of despair. his backpack thumps against your hip as he buries his face in your chest.

“i didn’t get ice creeeeeeam—!!”

you blink.

“...oh,” satoru says from behind you, having finally peeled himself off the floor. he crouches beside you, pajama pants riding up a little around the ankle. his hair’s a fluffy mess, eyes wide behind his reading glasses, mouth open like he’s still buffering. “you didn’t get what?”

“ice cream,” your son sobs, voice thick and hiccuping. “everybody got some ‘cause they passed the quiz and i didn’t—even though we studied!! even though we did the ming dynasty thing and daddy wore the stupid kimono!!!”

“it wasn’t stupid,” satoru frowns, indignant. “it was authentic.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “sweetheart, slow down. what quiz?”

“the history one,” your son says, sniffling miserably. “with the ming dyna—hic—sty and emperor yongle and daddy said if i remembered the porce… porcelain stuff i’d get full marks…”

you and satoru lock eyes.

oh.

that quiz.

the living room flashes back in your mind—satoru in a patterned bathrobe tied with your silk scarf, chopsticks in his hair, declaring himself emperor of all snacks. your son clutched his stomach from laughing so hard he rolled off the couch. satoru called it “immersive education.”

apparently... it wasn’t effective.

your son’s lower lip quivers again. he pulls back slightly to sniff, his little brows furrowed, his voice small and wounded. “it’s not fair… daddy said he was the best at history and he lied and now everyone got to go to the cafeteria for ice cream and i had to stay and read with ms. matsuda and it was boring and i don’t even like maps—”

satoru visibly stiffens. his head tilts.

“...oh no,” he mutters. “it was geography?”

you stare at him.

“wait,” you say slowly, turning back to your son, “you did the ming dynasty for geography?”

he pauses.

his eyes widen. he turns to satoru. horror dawns.

“...what?”

satoru clears his throat. tugs at the collar of his mochi cat pajama top.

“...oops?”

“daddy!!!” your son bellows, fists flying. he punches satoru’s arm with all the fury in his tiny frame. it’s like being attacked by a particularly angry cloud. satoru lets himself be dramatically thrown back onto the floor, flopping like a fish.

“argh!! fatal blow! betrayal by my own bloodline!!”

your son sniffles, shoulders rising and falling, too tired to be mad but too heartbroken to forgive. he plops back onto the floor with a heavy sigh, pulling his sleeves over his hands like a soggy little dumpling of grief.

“...so i don’t get any ice cream.”

from the floor, satoru grins.

“nope. you’re getting a whole bucket.”

you whirl on him. “satoru—!”

“what? he suffered, he deserves it.” satoru pushes his glasses up and cracks his knuckles. cursed energy begins to shimmer faintly around him, blurring the air like heat off pavement. “i’ll be back in fifteen. or maybe two. actually—let’s make it one.”

you gape. “you’re using your limitless to get him ice cream—?”

“and this is why you married me,” he says with a wink, and then—

pop.

he’s gone. air displaced in a puff of cool wind and sparkles.

you sigh. your son leans into you, cheek pressed to your shoulder. you wrap your arms around him gently, brushing your fingers through his hair. still soft from this morning’s brushing. a few crumbs from lunch clinging to the ends.

he tugs your shirt, voice muffled.

“...mama,” he says, “if i cry again, can i eat more scoops?”

you pause.

squint down at him. “that depends. are the tears real?”

he considers. long pause. then, with the gravitas of a stage actor, he pinches his nose and starts fake crying—loud, wobbly sobs that rock his whole body.

and then—pop.

satoru’s back. disheveled, pajama sleeves windblown, glasses askew, and arms cradling an absurdly massive neon plastic tub that smells like every ice cream flavor ever invented. it’s glowing. it might actually be radioactive.

your son stops fake-crying mid-sob.

“…score.”

satoru beams. “for my little emperor of the ming dynasty!”

you all end up piled on the couch, one tangled mass of pajama legs and sticky fingers. strawberry slices forgotten on the counter. your son curled between you both, spoon held like a royal scepter, dribbling rainbow cream down his chin as he proclaims flavor rankings with the gravitas of a judge.

“your majesty,” satoru intones, spoon raised high, “may i present the cookie dough scrolls of diplomacy.”

you roll your eyes fondly, head resting on satoru’s shoulder. “you’re such an idiot.”

he kisses your cheek, smiling.

“uh huh. but i’m your idiot.”

your son silently shoves a spoon in both your mouths.

he’s still sulking. a little. but the betrayal has been soothed by frozen sugar, warmth, and the fact that tomorrow, daddy promised to stage the tang dynasty.

correct subject pending.

a/n : i need to have his babies so bad nobody understands 😔🥀 yes you can't convince me he wouldn't teleport just to get his kids ice cream even if he's wearing ridiculous pajamas <3

#౨ৎ — flash reports #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #dad!gojo

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chronic-claire-universe · 2 years ago

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Next week it will be Tokyo Revengers 💜

#claire quiz #blue lock #michael kaiser #nagi seishiro #bachira meguru #aryu jyubei #rin itoshi #shidou ryusei #have fun

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cvnntagious · 10 months ago

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𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

☆ fuckboy!matt sturniolo blurb for anon...

Not that you cared, but Matt had been M.I.A for over a week now. He hadn't been in class, hadn't texted you, and you hadn't seen him in his usual hangout spots around campus. Not that you'd bothered to check.

Well, okay, you shouldn't have checked — But you did. Not because you cared. I mean, he didn't care, so why would you? You'd been looking for him because, for some reason, your professor had decided to hand over his work to you. It didn't seem like he knew where Matt had gone either.

You didn't really understand what this had to do with you. The professor had just told you to give it to Matt whenever you got the chance. What, did he think you and Matt were something? Because you're not. That's not what Matt wanted, and neither did you.

But as your grades began to slip, it was clear Matt was on your mind. For no reason, really. Like, you didn't like him or anything. Seriously, you didn't like him. Usually, with the help of Matt, you would've been able to de-stress by now. Even touching yourself was no good. His help had been keeping you steady for the semester, and without it, you were nothing academically. At least that's what you told yourself.

Today 10:22 PM : ' Hey sorry. Been a minute. '

That's what you saw pop up on your phone as you tried to focus on studying for the upcoming quiz. You knew who it was before you even read the contact at the top of the notification — that unreadable way of texting, topped with an annoying amount of periods, just like always. He said it'd been a minute, but it had only seemed like seconds since you last talked at that moment. You were already annoyed.

Texting back seemed like no use, brushing it off with a sigh that exuded not only irritation, but a hint of relief as well. At least now you knew he hadn't gotten himself into some shit. Not that getting into shit was much like him, it was more his brother's thing. But still, he tended to stick his nose where it didn't belong when it came to any problems Chris got into.

Today 10:25 PM : ' Come slide. Dorm's P17. '

You tried to ignore it, but the numbers caught your attention. Could he really want you this bad? Usually he'd come to your dorm, or on some rare occasions you'd meet him at Chris' frat. Never once had he bothered to give you his dorm number. This felt new, possibly refreshing. He'd always told you where he stayed wasn't necessary information— basically the nice way of saying he didn't take you seriously, nor trust you enough.

Though tempting, your better judgement told you not to give in so easily. As you held down the power button and slid the icon to power off before flipping your phone face down, you felt a certain sense of empowerment, proud of yourself for deciding it wasn't worth it. So why did you find yourself waiting for him to answer the door, fidgeting nervously as you looked at the short brown carpet of the dormitory hallway?

"Didn't even get a warning," You heard his voice as the door opened in front of you, causing you to look up at him.

With an embarrassed chuckle, you lifted your hand to show him the black screen of your phone. "It died," You lied, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes met his blue ones.

You watched his small smile as his tongue ran over his white teeth to hide it, invisalign making them chunky and, in some strange way, admirable. Then, he stepped aside, giving you room to walk into his doorway. "S'late, I know, but I just- like I said, its been a while," Matt began explaining as you walked into his dorm, leaning on the doorframe as his head followed you.

You turned to look at him after having taken in his dorm, rather unimpressed by the lack of personality. "Yeah, about that, actually— Where y'been?" You asked curiously, as he shut and locked the door behind him.

Matt only shrugged, suppressing a smirk as he took a step forward to let his hands travel down your waist. "Lot'a stuff," He replied simply, head cocking slightly to one side. Of course he wasn't going to tell you - he never told you anything. "S'a lot to handle, y'know," He then added, eyes darkening as they held contact with yours.

Your brows furrowed at his words, a bit confused. If he didn't want to tell you why he was gone straight up, you'd prefer if he didn't start hinting at stuff. "What is?" You breathed out, hands moving to rest on his forearms as you unknowingly caught his bait.

"Not being able to see you every day; To touch you every day." He said that as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, his head dipping to place open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck. "To call you mine," He then whispered. You knew it were dumb to think he meant that, but for some reason, those four words made you want to give yourself to him completely.

Matt smiled for the first time since you'd walked in when you pulled back to admire his face, letting out a small hum when you leaned back into him to press your lips against his. Just like that, he walked you backwards towards his bed, hands slipping under your shirt to caress the soft skin of your stomach. The coldness of his silver rings caused you to hiss into the kiss, too distracted by the sensation to notice him turning you so that he was now with his back to his bed.

As he sat down on his bed, he pulled you down to straddle him, hands holding your waist. You looked down at his glossy blue eyes as your hands reached up to knock his hat off of his head, fingers threading through his brunette curls. "What d'you want, Matt?" You finally asked, one hand coming down to allow your finger to caress the underside of his chin as he looked up at you.

His hands traveled up your figure, lifting your shirt as he did so. He allowed his hands to rest on your boobs, kneeding them as he chuckled ever so quietly. "To not have to do the work this time," He answered in a teasing tone, eyes flickering down to look at where his hands worked.

Though reluctant, you lifted yourself off of his lap to hoover over it. Using one hand to stabilize yourself on his shoulder, your free hand made its way down to his belt buckle as he watched your every move intently, "Don't look so happy," You mused when your eyes had glanced up to see the excitement in his.

"You know I love this shit," He quipped as you pulled his belt through the loops, lifting himself just enough for you to pull his pants down to his thighs. You only had so long to admire all you could see through his boxers before you felt Matt tugging on your pants, pleading without words for you to take them off.

Again, you lifted yourself off of him, this time allowing him to unbutton your pants and shimmy them down your legs until they were discarded somewhere beside his bed. As he fiddled with your pants, your hand began palming him through his boxers, length already riled up from not being touched much longer than he was used to. He groaned as his eyes remained locked on yours, a wet patch turning a spot of his boxers a darker shade of gray.

After a bit of teasing, you decided it was time to finally get your eyes on the prize—his prize. Pulling it out of his boxers, you ran your hand along his shaft to feel it rock hard already. "So big," You muttered, eyes glued to it.

Matt couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips at your words, expression smug as it could be. "This's new news?" He asked playfully, a stark contrast to his usual cold behaviors. It was like he really came out of his shell when he was aroused, and you were ready to put him right back in it.

With a squeeze of his dick that caused him to grunt, you pulled your panties to the side and lined him up with your entrance. Matt looked enthralled as he watched you do your work like this were routine, hands leaving your hips to rest behind him, leaning back to tilt his head back when you sunk down onto him without warning.

His hair was messy, and he could feel he was ready to sweat with your gummy walls around him. Lips pursing together, he hummed as you began to slowly grind into him, letting you do the work, just like he said he wanted.

It wasn't long before you began bouncing on him, hands on his shoulders for stability as you let out choked moans, as if his cock were suffocating you. The quick pace had your thighs burning, struggling to keep up with it, and yet, Matt simply watched in enjoyment. It wasn't often he allowed himself to freely make noise, but you could tell he was really enjoying this, with the way he had let out more groans and pants than usual.

Seemingly out of nowhere, his hands dartted out to grip the flesh of your hips as you continued your motions. You could've swore you heard a whimper when his head dropped forward to lean on the front of your shoulder. "Fu–ck this," He drawled out to you, hips begining to meet yours as he chase his high.

This simple, not so innocent gesture only served to fuel you, completely forgetting about the burning sensation. Your bounces got bigger, lifting yourself all the way to his tip before dropping back onto him with shreik-like moans. Matt was loving this, pants and groans now following each motion on his painfully ready cock.

"K- keep goin' f'me, baby, m'gettin close," He rasped, forcing himself to lift his head from your shoulder so he could look in your eyes while he came.

You nodded, bouncing mixing with grinding as you tried to tell him you were close too. It was too late. You let out a loud moan as you snapped on top of him, Matt following suit at the feeling of your sticky liquid releasing all over his dick. Your movements slowed to ride out your guys' orgasms before eventually coming to a halt, both of you panting with each other.

"Le's, uh— We'll do that more often, yeah?"

○

"come on over, baby, can you slide for me? yeah / you know how i love it when you ride on me." -chase atlantic

w/c : 1.8k a/n : if you've sent in any anons, i promise i'm getting to them. it's taking me a while cs i take forever to write and now i'm super busy so please bare w me, these anons have been building up for months now...

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

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kxsagi · 3 months ago

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hihii could i request smth academic rivals pretty pls 😋🙏 w any character u think would fit, u write all of them so well!! 💗

“𝐮 𝐮𝐩? (𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬… 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬)”

a/n: thank you!!! i decided to turn them into multi-character headcanons lol

also isn’t reo like… the only canonically smart academic student out of all of the blue lock boys or am i missing someone

(i don't know art credits sorry)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, bachira meguru, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

you’re always one mark ahead of him, and it kills him.

stays up rewatching the lecture recordings at 1.5x speed just to prove a point.

always “accidentally” sits next to you in study groups so he can “check your notes for comparison” (aka secretly tries to figure out how the hell you understood that derivation so easily).

keeps it respectful, but once he beats your score? he turns and gives you the smuggest little smile.

“guess i’m top of the class this time, huh?”

his ears go pink when you glare back at him. he lives for it.

itoshi rin

hates how your handwriting is always neat and your answers are always right.

claims he doesn’t care, but if you do even slightly better than him, he studies twice as hard the next week.

his pride gets bruised every time the professor compliments you.

“your essay lacked proper citation structure.”

oh? okay rin. yours lacked a heart.

he doesn’t admit he likes the tension between you two until you start arguing about shakespeare in front of the whole class.

it’s not a love confession, but the moment he actually agrees with your interpretation? that’s the closest he’ll get.

nagi seishiro

couldn’t care less until you started mocking him for sleeping through class.

now he’s determined to beat you out of sheer spite.

“ugh… guess i gotta actually open the textbook now.”

still acts lazy, but secretly studies at night just to come back and say “look, i got a 98. that’s higher than yours, right?”

teases you by stretching and yawning right after acing a quiz.

lowkey enjoys the way you huff and accuse him of guessing (he didn’t. he crammed).

you catch him writing your initials in the margins of his notes one day and he plays it off like he’s doodling.

kaiser michael

academic rivalry? no. it’s academic war.

“you breathe like someone who gets second place.”

calls you “valedictorian” like it’s an insult.

raises his hand just to challenge everything you say.

will literally hold a grudge if you score higher than him on a test.

once snatched your paper off the stack and announced your grade out loud in front of everyone.

but also corners you after class like “how do you study? seriously.”

starts showing up to the library when you’re there. not to study. just to sit across from you and smirk every time you sigh.

mikage reo

flirts while competing.

“wow, you’re smart and cute. must be hard carrying the class on your back.”

you roll your eyes, but he keeps track of your test scores like it’s a stock market.

buys the same books as you just so he can “study together.”

makes friendly wagers like “if i beat your score, you owe me coffee” (you always end up going anyway).

secretly highlights your notes in matching colors to his.

if you beat him, he throws his head back and dramatically sighs like “fine, i’ll accept defeat. but only if you tutor me... over dinner.”

chigiri hyoma

quiet competitiveness with sharp precision.

always acts unbothered, but you see him clench his jaw when he sees your name above his.

his handwriting is beautiful. his notes are elite. you secretly borrow them.

hates group projects but will tolerate them if you’re in his group.

the kind of person who finishes the exam first just to shake you a little.

starts leaving anonymous sticky notes in your locker with corrections to your essays.

one day you call him out, and he shrugs and says, “didn’t want you to lose to me because of grammar.”

bachira meguru

the chaotic academic rival.

always somehow scores as high as you despite turning in assignments with doodles and half the word count.

“you think too hard, that’s why i beat you.”

constantly pokes you in class and whispers answers before the teacher calls on you.

always calls you “my rival” in a dramatic voice.

brags about beating you by 0.5 points like it’s a gold medal.

but gets really quiet and pouty when you beat him, just sulks with his head on the desk.

you give him candy as a peace offering and he’s instantly back to grinning.

itoshi sae

the worst kind of academic rival because he’s effortlessly brilliant.

doesn’t even care about class ranking, but still manages to beat you every time.

you’re grinding late at night, red-eyed and over-caffeinated, and he’s over there casually reading the material once and acing the test.

“you’re studying again? that’s cute.”

always acts like he forgot there was an exam, then gets the highest score.

you confront him about it and he just tilts his head, “maybe you’re just not that smart.”

(he’s bluffing. he notices every time you beat him by even a fraction of a point, and it pisses him off more than he lets on.)

once handed your paper back to you in class with a smirk and said “you missed question 6” even though you definitely got it right.

the kind of rival who looks at you across the room during test return like it’s a silent challenge.

one day you stay late to study and he’s there too, already in the back, headphones in, flipping through notes.

neither of you say a word… but you both stay until closing time.

you catch him glancing at your notes. he catches you glancing at him.

“don’t fall in love with me just because i’m smarter than you.”

you throw an eraser at his head.

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