#i miss ikki

[biomic]

we say stuff like "this show haunts me" a lot but revice actually does haunt me. i don't even think about riders i like as much as i think about revice. what was going ON

[ichigoichiesworld]

Kentaro and Tsuna Keito have gone to Shizuoka to watch the Donbrothers FLT

The first photo from left to right: Beppu Yuuki, Maeda Kentaro, Tsuna Keito, Kouhei Higuchi. They’re doing Ikki's transformation pose 

They are really good friends 

[ichigoichiesworld]

Ikki's eyes ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ

I love the colors choice (•ө•)♡

My baby pretty beloved darling

it’d be better to hide the true intention

[boinin]

Blue Lock volume cover analysis

An examination of unusual features and chains among the 31 volumes released to date. Subject to revision.

Like this? Want to reference these points in your own analysis on Reddit, YouTube, wherever? Go ahead! A shout out to this post is appreciated. Straight up plagiarism isn’t.

Volume 8: Mikage Reo

Reo's chains are noticeably shaded green. Guess whose eyes glow green when they're fired up...

In addition, @thyandrawrites has a theory that Reo ties/reties his hair up as a way to maintain emotional composure. The volume covers tend to represent the character's personality or struggles in some sense. If so, this is an early nod to the emotional trials Reo endures during the series.

Volume 10: Tokmitsu Aoshi

No chain weirdness here, but Tokimitsu is surrounded by black gunk in his cover. This may be a visualisation of his anxiety and the way he copes with it: running at speed and bulldozing through his opponents.

Volume 11: Ego Jinpachi

Ego's cover depicts him totally immobilised by the four chains bound to his neck. To date, no other character has been more restrained by the chains. This likely represents that Ego's fate is utterly dependent on the outcome of Blue Lock. His cover also suggests that Blue Lock (and football) consume Ego's life.

Volume 12: Shidou Ryuusei

Shidou's chains have a blue glow, much like Sendou's in volume 27. This glow is far closer to Shidou's collar however. It could imply that Blue Lock is the beginning of Shidou's pursuit of football.

He's also depicted with demon wings. The collar or chains don't impede his movement significantly, unlike other characters. In addition to portraying his incredible physicality, this could also visually represent how Blue Lock has failed to subdue Shidou.

Volume 16: Oliver Aiku

Aiku's chains are wrapped tightly around his arm and he's pulling them taut. The chains themselves appear rusted and cracked, most notably on his collar. This could represent Aiku's relationship with football. He grew jaded with being a striker in high school. Becoming a defender, then the match against Blue Lock, revitalised his enthusiasm. Hence, the chain is holding fast: he's just as ensnared by football (and Blue Lock) as the others.

Volume 17: Itoshi Sae

Sae and his chains are bathed in radiant gold light, which is associated with both divinity and wealth. His chains crumble in one place, and remain barely intact. I offer two interpretations for this. Firstly: unlike the others, Blue Lock does not have a strong impact on Sae—his success as a footballer is completely independent of it.

Secondly: if we take the chain to represent Sae's footballing career, the crumbling chain could allude to a time when football negatively impacted him. Perhaps whatever happened in Madrid? But he came back stronger, as the rest of his chains appear even more golden.

Volume 18: Teieri Anri

Anri is the only character depicted without chains or a collar. While working with Ego is a prison sentence in its own right, the artwork suggests that her ambition and future isn't connected to the outcome of Blue Lock. It can also be interpreted as a nod to the hierarchy within Blue Lock. Anri is Ego's boss and thus, she is free while he is constrained. However...

Zoom in on the reflection on her phone screen. It appears to reflect a wide grin—which can only be one person's. Taking into account her passivity in chapter 247, this detail positions Anri as Ego's accomplice: willing to do his bidding, no matter how amoral.

Volume 19: Michael Kaiser

Kaiser's collar and chains are made of glass, through which his blue rose tattoo is visible. As chapter 243 told us, a blue rose represents the impossible to Kaiser. Glass chains suggests that his ego or ties to football are fragile, and could be broken easily. Symbolically, glass can also represent transparency. As a character, Kaiser is upfront about his talent and desires. Nobody is in doubt about his footballing mantra or his intent to undermine Isagi.

Volume 20: Alexis Ness

Ness's chains are entwined with blue rose brambles, all but for a short length to the top right of the image. While Ness came to love football independently, seeing it as magical, the rose brambles show that his connection to football is now inseparable from his devotion to Kaiser. It also reflects that Ness would not be a professional footballer without Kaiser, as per chapter 242/243.

Volume 24: Hiori Yo

Hiori is the only character shown holding the end of his chain, which is secured by a football-shaped weight. This suggests that Hiori himself is the one in control of his career, rather than external forces. Football is a burden to him, albeit something he can carry. Therefore, Hiori is not ensnared by the chains (or Blue Lock) to the same extent as other characters. Appropriate for a character guaranteed to succeed as a footballer, but who ultimately may not choose to pursue it.

Volume 25: Niko Ikki

Niko's volume cover is hilarious. I'll leave the explaining to Tomo-tan, who lays out the humour and genius of Niko's cover in this great Reddit post.

Volume 26: Don Lorenzo

Members of the New Generation World XI have no chill when it comes to their covers, and Don Lorenzo is no exception. His collar shows bite marks, as though chewed through. Gold teeth are good for more than caramel popcorn, apparently.

Lorenzo's chains are accompanied by what looks like electricity. This suggests that football reanimated Lorenzo from near death, as per chapter 216. It's a visual nod to his playstyle, which resembles the incessant pursuit of a zombie. Guess we can call him Snuffy's Monster.

Volume 27: Sendou Shuuto

A blue glow appears on Sendou’s chains, halted from travelling further by his fist. This may represent the threat Blue Lock poses to Sendou's footballing career. He's already been kicked as the striker of the national team; now in the Neo Egoist League, he must battle for a place on the new U20 line-up. No easy feat, as his sweaty face implies.

Another detail worth mentioning is that the trajectory of one of Sendou's chains appear to align with the chain Aiku's pulling in his cover. This similarity, and the fact that they're both holding their chains, may be interpreted as a nod to their status as former U20 teammates—likely the only ones that will make the new team, going off the latest NEL auction table.

Volume 29: Nanase Nijiro

Debated adding him, but eh—I wrote up Reo's cover. Nanase's illustration (incl. the chains) is shaded green… similar to Rin's eyes and aura colour. His chain jerks right and left in a nod to his ambidexterity.

Volume 30: Tsurugi Zantetsu

Another gag cover on par with Niko's, albeit less clever (intentionally?). Zantetsu's chain is made of shapes you'd associate with a toddler's learning shapes toy.

Volume 31: Charles Chevalier

Charles's cover is a double whammy. He gets two colours like Aiku, reflecting his capricious nature. Gold and metallic are representative of his high worth. The background spirals are a definite nod to the Cheshire Cat, a character Charles states he likes in an end of volume character profile.

The chains are shaped like the devil emojis that appear in Charles's dialogue. The chains also feature two materials: an alternating light and dark metal with no evident pattern. This perhaps represents the way his passes are hit or miss, or the way he decides who to send passes to on a whim.

[milky-rozen]

Samurai AU where Ikki is the brother of the Emperor and a precious ally to Yamato's Clan. This latter, wanting to unify all Grandis under its lead, sends Moroyama, a key vassal of the clan, to watch over him as the imperial court doesn't seem to be in favor of his current political position and plots to kill him to avoid any internal turmoil.

[t-u-i-t-c]

"Is this some kind of joke to you?"

[opalescentidiot]

i was about to be like “this is so niko and his roblox gf” but then i remembered that i hc him as gay

so yeah this is actually niko after his roblox bf found out he isn’t a girl and that he’s actually been catfishing him the entire time:

[kirider]

[23/06/2023]

My speciality is making headcanons, making art for said headcanons, and then sharing the art with no context

[mo-ok]

no coming back from that one folks 🫡🫡🫡😫😫😫😫😫

[inkykeiji]

Hii Clari, i agree that a lot of dialog and character development in genshin is very lacking, and the characters become interesting AFTER they go through the readers' filter and we fill their personalities. I know you are no longer writing for the genshin men but do you plan to share any of the pieces you were working on even though they are discontinued? Regardless, have a great day <3

hi anon bb!! exactly!!!!!! exactly. the characters are pretty much just a collection of traits and a handful of memories with a name slapped on them. we, as the players, can then take those traits and make something out of them—make them more cohesive, or explore how we personally think the character would act and behave in a specific situation based on the collection of traits the game gave them. and for the type of game genshin is, that’s fine! like it clearly isn’t a game that’s super focused on character development and depth, especially since again the main goal is to keep players spending money and grinding for the new characters that are constantly being churned out, making the other characters feel just like cardboard acquaintances you meet once or twice and then move on from as they stay static or disappear completely. it’s a lot more focused on gameplay and combat, and that’s okay, it just isn’t my thing.

i do plan to share those pieces, but they’re being reworked for other characters that aren’t the genshin men. so the alhaitham x reader x ajax piece will either be for keigo n dabi or chuuya n dazai; the tutor!alhaitham piece is now for clive, and the royal!au with ajax n thoma i have no idea what to do with, but i’m sure i’ll figure it out. the point is, i put so much work into those stories and love them way way waaaay too much for them to just sit abandoned in my documents. when will these be released??? no idea. i’m so dang behind on literally all of my writing; work has me totally swamped atm, life has just been super chaotic in general, and yesterday someone very close to me suffered congestive heart failure, so i’ve just been having trouble finding the time to work on anything other than my tiny lil prompt pieces :( you’re so sweet, thank you so much!! i hope your weekend is going splendid <3

[ichigoichiesworld]

He’s so beautiful  (ﾉ´ з `)ノ

Seeing him in the dojo uniform still makes me sad that they didn’t utilize his karate skill in Revice  T_T (Battle Familia is a wonderful exception) 

[norrisradio]

SPEED TRAP

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x drag racer! reader | ⚡︎ WC: 6.6K ⚡︎ GENRE: suggestive, messy feelings, not exactly a happy ending (pt.3 incoming) ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: talk, omar rudberg ● no i’m not in love, tate mcrae ●  2 hands, tate mcrae ● bad liar, selena gomez ● pillowtalk, zayn ● tell me, karan aujla, onerepublic, ikky ● i saw something, weston estate ● comedown, tony hobart ● arguments, benjaminrich ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: welcome to redline part 2! I was originally going to make this a 2 part fic but have decided these two deserve a better ending, so…. part 3 is in the works!

read REDLINE first!

⚡︎ SUMMARY:  “Come to my race,” he finally murmurs, the words low and thick in the space between you. His voice is different now, softer. Not a challenge, not a dare. A plea, almost, buried under layers of pride. "Just one."

Lando doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not coming back.

Not when the taste of your kiss still lingers on his tongue a month later. Not when the memory of your fingers in his hair keeps him up at night. Not when he’s been driving circuits on instinct alone, hands gripping the wheel too tight, replaying every second of that damn race, the way you beat him—twice.

So when Max barely gets out a “Race night, you in?” Lando’s already shrugging on his jacket.

This time, he doesn’t come empty-handed.

You spot him the second he steps into the lot, all cocky confidence and sharp eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for something. For you.

It doesn’t take long.

He’s barely leaned against his car when you appear, stepping into his space like you belong there—because at this point, you might as well.

“Took you long enough, pretty boy.”

Lando smirks, but it’s lazier this time, heavier. Like he already knows how this ends. “Miss me?”

You hum, dragging a finger along the collar of his jacket, tugging him just a little closer. “Not even a little.”

Liar.

The tension simmers, thick and electric. The streetlights cast a warm glow over your skin, and Lando swears you’re more dangerous than anything on the track. Your hand slips down, just brushing the chain at his neck, and his restraint is hanging on by a fucking thread.

“Saw you watching last time,” you murmur, voice like smoke curling around him. “Bet you loved seeing me win.”

Lando exhales sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You talk a big game,” he murmurs, tilting his head, letting your lips hover just over his own. “But I think you like having me here.”

Your grin is all wicked intent. “Maybe.”

The word barely leaves your mouth before he’s had enough.

He crashes into you, hands finding your waist, lips catching yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and fire and weeks of pent-up frustration. You meet him just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his curls, dragging him in deeper, pulling, pushing—both of you trying to win something neither of you understand yet.

Somehow, between kisses, between the way your teeth scrape over his bottom lip and his hands grip your hips like you might disappear again, he remembers.

He pulls back just enough to see the way your lips are swollen, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, and he reaches into his pocket.

“Here,” he breathes, pressing something warm and smooth into your palm.

You glance down, brows furrowing, until your fingers close around the lanyard. Until the light catches on the glossy print of a paddock pass.

Your lips part slightly. Lando watches your expression shift, sees the moment it clicks.

“What,” you murmur, turning the pass between your fingers, voice quieter now, “is this?”

His thumb brushes your hip. “Figured it’s only fair,” he says, voice low, rough. “You watch me race.”

Your gaze snaps back to his, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

Lando swallows. “If you want.”

The corner of your mouth lifts, slow and knowing.

Then, before he can blink, you grab his chain and pull him back in, whispering against his lips—

“Earn it.”

The night stretches on, electric and thick with tension. Lando doesn’t stand a chance of keeping his hands to himself, not when every time you rev your engine, every time you slam into the turns, every time you outdrive the next contender, he’s watching you with that same, predatory gaze. It’s no longer just a race for him; it’s an obsession. A challenge.

And God, it’s intoxicating.

Lando’s not even trying to be subtle anymore. Every time you win, every time you walk past him—sweat-slick, triumphant, untouchable—he finds himself pressing just a little bit closer. A hand on your lower back when you lean against his car, a thumb dragging across your hip as he grins that shit-eating grin. You’ve won, again. The crowd’s buzzing, but you’re the only thing he can focus on.

“You’ve got the pass,” he says again, voice low as you both circle each other like predators, only half-laughing. “Just say yes. I want you there.” His hand hovers near your hip, like he’s afraid if he reaches too quickly, he’ll break whatever spell you’ve cast over him.

You glance at him, lips curling in that same slow, dangerous way. “Maybe I don’t feel like being part of your little game tonight.”

Lando’s brows furrow. “What do you mean ‘game’?”

“Exactly that,” you reply, tilting your head, voice lilting with amusement. “A game. You want me there because you think I’ll cheer for you, right? Or maybe you want me to see you win. To see you in control.”

Lando watches the way your lips move, the curve of your mouth, and a low burn starts in his gut. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” he mutters, the air between you thick with something he can’t quite define.

You look him over, unbothered, as if he’s not an F1 driver but just some guy who’s getting under your skin. “I don’t need to figure you out, pretty boy. I’m already bored with that.”

The casual dismissal makes his blood run hot. He reaches for you again, hands finding the curve of your waist, pulling you in close, close enough to feel the heat between you. “You know I’m not just ‘some guy,’” he murmurs, leaning in like he’s about to kiss you again, but stops, just barely.

You tilt your chin upward, and the challenge is so clear in your eyes that it makes him ache. He can’t help himself. “I know exactly who you are,” you whisper, voice lowering, almost taunting, “and I’m not the kind of girl who just gets swept off her feet by a pretty face and a paddock pass.”

Lando’s breath catches, fingers flexing at your side. “I’m not asking you to.” His lips brush against your ear as he says it, and his voice, for the first time tonight, is quieter—earnest. “I’m asking you to come with me, because I want you there. Not because I think I can impress you.”

“You don’t earn anything with that attitude,” you tease, but there’s a flicker of something in your eyes. A spark that makes Lando lean in closer, his body warm against yours. He lets the disappointment simmer when you pull away for the next race. His eyes are dark and hungry, his hand brushing yours when you move past him, lingering just enough to make you feel it—a touch, a spark, a reminder that he’s here.

Max notices too. He's smug, leaning against the hood of his car, watching the way Lando hovers, the way his eyes track your every move. He raises an eyebrow at Lando's intensity, but says nothing.

"You've got a thing for her, huh?" Max grins, his tone teasing but genuine.

Lando doesn’t respond, just presses his lips together and glances at you, still watching you circle your next opponent. You’re perfect out there. Confident, graceful, untouchable.

You win again.

This time, as you walk back to where he stands by his car, you can feel the tension between you tighten, wrapping around you both like a noose. His chest rises and falls with a breath that’s too heavy to be casual. You stop just a breath away from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, but not quite enough to touch.

“Come to my race,” he finally murmurs, the words low and thick in the space between you. His voice is different now, softer. Not a challenge, not a dare. A plea, almost, buried under layers of pride. "Just one."

Your eyes flicker, something there—a spark of curiosity, maybe a little surprise at the desperation in his tone—but you’re quick to hide it behind that confident smirk. “Why?”

Lando swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s not used to this, to being the one who’s not in control of the situation, and damn it if that doesn't turn him on even more. “I thought you might like it. You’d get to see what I do when I���m not on a track, maybe get a taste of how I handle pressure in the pit.”

You hum thoughtfully, like you’re weighing his words. “You think I’d be impressed?” The question is playful, but the edge in your voice suggests it’s more than that.

Lando’s mind races, words slipping out before he can stop them. “I think I could impress you if you gave me the chance.”

You turn your head slightly, almost like you're ignoring him, but Lando doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart back to his. "You think I'm some kind of prize you can win over?"

Lando grins, leaning in closer, his voice lowering even more, a quiet rasp. "I don't think of you as a prize. You're not something to be won." He presses his lips to your ear, feeling the heat of your skin. “You’re something I want. And I’m not used to hearing ‘no.’”

You feel it then—his heat, his words, the way he pulls you close, the way he wants you, all but demands it without saying a word. And the control you’ve had over him starts to slip—just a little. You press your hand to his chest, just enough to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palm. You stand there, for a long moment, letting the tension build.

“Keep talking,” you say, voice quiet, but the way your fingers brush his chain tells him exactly what you want.

Lando grins, his confidence back, but it’s a dangerous kind of cocky. “You’d like it. I know you would.”

He takes in a sharp breath when you grab the chain around his neck, pulling him to you. You lean in, lips barely brushing his, sending a shiver through him that makes his hands itch to pull you closer, deeper.

The kiss you press against his lips is soft, slow, lingering—but it’s just a taste. Just a hint. It drives him wild. He can’t help the groan that rumbles deep in his chest when your lips move, tracing down his jaw, to his neck, each kiss lingering, marking him, claiming him.

He closes his eyes, fighting to stay still, fighting to keep control. But it’s hard, god, it’s so hard when your lips find that sensitive spot at the base of his neck, your breath hot against his skin. Every nerve in his body comes alive, and the friction between you and him makes him dizzy.

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye. And he’s lost in you. You’ve got him tangled in your web, every thread leading back to you.

Lando swallows, heart hammering. "You're killing me, you know that?"

You only grin, sharp and sly, before you reach out, plucking the paddock pass from his hand with a single, fluid motion.

He watches, almost dazed, as you twirl the lanyard around your finger, your gaze locked on his.

"We’ll see, pretty boy," you whisper, voice sweet. Your eyes glint with something dangerous.

His heart stutters in his chest. You give him a wink and turn away, leaving him standing there, breathless, watching as you melt into the crowd again, moving with that same confident stride, your movements leaving a trail of heat in the air around you.

Lando’s hands tremble, the space where you were still burning him, making him ache for something he can’t quite name yet.

"Goddamn it," he mutters, eyes glued to the spot where you disappeared. He doesn't know whether to follow, to call after you, or to let you slip away again.

Lando’s convinced you won’t come.

He tells himself that a hundred times over, like if he repeats it enough, it won’t sting as much.

You were teasing him, winding him up, leaving him hanging because you could. Because you knew he’d be thinking about you. Because you liked the game. And yeah, maybe that should piss him off, maybe it should make him want to forget about you entirely.

But it doesn’t.

He spent the last few days telling himself he didn’t care, that he wasn’t thinking about you, that it didn’t matter whether you came or not. But every time he glanced at the crowd, every time a flash of movement in the distance caught his eye, his pulse skipped before the realization hit: not you.

By the time qualifying day rolls around, he’s over it. He has to be.

The air in Silverstone is thick with the hum of engines and the buzz of anticipation, but Lando barely registers any of it. His helmet hangs loosely in his hands, fingers tapping restless patterns against the carbon fiber. Mechanics rush past, engineers rattle off last-minute adjustments, but his head is somewhere else, even if he refuses to admit it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye—

A figure moves through the paddock with the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to be announced.

He feels it before he sees it. The shift in the air. The ripple of attention that follows in your wake.

And then—

His heart almost drops out of his ass.

You weave through the crowd like you belong there, and maybe you do. The lanyard hangs loose around your neck, the paddock pass dangling at your chest like it was made for you. Your gaze flickers around, taking in the chaos, the machines, the controlled storm of the paddock—unfazed, unimpressed. But when your eyes finally land on him—

Fuck.

For a second, Lando forgets how to breathe.

He barely manages to school his expression, but it’s too late. The flicker of surprise, the momentary lapse in control—it’s already passed through him, and you caught it.

Because of course you did.

Your lips curl, slow and knowing, and when you start walking toward him, he can’t fucking move.

His grip tightens around his helmet. His jaw locks. His whole body hums with something sharp, something dangerous, something that feels way too much like anticipation.

You stop just close enough for him to catch the faintest hint of your perfume—something warm, something expensive, something that makes his stomach tighten in a way he doesn’t like to think about too much.

“Miss me?”

Your voice is sweet, syrupy, but there’s something sharp underneath it. You tilt your head, watching him like you’re waiting for him to slip up.

Lando exhales through his nose, forces himself to smirk, even though his heart is still hammering against his ribs. “Oh, did you go somewhere?”

You click your tongue, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for a warmer welcome.”

His throat is dry. His suit feels too hot, clinging to his skin, or maybe that’s just you—standing too close, eyes flickering over him like you’re still deciding whether he’s worth your time.

But then—

You reach out, fingers catching the edge of his race suit near the collar, tugging just slightly. Not enough to pull him forward, not enough to demand anything—just enough to remind him that you can.

“Cute uniform,” you say as he tries to remember what oxygen feels like, voice light, teasing. “Bet the fans love it.”

Lando swallows hard. You’re too good at this. Too good at making his brain short-circuit. “Thought you weren’t coming.”

You shrug, shifting on your feet, looking unbothered—but your eyes, sharp and watching, tell a different story. “Changed my mind.”

Lando lets out a slow breath, his jaw ticking. “Yeah?”

You hum, nails grazing the fabric as you let go.  “Figured I should see for myself if you can back up all that talk.”

The way you’re looking at him—evaluating him, almost—makes heat curl in his stomach.

And, god, he wants to say something sharp, something cocky, but all that comes out is a rough, “And?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Lando shifts, rolling his shoulders, trying so fucking hard not to let you see how much you’re getting to him. “Better pay attention, then.”

You hum, gaze flicking over him once before you step in closer—just barely invading his space. Just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” you murmur, voice low, almost a purr. “I wouldn’t dream of looking away.”

Then you’re gone, slipping past him like you didn’t just flip his entire fucking world on its head.

Lando stares after you, lips parting slightly, pulse hammering.

He is so, so fucked.

Lando tightens his grip on the wheel.

His tires hum against the track, the engine roaring beneath him, and in his ear, Will’s voice crackles through the radio—something about sector times, about staying focused, about nailing the exit out of Copse.

He hears it. Absorbs it. Executes it.

But beneath all that, beneath the precision and the instinct and the muscle memory, there’s you.

Sitting in the garage right now.

Watching.

He knows exactly where you are without having to look. Knows that if he did look—if he let his eyes flicker to the monitors or let himself think for even a second too long—you’d be there, perched in one of the sleek McLaren chairs, expression unreadable, half-bored, half-amused, like you aren’t even sure if all this—if he—is worth your attention.

And he’s not trying to impress you.

He’s not.

The thought becomes a mantra, looping in his head as he flies through Q1, putting in a time that has the pit wall murmuring in approval.

He’s not trying to impress you.

As he storms through Q2, purple sector after purple sector lighting up the timing sheets, his car slicing through the air like it was made for this—like he was made for this.

He’s not trying to impress you.

As he locks in fastest lap after fastest lap, threading the car through Maggots and Becketts with almost surgical precision, his pulse syncing with the rush of speed, the grip of the tires, the smoothness of his downshifts.

He’s not trying to impress you.

And yet—

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a traitorous part of him wonders if you’re still watching.

If you’re leaning forward in your seat. If you’re biting your lip, just a little. If, for even one split second, you think he looks good out here.

But it doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter.

Not when Q3 is coming up.

Not when he still has a job to finish.

Lando blows out a breath as he crosses the line, finishing Q2 at the top of the timing sheets.

The radio crackles to life—Will’s voice steady, even. “Nice work, mate. Let’s keep this up.”

Lando exhales, rolls out his shoulders, resets.

He’s not trying to impress you.

He just hopes you’re still watching.

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando crosses the line. P1.

Fucking pole.

He barely hears the ecstatic crackle of Will's voice in his ear, barely registers the claps on the back from his engineers as he rolls back into the garage, hands still tight on the wheel, body thrumming with the high of it. The adrenaline is a livewire under his skin, sharp and electric, sparking at his fingertips, at the base of his spine. He yanks his gloves off, shoves his helmet back, and—

There you are.

Exactly where he knew you’d be, leaning against the garage wall, arms crossed, expression cool and unreadable, but he catches it—the flicker. The tiny crack in your mask, the way your mouth almost twitches when you meet his gaze.

He should play it cool. Should take a breath, shake hands, debrief with the team—

Instead, he makes a beeline straight to you.

Still slick with sweat, hair a mess, race suit unzipped to his waist, clinging to the heat of his body, the fireproofs damp against his skin. He’s grinning before he even reaches you, that same shit-eating, cocky grin that’s been driving you up the wall for weeks.

“Enjoy the show?” he asks, voice rough, low, carrying just enough bite to let you know exactly what he means.

You tilt your head, pretend to consider. “Mm. It was alright.”

“Alright?” Lando scoffs, stepping in closer, the scent of fuel and sweat and adrenaline rolling off him in waves. His body still hums with speed, with the way he owned that track, carved his name into the tarmac with every apex, every perfect sector. And yeah, maybe he’s still riding that high, still feeling invincible, because he leans in just a little more, just enough to watch your breath catch, your fingers twitch. “Come on, love. You can admit it. You liked it.”

You arch a brow, but there’s no missing the way your eyes flicker down—to his mouth, to the way his fireproofs cling to the sharp lines of his chest, to the little drop of sweat that traces a slow, lazy path down his neck.

Lando sees it.

And fuck, he feels good.

You recover quick, though. “What I like,” you say smoothly, “is that this means I get to see you choke in the race tomorrow.”

Lando barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from someone who nearly choked on air when I stepped out of the car.”

Your jaw tightens. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you are staring.”

Your lips press into a flat line, but there’s color creeping up your neck now, just barely, just enough for Lando to know.

He grins, steps even closer, lets his fingers brush against yours—just a featherlight touch, barely there, but enough to send a little shiver up your spine.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmurs, voice dropping, heat curling into every syllable. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

He winks, then turns on his heel, walking away before you can fire back, before you can wipe that stunned look off your face.

And fuck, that feels just as good as pole.

Race Day. Silverstone.

The air is thick with the scent of burnt rubber and petrol, the distant roar of engines vibrating through the asphalt. Lando grips the wheel, fingers flexing against the handles, heart jackhammering in his chest. P1. His race to lose.

The formation lap is a blur of routine—brakes hot, tires weaving, pulse spiking with every turn. He steals a glance toward the pit wall as he lines up on the grid, and—fuck—there you are. Arms crossed, sunglasses perched on your nose, the same cool, unreadable expression you’d had yesterday. But he knows you. Knows the set of your shoulders, the way your lips almost curve, the way you’re watching him like you’re trying not to.

It sends something sharp through his veins. Something dangerous.

Five red lights.

Hold.

Hold.

Lights out.

He launches.

The world is a blur—cars diving into Turn 1, his tires screaming, the perfect balance of aggression and control threading through his body like muscle memory. He’s ahead, but it’s tight. Max is in his mirrors, a hungry shadow, waiting for the smallest crack to wedge himself into. Lando locks his jaw, plants his foot, car dancing on the edge of grip.

Lap after lap, he fights. Hard. Defends like his life depends on it, his knuckles white around the wheel. Every muscle burns, sweat slicks his fireproofs to his skin, and through it all—through every pit stop, every near-miss, every second where it feels like the race could slip away—his mind keeps circling back to you.

You're watching.

He knows it.

Somewhere between Lap 39 and 45, Will tells him to manage tires. He ignores it.

Final lap. His heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, breath shallow, grip firm. Every turn is instinct, every flick of the wheel precise, perfect. The crowd is a deafening wall of sound, but all he hears is the whine of the engine, the rush of air, the final sector screaming toward him—

Checkered flag.

P1.

Lando exhales, a ragged, disbelieving sound, chest heaving as he punches the air. The radio erupts—shouts of yes! and fucking incredible! But he barely hears it, barely processes anything beyond the visceral fucking thrill of it.

By the time he’s back in parc fermé, his body is still buzzing—adrenaline singing through every nerve, jaw tight from grinning so fucking wide. The helmet comes off, sweat damp in his curls, fireproofs half-zipped, clinging to his torso. He clambers out of the car, hands shaking, skin flushed with heat.

And then—

There you are.

Standing just beyond the barriers, arms still crossed, that same unreadable look, except this time—this time, there’s no hiding the way your eyes burn into him. The way your fingers twitch at your sides.

He swipes a hand through his hair, makes a split-second decision—fuck the interviews, fuck the cameras, fuck everything—

And walks straight to you.

"Still just alright?" he asks, voice rough, teasing, low enough that only you can hear.

Your breath catches—he sees it, feels it in the way the space between you crackles.

"You got lucky," you counter, but it’s weaker now. Less sharp. Your eyes flicker down—to his mouth, to the sweat-damp skin of his collarbone, to the way his chest rises and falls.

Lando grins.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

And then—because he’s feeling reckless, because he’s still high off the win, because he fucking can—

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up, just enough to watch you melt.

Just enough to make sure you know—

This race wasn’t the only thing he just won.

The team party is loud. The kind of loud that rattles Lando’s ribs, the bass-heavy music pulsing through the floor, through his bones, through the half-full glass of whatever drink he hasn’t actually taken a sip of yet. The kind of loud that makes it easy to forget anything beyond the neon glow of the bar, the sea of McLaren orange, the arms thrown around his shoulders, the relentless high of a home race win.

Lando’s half-drunk off it—off the adrenaline still spiking through his system, the way his team is celebrating him like he’s just conquered the fucking world. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, a gold-rimmed shot glass in one hand, Oscar yelling something in his ear about how he’s still a fucking menace on Lap 1, and then—

Then his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He almost ignores it. Almost tosses it on the table next to the rest of the clutter—half-empty bottles, someone’s abandoned bucket hat, a phone with a dick pic drawn in spilled beer on the screen (definitely not his problem). But something stops him.

Two texts. Unknown number. The first: 

From: +44 **** ******* Got your number from Max.

The second is just as simple: 

From: +44 **** ******* 36 Shaftesbury Avenue London W1D 7EP United Kingdom

He exhales, sharp. Feels the familiar clench in his stomach, the curl of something smug and knowing and so fucking irresistible settling into his chest. His fingers tighten around the glass for a fraction of a second, then—without a word—he downs the shot, sets it down, and pushes off the bar.

He brushes past Oscar with a quick, “See you later,” already moving before his teammate can even turn to question it. Out the door, into the street, hailing the first cab he sees.

The ride across the city is a blur of headlights and shadows, neon streaking past the window. He leans back against the worn leather seat, drags a hand through his hair, taps his fingers against his knee. The address leads to a bar he’s never been to, not the kind of place he’s used to. No VIP section, no overpriced cocktails, no crowd that gives a shit about the Monaco tax bracket or how many podiums he’s racked up this season.

It’s dingy. Low ceilings, dim lights, the scent of stale beer and something smokier clinging to the air. The kind of place where nobody knows his name, and nobody cares.

The bass rattles through the floorboards, a steady, visceral thrum that sinks into his ribcage as Lando steps inside. The air is thick—sweat, liquor, the electric haze of too many bodies pressed close. It’s a far cry from the champagne-soaked elegance of the team party, but that’s the point, isn’t it?

And then—

Then he sees you.

The dancefloor is a mess of heat and movement, but you cut through it like a blade, all slow, languid confidence. Lights flash, catching the sheen on your skin, the way your lips part just slightly as you move. And maybe it’s the post-race adrenaline still pumping through him, maybe it’s the way you knew he’d come, but something in his stomach tightens at the sight of you.

You don’t notice him at first—or maybe you do, and you just want him to wait. He watches the way your body moves to the music, the way your fingers trail absentmindedly down your own arm, the way someone brushes too close and you barely spare them a glance. It’s intoxicating. Maddening.

So he moves.

Cuts through the crowd, slides in behind you, close enough that the heat of him bleeds into your skin. He doesn’t touch—just lets the weight of his presence settle.

You shift. Just a little. Just enough that your shoulder grazes his chest, like a question.

Lando exhales, leans in, lets his mouth ghost over the shell of your ear.

“Could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

Your lips curve. Not a smile—something sharper.

“And miss the thrill of the chase?” you murmur, voice low, teasing. “Not a chance.”

Lando hums, lets his hands find your waist—light, barely there, enough to feel the way your breath hitches.

“You like making me work for it, huh?”

You turn then, finally facing him, and fuck. It should be illegal, the way you look at him—lazy, like you’ve already won, like you knew this was exactly where he’d end up tonight.

“Where’s the fun in making it easy?”

His grip tightens. Just a fraction. Just enough.

The music pulses. The air is thick. And Lando—Lando isn’t sure who moves first.

All he knows is the moment your mouth brushes his, the world outside this dancefloor ceases to exist.

The kiss is fleeting—just enough to tease, to taunt, to set his nerves alight—but when you pull back, it’s with that same goddamn smirk, the one that’s been driving him out of his mind since you walked into the paddock yesterday. Lando exhales sharply, fingertips digging just a little harder into the bare skin at your waist, like maybe that’ll keep you from slipping away again.

The music pounds around you, but all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, the way you hum—satisfied, amused, something wicked curling at the edge of your lips.

“What?” he asks, voice rough.

You tilt your head, dragging a single finger down the center of his chest, slow enough that it burns right through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I was just thinking…” You tap his sternum once, a mock-considerate gesture, before your palm flattens there, feeling the way his heartbeat stutters. “That win was kinda hot.”

Lando huffs out a laugh, a little breathless, a little cocky. “Kinda?”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Dunno. Haven’t decided if I’m actually impressed yet.”

It’s bullshit. He knows it’s bullshit. He saw the way you watched him earlier, the way your eyes followed every move he made on track, the way your lip caught between your teeth when he pulled into parc fermé P1. But still—it’s the game, isn’t it? The push and pull, the chase.

And fuck, does he love the chase.

He shifts closer, hands sliding up the curve of your ribs, thumbs brushing just under the swell of your chest—not quite touching, not really, but enough to make you inhale sharply. He leans in, lips grazing just below your ear.

“Pole position and a win, and you’re still playing hard to get?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with something darker. “Harsh.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover fast—tilting your chin up, challenging, as your fingers trace up his forearm, over the tendons, the veins, slow and deliberate.

“Well,” you murmur, tapping lightly at his wrist, where his gloves would normally be, “you do have very talented hands.”

Lando stills for half a second. Then he laughs, breath warm against your skin, and it’s unfair, the way it rumbles through you.

“Oh yeah?” His hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your top, fingertips teasing against your skin. “That what you brought me all the way out here to find out?”

Your lips part, but instead of answering, you hook a finger into the chain around his neck, tugging him just a little closer—close enough that your noses brush, close enough that you can feel the way his breath hitches.

“You tell me,” you murmur, tilting your head just enough that your lips barely graze his.

It’s maddening. You’re maddening.

And Lando—Lando has never been one to back down from a challenge.

The cab ride is a blur—touches that start hesitant but grow bolder, fingers tracing over denim and leather, the ghost of your breath against his jaw when you lean in close, like you’re testing just how far he’ll let you push him. (Spoiler: far.) By the time you stumble through the front door of your apartment, Lando barely has a chance to take in the dimly lit space before your hands are on him again, fingers curled into his collar, dragging him down into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and desperation.

His hands find your hips, grip firm, tugging you flush against him as he walks you backward until your spine meets the door with a thud. You don’t seem to mind, though, tilting your head to the side, baring your throat like an invitation.

And fuck, he’s never been one to turn down an invitation.

His lips find the underside of your jaw first, warm and insistent, tracing down the column of your neck. You sigh—a pretty, breathy thing that shoots straight down his spine—and Lando’s hands tighten on your hips, thumbs dipping under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying over bare skin, finally.

All he can feel is the way your lips taste on his—everywhere—how your hands tug at his shirt, skin slick with sweat, fingers hungry as they trail down the hard lines of his chest.

His breath hitches when you push him back, your palms firm against his chest, chest heaving, eyes dark with something sharp, something dangerous.

“I don’t do relationships,” you murmur, voice husky, almost like a warning.

Lando’s lips curl into a smirk, but the only sound that follows is the frantic rush of his pulse, the desire curling in his gut, threatening to consume him whole. His hands grip your wrists, pulling them away from his shirt, his own breath ragged as his lips trail down the column of your throat, marking you with heat.

“I don’t care,” he grunts, a pulse of urgency flooding through him as he presses you back against the door. He feels the tremble in your chest as you exhale, the heat that radiates off your skin, the way your body moves against his like you’ve been waiting for this—waiting for him.

Your hands bunch at the fabric of his shirt, the rush of energy between you crackling like a storm, before you rip it off him with a frustrated tug. “Good,” you whisper, your lips grazing the sensitive skin under his jaw. “Because I’m not offering anything more.”

The words hang between you, a challenge, a taunt—but Lando doesn’t care. His fingers slip under your shirt, running up your back as he presses you tighter against the door, lips brushing over your ear, down your neck, feeling the thrum of your heartbeat against his lips.

He can’t—won’t—stop now.

His lips latch to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, tongue tracing the outline of your pulse, and he hears the way your breath catches. A shudder ripples through you, your body soft but taut in his arms. He shifts, just enough to drag his knee between your legs, pressing against you in a way that has your breath quickening, chest rising and falling.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, low, as he nips at your collarbone, his hands moving to push your shirt up, lips finding the soft skin of your shoulder. “Say you don’t want more.”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, your fingers curl into his hair, yanking him back to you for a kiss that’s deeper, harder, like it’s the only thing either of you can think of—like the world outside doesn’t exist, like it never will again.

The air around you thickens with the scent of your perfume, the heat of your skin, the way his hands slide down your back, mapping out the soft curve of your spine. His chest tightens, and for a moment, it’s like time has stopped, leaving nothing but the two of you—locked in this beautiful, dangerous game.

His hands trail lower, grazing your skin with the kind of slow intent that makes your pulse race. But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He wants more. He needs more.

The bedroom door creaks open, but neither of you notice. Clothes fall to the floor, discarded, forgotten, nothing but an afterthought. Every inch of space between you vanishes as Lando guides you to the bed, lips never leaving your skin, every movement frantic and desperate, like the urgency will somehow quell the fire burning between you.

But then, for a split second, he pauses. His breath catches in his throat, his fingertips lingering on the curve of your waist. It’s just enough for him to register the feeling—the hollow ache in his chest that refuses to go away. It’s a fleeting thing, a moment of clarity, and it leaves a cold weight on his lungs.

But he doesn’t stop. His hands are already moving again, pulling you in, claiming you, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’ll take whatever you offer, whatever pieces of you he can have, even if they’re just fragments, even if it’s just tonight. Because at this moment, Lando doesn’t need anything more than this—than the sensation of your body under his, your breath catching with each kiss.

And yet, as he presses closer, there’s something about you—something about the way you kiss him back, the way your eyes lock, like you’re both holding back just a little too much, that makes his chest tighten, the air harder to breathe.

But that’s a thought for later. Right now, he’s lost in the way your lips taste, in the fire that burns between you, in the heat that won’t die down, no matter how much he wants it to.

[shiyosugi]

SICK BLUE LOCK BOYS LETTING THEIR GIRLFRIEND TAKE CARE OF THEM

CHARACTERS: (MY FAVOURITES) Yoichi Isagi, Shoei Baro, Sae Itoshi, Ikki Niko, Ryusei Shido, Rin Itoshi PART 2 - Meguru Bachira, Rensuke Kunigami, Hyoma Chigiri, Reo Mikage, Seishiro Nagi

A/N: If any of you guys wanted me to make a part 2 of my previous headcanons, do tell me in the comment or tell me privately! My inbox is always open for suggestions and talks! This one is short and bad ugh but I need to keep myself writing.

YOICHI ISAGI || He likes the idea of you taking care of him when he is sick because you are so gentle with him. Trying your best to make sure he is going to be fine and how mature you act.

SHOEI BARO || His pride is not as strong as his fever so he lets his guard down and let you take care of him, even though he doubts that you can do a good job he doesn't care. As long as he can take a rest and let someone he loves takes care of him. It is a bit hard for him to get sick but when he does, he becomes irritated easily so seeing you really make an effort for him puts him at ease.

SAE ITOSHI || He is extra quiet when sick which make you misunderstood his behavior and thought that he is mad at you, until he shows the obvious sign that he is sick. You offer to let you take care of him while at first he doesn't look like he wants it but he lets you do either way. The fact that you are very serious with bringing him back to his fullest makes him happy.

IKKI NIKO || He uses his illness as an excuse to make you stay with him. Take care of him please, he is somehow even more clingy when he is sick but he doesn't want to get his illness on you so he tries his best to restrain himself from getting too close with you.

RYUSEI SHIDO || He can be a little dramatic, constantly asking for your attention. Even though he is sick he won't miss a chance of trying to tease you and when you scold him for not listening to your advice he just laugh it off but this time he will listen to your advice, he just don't want you to be all serious.

RIN ITOSHI || Like Sae and Ikki, he is extra quiet when sick but would silently asking for your attention. You understand him so he doesn't need to say anything to get you pay attention to him. He just let you take care of him and say nothing. He is being obedient to you and will not complaint whatsoever.

[t-u-i-t-c]

a moment of contemplation

[ggggghost]

And if I were to call Igarashi Ikki THE Kamen Rider ideal man?

Kimi wa Sono mama de - Igarashi Ikki (Maeda Kentaro) Kamen Rider Revice Final Stage (10.15 ver.)

[pinoyrella]

"Car's Outside" Blue Lock (Various) x Y/n

Various Blue Lock Characters x You

Genre: Angst, Comfort

Tw: Kisses + Pregnancy in one of the stories.

Featuring: 1. Oliver Aiku, Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser 2. Bachira Meguru, Otoya Eita, Shidou Ryusei 3. Itoshi Rin, Chigiri Hyoma, Aryu Jyubei 4. Kunigami Rensuke, Barou Shoei, Tsurugi Zantetsu 5. Nagi Seishiro, Hiori Yo, Nito Ikki 6. Mikage Reo, Yukimiya Kenyu, Karasu Tabito 7. Isagi Yoichi

( Note: Post Blue Lock, time skipped to when they're all adult pros'. )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ now playing: car's outside - james arthur 0:01 ❍─────── 4:08 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺ Volume: ······· 100%

"I'm packin' my bags that I didn't unpack the last time. I'm sayin', "See you again, " so many times, it's becoming my tagline"

Laying on the couch, you wake up. You realized you had fallen asleep waiting for your boyfriend's arrival from a trip the previous night. You feel there’s a thick layer resting on you, a blanket. You don’t remember bringing this here. Shifting, you turn your head to face the doorway of your home and notice a familiar pair of shoes neatly placed on the doormat, a suitcase right beside it.

As you process, you hear the sound of fumbling. Gently rising from your space, you wrap the blanket around you as you rise up. You see your boyfriend from the hallway, he makes his way to you. Holding you into a warm embrace “Good morning my love.” he says as he presses his lips against yours so tenderly. 

You fall into the kiss as you wrap the blanket around you to him, embracing him back tightly. You break from the kiss, muffling your head in his chest. “I missed you so much. When did you get home?” Your sleepy state grumbles. He chuckles before giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Like 20 minutes ago.” He replies as you breathe his warmth in. “You were supposed to be home last night…” You grumble. “I know, I tried to call you to let you know the flight got delayed.” He motions towards your phone that lays on the coffee table. You follow his motion before dropping your head into his chest again. “I fell asleep..” “I know.” He responds while playing with your bed head. Occasionally leaving small kisses on top. He holds you as he never wants to let you go.

You both stay that wait for a while, before you speak up. “What time is it?” “It’s almost time for me to go.” You pull away from his chest, hugging him tighter as you look up. He swears he felt a tear in his heart as he looked into your eyes. They were sad, but understanding. 

He had mentioned to you his schedule a while back, he had another flight planned the following day after yesterday. The life of an athlete is one that must always be on their feet, literally. 

“I’m going to miss you again.” “I’m going to miss you more.” 

You both pull away from the hug, feeling the coldness of the room reach around you. Walking with him towards the front door, prepping the suitcase handle for him as he puts his shoes on. “You didn’t even get a chance to unpack again, did you?” You play with the handle waiting for his response. “Unfortunately” He chuckles lowly before standing to your height. You keep your focus on the luggage handle, feeling his rough yet soft hands reach for your chin, pulling your focus to him. 

“See you again.” He gives one final kiss that felt like a promise as he leaves once again

Aiku Oliver + Sae Itoshi + Michael Kaiser

-

"But you know the truth, I'd rather hold you. Than try to catch this flight"

“You’re leaving again?” You cry playfully to your boyfriend, earning a chuckle from him. “You think this is funny?” You cross your arms and turn away from him in a huff, obviously joking around. You hear him take a step closer, and in retaliation you take a step further.

“Baby don’t be like that, not before I have to leave-leave!” He whines, just wanting to hold you before he has to go. Referring to ‘leave’ twice since you both have been at this playful banter for the past thirty minutes.

“I see you rather play with big balls than stay with me.” “Don’t say it like that!” “You like being around sweaty men in lockers all the time rather than being with me.” “That’s so nasty! I'd rather be in our shower with you!” “You'd rather catch that flight than catch these hands.” You joke holding your fists up mimicking Chun-Li, before turning away with your arms crossed yet again, holding back your laughter. 

He laughs as you keep silent, and again as he steps closer-you step further. “Baby!” You try not to give in, a small smirk creeping across your lips, trying your absolute best to bite back the laugh that is threatening to let loose- though, he can’t see it. Your relationship with him has always been so joyful, it always has some sort of occurrence that has you laughing like a little kid again, that giddy and carefree feeling he gives you. “Just one kiss before I go please!” Ignored, again. God you were so petty, but in a kidding way.

“If I don’t kiss you, then you can’t go.” Keeping your eyes shut and away from him. 

And before you know it, you feel a presence right in front of you. Opening your eyes, you start to see your boyfriend right in front of you. “How did you-” Before you can finish, he crashes his lips onto you as he wraps his arms in a death grip around you. “Mmf Mmf!” You try to say his name but his lips are stuck on yours. Feeling his tongue lick your bottom lip, you gasp in surprise. Ultimately giving in, kissing him back because no matter how long you ‘argue’ with him, you will always give him a sign of affection before he leaves. 

Feeling yourself lose balance, you brace yourself for the fall. Only to feel the soft cushion of your shared bed. You forgot you were in your room, his actions always makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

Only then when you both fall, the kiss breaks. You both huff, sharing the same red on your cheeks. Before you have the chance to speak, your boyfriend’s tight death grip loosens, but not fully detaching himself from you. He holds you tenderly, shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You know the truth, I’d rather hold you. Then catch this flight.”

Meguru Bachira + Eita Otoya + Ryusei Shidou

-

"So many things I'd rather say But for now, it's goodbye."

You’re almost done finishing up the bento you have in front of you, it’s for your boyfriend. He has yet another away game, so you had decided to prepare his favorite dish for him to take with him on his travels, as well as a little good luck. 

Humming to yourself, you are lost in your thoughts before you feel warmth pressed against you from behind. Familiar arms wrap their way around your waist, while feeling the tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck. You giggle as you close the lid of the bento, wrapping it precisely before grabbing it and turning in your spot. You hold it up to your boyfriend’s face, but all he does is look at it. Before freeing one arm from your waist, only to gently take it from you and place it to your side on the counter. You watch before you feel him lift you. Now it was your turn to be placed on the counter. The sudden action startles you as you wrap your arms around his neck quickly as support

“Don’t wanna say goodbye.” He says as he looks into your eyes. You stare back into his, a beautiful sea, so deep and calm. You swear you can get lost in them for hours, and little do you know he can say the same about yours. 

Cupping his face, he immediately softens into your palms “Then what do you wanna say?”

He stays silent as you stare. Your boyfriend is so pretty, god he is so fucking pretty. 

“Anything but goodbye.” He replies. You lean yourself forward, pressing your lips against his. He melts and kisses you back. He wants to stay like this, you want to stay like this. It is as if time has stopped itself, just to watch two souls share their moment in peace.

Pulling away from the kiss, you hear a small whine coming from the bigger man. “C’mon.” He grumbles before hiding his face into your neck again. You sigh, bringing your arms around him one last time, giving him a final squeeze. 

Separating, the lone and cold feeling lingers, though you don’t say anything. Taking the bento into your hands, you bring it up to your boyfriend again. “Good luck” He feels his heart swell to your soft smile, finally accepting it with a gentle kiss to your soft cheek. “Good bye”.

Rin Itoshi + Hyoma Chigiri + Jyubei Aryu

-

"I'm starin' at the same four walls in a different hotel It's an unfamiliar feelin' but I know it so well."

He makes his way into a room, setting his suitcase to the side as he examines the space. The travel from Japan was so long and tiring, and all he wants to do in this moment is to lie in bed next to you. He misses you already.

Removing his shoes and coat, he plops into the bed in front of him, it’s the same size as the one he shares with you back home, but it feels so much bigger.

He didn’t expect his dream to be so fulfilling, yet so lonely. He misses you. He needs you.

This is a constant for him, this is his job. His dream, he needs to remember. But what is his dream without you?

Reaching for his pocket, he pulls out his phone and quickly dials for you. A few rings in, and you pick up. "Hello?" "Hey baby" He replies.

On the other end, you can't help but smile. "You miss me already huh?" You tease. "The bed is too big." He confesses as he stairs at the sealing, letting the four walls of the hotel take into his vision. He doesn't know why he feels this way, he knows this is how it always is everytime he leaves. "Wish you were with me."

Rensuke Kunigami + Shoei Barou + Zantetsu Tsurugi

-

"Oh, but you know the truth, I'd rather hold you Than this mobile in my hand."

As his team celebrates their victory, he has been awfully quiet. Sat in between his teammates with his phone in hand, though none dare to bother. The sound of laughter and chattering filters out at his focus is solely on his phone, like this object is his whole world.

And in a way, it is.

His messages app opened, you were on the other end. He has been messaging you nonstop while this celebration goes on, not caring about it at all. Like every away match, you were always the first one he would contact.

What went on of texting back and forth, he can't stand this anymore. Gripping the stupid device in his hands, isn't the same as holding onto you. And surely, the text on the screen is not enough, he needs to hear your voice. He excuses himself from his team before stepping out of the venue. He leans from the balcony as he quickly dials you.

Not even after a single ring, you pick up. Almost like you felt the exact same way. You miss each other- so much.

"I rather have you in my hands rather than this stupid phone." He says on the other end, earning a chuckle from you. His heart begins to race. "I miss you too."

Seishiro Nagi + Yo Hiori + Ikki Niko

-

"But I guess it'll do, 'cause for you I would run up my phone bill."

It has been hours since this call has started, you begin to worry as you check how long this ongoing call has been going for. Your silence is immediately picked up by your boyfriend on the other end.

"My dove, why so quiet?" He asks you gently with a hint of worry.

"It's just, you're in a different country right now and.. oversea calls are so expensive" You tell him. There is a moment of more silence, almost like there is a lag before you hear a small laugh.

"Whatever the price, doesn't matter. As long as I can have you with me- no matter what way." He tells you with a calm tone, a sense of reassurance for your thoughts. "Even if it's through the phone?" You ask.

"For you, not only would I run across a million fields- I would run up the phone bill." Your worries leave you as you let a giggle out from his cheesy line. No man before has ever made you feel the way he has, he makes you feel so loved, cared for and secured.

Reo Mikage + Kenyu Yukimiya + Karasu Tabito

-

Isagi steps out from the lobby of his hotel, needing a walk in order to cool down his thoughts. Walking through the streets of Berlin, Germany- the same city and country he had left off to when he was much younger for Bastard München. He's back for training again, this time for the FIFA World Cup. And it had been an hour since his arrival.

The flight from Japan felt longer than it had been back then, only because he can't help but replay the scene he had with you before he left.

The bright city lights shine as his eyes begin to swell, he can't help but replay each memory in which he had to leave you.

"Hey, remember the letter I told you I got in the mail?" Your boyfriend asks you. Taking your attention off from your workbook, you turn to him. "The one about the soccer jail?" You joke. "It's NOT a soccer jail." You can't help but giggle at how defensive he got, his face flushing red of embarrassment for falling into your taunt. "So.. are you going to do it?" You ask him, your eyes returning back to your highshool workbook. "I have been debating.." "About?" "Going" You stop your work before meeting his eyes. Isagi straightens up from your gaze, though what is always so beautiful- there is something behind it that intimidates him this once. "What's stopping you?" There is a moment of silence before he speaks. "I would have to leave for a long time, leave you for a long time." It was your turn to straighten your posture. "If it is for your dreams, then do it. You know I'll always be here."

He feels his mouth begin to dry, it feels hoarse almost as another memory plays.

"Yoichi!" Isagi's eyes widen, he had just arrived home from Blue Lock- and hadn't expect to see you at his house. "So, how was it?" You ask him playfully before he drops his bags, running to engulf you with embrace. You giggle as he spins you. He gently places you down, holding you close in his embrace. You hold him tightly, eyes shut enjoying this moment. You've missed him, a whole lot actually. You both lay in bed; spending hours updating each other on your lives for it has been so long. The conversation, the feeling, the laughter- nothing has changed. Before the sound of sniffling is heard. Quickly, you turn your head to see your boyfriend crying beside you. "Hey, hey. Yoichi?" You hold him closer to you as you wipe his tears with the ends of you sleeves. "I have to leave again." He refuses to look at you, almost in regret. "I made it into the top and- they are sending us off to train in Europe. I have to leave you again. I'm sorry Y/n-" Before he can finish, you cup his wet cheeks, bringing him into a loving kiss. "I told you I'll always be here."

You have always supported him, even after years and years. So why is he crying?

"Y/n, I have to go leave again." Isagi says, refusing to look at you. All you can do is sit on your shared bed calmly as you process his words. You were aware that your fiance's career revolves so much around traveling internationally and being away for some time, but just this once you hoped he would stay. It starts getting overwhelming for you too. No words were said as tension in the room begins to rise. Isagi still refuses to look at you. The silence in the room is almost suffocating, yet he refuses to speak again. "You're always leaving." Is all you can say before tears begin to cascade. Only then, Isagi turns to look at you- watching his heart and entire world shred into pieces. He has never seen you cry about him leaving.

He makes his way back to his hotel, only to be picked up in a car.

-

You lay alone in the shared bed of the apartment you and Isagi bought when you two became enagaged. The silence making it unbearable to sleep. It feels so cold and lonely, you despise it.

As you lay in bed, you replay the memory you had with Isagi before he left for Germany two days ago. You knew the FIFA World Cup was approaching, and that was the most important time of his career. You didn't mean to cry in front of him, you felt almost selfish asking him to stay at such a time. But, in such a time, you need him the most.

You hadn't told him yet, but a recent test had shown you positive for pregnancy. Afraid of how he would react, you thought to keep it to yourself for just a little longer as you process this news for you. Though, as it starts to eat at you, all you can do is yearn for the man you love to be by your side.

You lay a little longer, your eyes closed before the sound of your stomach grumbles. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips. Deciding not to sleep after all, you rise up gently- sliding into slippers as you walk through the spacious apartment towards the kitchen.

Fixing yourself some kintsuba and a fresh, warm batch of tea; you settle into your living room. Just as you are about to take your first bite, the sound of the doorknob clicks. You gaze turns to the front door, and there you see your fiance stand as he catches his breath.

Your eyes widen in shock before he makes his way to you.

"Yoichi- what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Germany, you just left-" Before you can finish your sentence, his lips are locked with yours as he holds you close to him. The kiss holds so much passion, love and yearn until you both break from the kiss.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, I don't want to leave you anymore. I'm tired from having to love you from a far. I'm not going back to Germany, unless you pack your bags. Let's go together."

Realization hits you, he's here. He's really here. All you can do it let your emotions get the best of you, before sobbing into his arms. He holds you close to him, before you confess.

"I'm pregnant."

A moment of silence is shared between you too. The silence almost filling with anxiety before the sound of sniffling is heard. You look up only to watch Isagi sob into you, similar to when he had when he first had to leave for Germany.

This time, he cups your face, pulling you into a deep kiss. Before going to his knees, reaching where your belly is.

He gently places his hands on your hips, before kissing your belly.

"You're coming with me."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ A/N: A bit long, my apologies. Also not proofread, again another apology. At first I felt the need to write something short and comforting in order to cope with how I'm feeling currently, but it turned out really long hehehe.. I hope you enjoyed! I love this song.