HE'S SO ADORRAAABVLEEEEWW OH EM GEEEE YOUNGER CHIGIRI WITH SHORT HAIRR

another one of my favorite panels UFGHUGHUGHHHHHHH

Happy birthday, No. 1!! 🧩🎉

prince!reo was bored.

he always got what he wanted. jewels, feasts, fine clothes tailored from the rarest silks. but lately, everything felt the same. predictable. dull. so, he did what any spoiled prince would do. he sneaked out of the palace, dressed in a common tunic and cloak, though it did little to hide his identity. his violet hair, his sharp features—anyone with half a brain would know who he was. but whatever. commoners weren’t that smart, right?

he wandered through the bustling market, nose wrinkling at the scent of sweat, dirt, and ugh cheap food. his gaze landed on a girl at a fruit stall, carefully picking through a pile of peaches. he scoffed loudly, arms crossed.

“why would you buy that when there are perfectly red apples right there?” he mused, tilting his head toward the glistening apples stacked neatly beside the peaches. “who even chooses anything else?”

your head snapped toward him so fast, he almost took a step back. almost.

“who even—what?” you blinked, before narrowing your eyes. “sorry, who are you to judge my fruit preferences?”

reo blinked. no one ever spoke to him like that.

“i’m just saying, apples are the superior choice,” he huffed, flicking his hair back as if that solidified his point. “peaches bruise easily. they’re unpredictable.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “so what, you judge fruit like you judge people? only interested in the ones that look perfect on the outside?”

reo’s lips parted slightly. no one. no one. had ever spoken to him this way. not his servants, not his tutors, not even his royal parents. he was used to praise, admiration, people tripping over themselves to agree with him. but you? you were looking at him like he was some annoying fly buzzing around your head.

and for some reason, it made his heart race.

“tch. as if you’d understand,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

you snorted. “you’re right, i don’t understand. i don’t get why some random guy is sticking his nose in my fruit business.” you turned back to the stall, purposefully ignoring him now. “go bother someone else, apple boy.”

apple boy. apple boy?

reo felt something unfamiliar bloom in his chest. was this… amusement? was he actually enjoying this?

before he could stop himself, he smirked.

“you know, you’re kinda rude,” he mused, watching as you handed the vendor a few coins for your peaches. “but i think i like that.”

you shot him a glare. “good for you. now go away.”

reo chuckled, stepping back but not leaving. for the first time in forever, someone was not treating him like a prince. no fake smiles. no forced politeness. just pure, unfiltered attitude.

and honestly, he kinda liked it.

yeah, he was definitely gonna be sneaking out a lot more.

Took a little break from asks to draw something extremely self indulgent

I’ve been rewatching FIM and since I’ve got Blue Lock on the brain, like always, the combo was inevitable. I also didn’t want to think super deeply about creature types so everyone’s a pony (I also never seen the newer seasons so I don’t know any of the new creatures they introduce)

I didn’t intend for them to look like fillies for the tiny ones but alas

this is sending me

"𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

kaiser was used to getting what he wanted. 

a childhood of fists and slurred threats had taught him that power belonged to the strongest, the smartest, the ones who knew how to control the board. his father had controlled through fear. his mother had controlled through absence. he had learned to control through understanding. not to heal, but to win. 

that was why he read. psychology books lined his shelves, not for self-improvement, but for strategy. he picked apart minds the way he picked apart defenses on the field, exploiting weaknesses to his advantage. every opponent had an insecurity, a trigger, a soft spot. teammates were no different. he whispered the right words at the right time, making them believe in him, bend to him. he played the game not just with his feet, but with his mind. 

and he won. always. 

until you. 

you were supposed to be another challenge, another prize. kaiser was good-looking, successful, charismatic, no one told him no. but you did. not rudely, not cruelly. just a simple, unwavering “no” that threw him off balance more than any defender ever had. 

“you’re not ready for me,” you had said. “not like this.” 

he had scoffed, laughed it off, but something in your eyes unsettled him. you saw through him. the masks, the manipulations, the carefully crafted persona he had spent years perfecting. you weren’t interested in his charm, his success, or the way he could twist words to make people crumble. 

you wanted something he didn’t know how to give. 

“come back when you’ve stopped running,” you told him. 

at first, he convinced himself you were playing hard to get. that you’d come around, like they all did. but days turned to weeks, then months, and you didn’t waver. every time he saw you, you were the same. honest. steady. unmoved by his tactics. 

it pissed him off. 

kaiser found himself standing in front of a mirror late one night, gripping the edge of the sink, knuckles white. the bathroom lights flickered slightly, an old wiring issue he hadn’t bothered to fix. his breath came hard and fast. another bad game. another night where he’d screamed at his teammates for mistakes that were just as much his fault as theirs. he had watched their faces, the way their shoulders tensed, the way their confidence shrank. 

he knew that feeling. 

he had worn it once, long ago, cowering under his father’s drunken rage. 

the thought hit him like a punch to the gut. his grip on the sink tightened as he forced himself to look at his reflection. dark circles beneath his eyes, tension in his jaw, a sneer twisting his lips. he looked like a man who resented the world. like a man who needed control to survive. 

like his father. 

a sickening wave of nausea curled in his stomach. he stumbled back, his breath coming sharp and ragged. he clenched his fists, shaking his head. 

no. that wasn’t him. he wasn’t like that. 

but wasn’t he? 

hadn’t he built his entire life on power, on knowing exactly how to bend people to his will? hadn’t he used his words like his father had used his fists? maybe not in violence, but in force. in control. 

a trembling breath escaped his lips. he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory away. the stench of beer on his father’s breath, the sharp sting of words that cut deeper than any blow. “you’ll never be anything. you’re just like me.” 

no. 

he had spent his entire life trying to prove that wrong, but maybe in the end, he had just become the same poison, poured into a different bottle. 

that night, he barely slept. he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the realization that for all his intelligence, all his careful calculations, he had never once truly looked at himself. 

but you had. 

𐙚

kaiser found you at the park just before sunset. the sky was painted in streaks of orange and pink, the air crisp with the fading warmth of the day. you were sitting on a wooden bench near the soccer field, watching a group of kids kick around a ball, their laughter ringing through the air. 

he hesitated for a moment, hands in his pockets, before forcing himself to move forward. the old him would have had a plan, a perfect script to sway you. but now, he had nothing but the truth. 

so he sat beside you, letting a moment of silence settle between you both before speaking. 

“i don’t know how to be better,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. “i only know how to win. and i don’t want to do that with you.” 

you turned to look at him, studying him in that way you always did, like you saw past everything he tried to be and straight to everything he was. 

he braced himself, expecting rejection, expecting you to say that it was too late. 

but you didn’t. 

“you’re trying,” you said softly. “that’s enough.” 

his chest tightened. his whole life, worth had been measured by success, by control. but here you were, telling him that just the act of trying was enough. 

“you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he asked, half a smile pulling at his lips. 

you shook your head, though there was warmth in your eyes. “no. if it was easy, it wouldn’t mean anything.” 

he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the kids still playing. 

“then i guess i’ve got work to do.” 

you smiled, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he wasn’t running. 

he was finally standing still. 

and maybe, just maybe, that was how he really won you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: kaiser is one of my favorite written characters and i definitely see a lot of people get him wrong. this video does a really good job of explaining who he is and i highly recommend it https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bD77we_jtQQ&list=LL&index=8 

he definitely doesn't deserve to have grown up the way he did, but i also want to include the message in here to not repeat generational cycles. sometimes, we can even do it unconsciously, but catch yourself before it becomes too familiar. work on yourself, healing is the best thing you can do for yourself. sending much love to everyone reading this 🫶🏻

do i look alright? // rin hitoshi

you turned around, gazing at yourself in the mirror, as you admired the sundress your husband had picked out for you, the soft cloth fitting onto each dip of your body, revealing every inch of you from bottom-to-top, the soft hue of pink complimenting the blush you decided to wear today, your little handbag in one hand as you felt your husbands hands slide around your waist before handing you your favourite ceramic-flower hairclips, ruffling the thin material as he held onto you, picking up your head to meet his beryl-like eyes, he stood strong and tall like a guard dog next to you, protecting you from the rough outside world.

“do i look alright?” you asked him as you tilted your head, unsure if you liked the dress or not. rin pressed a kiss onto the tip of your ear as he looked down at you, 

his mind drifted away as nostalgia filled him, recalling the first time he’d seen you, you had worn a similar dress to this, catching his eye from the crowd of thousands of faces surrounding him, you were like birdsong to his dull, soul hungry life. 

“hm? rin? you there?” 

“beautiful,” he huffed out, 

“you look beautiful.” 

Sakamoto Days Cour 2 visual!

Blue Lock characters and being called a simp by their friends

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Featuring: Isagi, Rin, Bachira, Zantetsu, Nagi & Reo

Tropes: Fluff, boyfriend!bluelockcharacter

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Isagi Yoichi

Stammers, blushes, gets flustered. Tries to deny it but fails miserably.

"What? No, I'm not." Isagi crossed his arms, looking away petulantly.

"Oh, you so are!" Bachira exclaimed, poking his reddened cheek.

"Shut up!"

"Deny it all ya want, but anyone can look through that act." Hiori snickered.

"Okay then, name one example." Isagi crossed his arms.

"Remember the time you ran out in the rain, because Y/n forgot to bring her umbrella. Without jacket, too!"

Isagi went bright red. "That... that was just because..."

Bachira brightened, "You guys remember when he went all sulking because Y/n couldn't make it to his game?"

"What? No! I wasn't sulking!" Isagi disconcurred, but even to him his voice seemed weak.

"And remember when--"

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" Isagi slapped his hand over Hiori's mouth, face bright red.

"Maybe... maybe I'm a little bit of a simp--"

Bachira let out a burst of devilish laughs, pressing the off button of his phone.

"I RECORDED IT!"

"I'm showing this to Y/n."

"YOU TRAITORS--"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Itoshi Rin

Vehemently refutes the argument like a lashed out cat, but anyone can tell he's lying through his teeth.

Rin's phone pinged, signalling an incoming text message. Rin spared it a cursory glance before huffing, the corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly.

"Wait a second... Rin, are you smiling?" Isagi said, disbelievingly.

"What? No." Rin immediately denies.

"You are." Isagi stated, a grin of his own forming on his lips. "You were totally smiling at your phone just now. Were you texting someone? Wait... is it..."

Rin's neck blossomed into a red hue.

From anger, obviously.

"Shut the fuck up, you don't know what you're talking about." Rin hissed, his lips pulled back into a snarl.

"Okay. Then show me your phone." Isagi deadpanned.

"...no."

Isagi raised an eyebrow. "If you've got nothing to hide, then why are you getting so nervous? Or is it because of Y/--"

Rin threw a football against Isagi's face, effectively cutting him off.

"Shut the fuck up, you goddamn immature NPC. Don't you have anything else to do? Like train for example? Instead, you're here dwelling on my love life, like some goddamn idiot." Rin snapped, eyes narrowed and fists balled.

He then stormed out of the room, but not before throwing a dead glare over his shoulder.

Isagi was left behind, stunned and with a bruised face.

Despite that, he was smiling knowingly.

Love life, huh?

Rin had actually acknowledged it.

And he hadn't even noticed.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Bachira Meguru

Owns up to it, like its a Nobel Prize.

"You're such a goddamn simp, it's actually annoying. Am I the only normal person here?" Rin grumbled.

"Me? A simp?" Bachira pointed at himself, flummoxed.

Rin threw him a disgusted look. "Yes, you. Now get out of my face, you're going to make me puke."

Bachira looked at Isagi, a questioning look in his eyes.

Isagi shrugged in return. "I mean... he has a point."

Eyes lighting up, Bachira stalked up to Rin, undeterred by the withering look Rin shot him.

"You mean it? Really?"

"Get out of my face, blunt bangs." Rin snarled.

Bouncing away from Rin, before Rin would actually singlehandedly strangle him, Bachira singsang, "Rin-chan's just jealous I have a beautiful girlfriend whom I love very much."

Rin eyed him, disparagingly, "You're actually revolting."

"No, I'm a simp!" Bachira laughed delightedly.

"If you won't stop screeching like a damned banshee, you'll be dead."

"Simp, simp, simp!"

"Now he's asking for it, lukewarm NPC."

Isagi's eyes widened, concern flitting over his expression.

"Wait Rin... what are you doing? Wait... Why are you picking up that chair? Wait... no, don't throw it--"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Zantetsu Tsurugi

Absolutely clueless. He doesn't have the faintest clues as to what it entails.

"I'm a... dimp?" Zantetsu echoed, blinking owlishly.

Reo rolled his eyes. "A simp, dumbass."

Nagi rolled over, his eyes bleary. "Reo, why are you trying to explain it to him? It's such a hassle. He won't understand anyway."

Pushing his glasses against his face, Zantetsu tilted an eyebrow. "So I'm a "simp". That must mean that I can make things with much easity."

Reo facepalmed. "You mean, you can handle things with much ease."

None the wiser, Zantetsu responded. "That's what I just spoken."

Nagi sighed.

Shaking his head, Reo snickered.

"He's not only a simp, he's dumb, too."

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Nagi Seishiro

Shrugs it off. He's really casual about it. He doesn't really care. (Internally, he's smiling)

"Lazy slug? Are you actually... moving?" Barou watched him with an incredulous look on his face.

Nagi blinked at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Bachira chimed in, "It looks like you've been possessed. What happened with "everything being a hassle"?"

Nagi trudged on. "I need to get something from the grocery store for Y/n, that's all. It's not a hassle."

It's not a hassle.

It's not a hassle.

I t s n o t a h a s s l e

"Wow..." Bachira said, awe-struck.

"What a goddamn simp." Barou shook his head. "If he even put as much effort in his football as he does in that relationship, he might actually be a decent player."

"Hey now... I beat you in a one-on-one." Nagi retorted. "Anyway, I'm off now. Speaking with you is such a bother."

Then Nagi walked off.

"Hey! Come back here! Pick up your dirty socks!"

"You're closer, do it for me, King." Nagi called back.

"What?!" A vein bulged on Barou's forehead.

"Tch. Can't even do something as simple as picking up the laundry."

"But he's actually going all the way to the grocery store, huh?"

Well yeah. Nagi Seishiro was a slug through and through, but when he was actually motivated to do something, he would set his mind to it.

And well, maybe doing these things once in a while wasn't really a hassle.

Especially if it was for you.

If that made him a simp, well, it wasn't necessarily an insult, was it?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Mikage Reo

Flustered, but covers it up with confidence. (He's thinking about it afterwards).

Reo softly glanced at the hairtie you'd given him before his game, spinning it around his finger as he smiled slightly.

"You've been staring at that raggedy thing for over five minutes now." Chigiri asserted flippantly.

Flinching as he was startled out of his revery, Reo coughed, attempting to cover up his momentarily zoning-out.

"Have I? Ha, I must be tired then."

"Are you now?" Chigiri fixed him with a pointed stare.

"You don't look tired. In fact, you look pathetic. I thought you had hit rock bottom when you lost Nagi, but when you're separated from your girlfriend, you turn even more untolerable. Staring at that... thing."

"Hey!" Reo sat up, an indignant expression on his countenance. "I'm not untolerable. See," He threw away the hairpiece.

A beat passed.

"You want to pick it up, don't you."

"...yeah."

"God, you're such a simp." Chigiri shook his head dismayfully, his opulent red locks swishing elegantly with the motion of his head.

Reo's eyes shot open, and the tips of his ears turned red. "Wah-- me? I mean... pfft. You have to treat your partner right, right? That includes the gifts they give you, too."

Chigiri gave him an impassionate glance. "Even when it has already outlived its purpose?"

Scoffing, Reo pivoted on his spot. "I can still use it."

Chigiri raised his arms in the air in a disarming manner. "Sure. Alright. But don't go lending my elastics when yours break."

The redhead shuffled out of the room, his hair swaying behind him, as if taunting Reo.

Scowling, Reo sat down.

He chanced a look at the hairpiece in his hand.

Should I throw it away?

His hand reached the bin can, but he couldn't let go of the object.

Sighing, he wrenched the tie around his wrist.

For good luck. No other reason.

His cheeks flushed.

Reo groaned, burying his head in his arms.

Maybe he really was a simp.

જ⁀♡⊹｡° just put your sweet lips on my lips

( isagi yoichi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — the first part in my newest series: the garden of you! (masterlist)

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — isagi yoichi x fem! reader, slursagi mentioned, isagi is HEAD OVER HEELS for reader, just freaking puppy love, fluff, invasive paparazzi, established relationship ( 5 years ), reader & isagi are 25ish, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — In the world’s eyes, Yoichi Isagi is unstoppable — the best striker alive, a two-time World Cup champion, and infamous for the brutal insults he dishes out on the field. But when the stadium lights go out, he comes home to you — still shy, still boyish, still head-over-heels. Under city lights, on the bench where it all began, he realizes that no trophy will ever compare to the way you say his name.

── .❀ we should just kiss like real people do

The world knows Yoichi Isagi in superlatives.

The best striker to ever play the game.

The man who’s rewritten soccer history—twice.

The player who turned “egoist” into a philosophy.

The boy from Japan who stunned the world and never stopped.

They know his goals. His mind. His ruthless hunger.

They know the way he screams across the pitch — brilliant, brutal, and unfiltered — flinging words that make highlight reels just as much as his goals do.

“You’re lucky I don’t play defense or you’d be in the fucking ground.*”

“Hope you brought a second pair of cleats, ‘cause I’m dragging you for the rest of this match.”

“I’m the best in the world, and you’re barely even a footnote.”

Iconic. Viral. Merciless.

But the Yoichi Isagi that walks through the front door at 9:42 p.m. on a Tuesday night?

He drops his bag by the door and calls out a little breathless, “I brought you the melon pan you like—!” before even taking off his shoes.

You’re still on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, legs tucked beneath you, and as soon as you turn and smile at him—

He just… melts.

“Hi, baby,” you say.

And he stares. All pink ears and wide eyes and messy hair. He’s still in his training hoodie, still smells like grass and heat, but he looks at you like you’ve just told him he won the World Cup again.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles without thinking, and you giggle as you take the bag from his hand.

“You’re the one who’s glowing.”

“I’m sweaty,” he says bashfully.

“You’re glowing,” you insist, grinning up at him. “Like a boy in love.”

He groans and hides his face in your shoulder, mumbling something about you being unfair. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he clings back like it’s been days, not hours. 

He does this every time — like he’s scared he’ll blink and wake up to find it was all a dream.

You’ve lived together for three years now.

You’ve been his for five.

But Yoichi Isagi still gets shy when you compliment him.

Still flushes when you kiss his cheek.

Still stares at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

When you’re out together, he gets stopped often — for autographs, photos, interviews. His fame doesn’t just follow him. It hunts him.

So when he books a quiet little dinner date at a tiny ramen shop tucked away from the city center, he hopes for some peace. Hopes for a normal night.

Hopes, selfishly, that maybe people can forget he’s Isagi Yoichi, world champion, and let him be just Yoichi, your boyfriend for a night.

But he’s not surprised when the flashes start.

You catch on quickly. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer to block you from view, arm resting behind you on the booth’s backrest.

“I guess someone tipped them off,” you sigh, picking at your noodles.

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. But it does. It always does — when people take your time like they’re owed it, when they ruin these quiet little moments he lives for.

So he looks over your shoulder. Locks eyes with the nearest camera.

And flips them off with a casual middle finger, expression still soft as he returns to you.

“Yoichi,” you gasp, hiding your laugh behind your hand.

“They’re not invited,” he says easily. “I have plans. With you.”

You lean over the table to kiss his cheek.

He blushes so hard he forgets how to use chopsticks for a full thirty seconds.

It’s only after dinner, as you’re walking hand-in-hand through the quieter parts of the city, that something shifts. He’s quieter now. Focused. Like there’s something heavier beneath the surface of his usual shy smiles.

The street is familiar. A little run-down, flickering lights here and there. You round the corner and see it before he says a word.

The bench.

Old wood, faded green paint. Under the lamp post where you met.

Where he sat beside you that night after training five years ago, heart still racing from the match, vending machine broken, unsure of how to start a conversation with someone like you.

You remember offering him a drink.

He remembers the first time you smiled at him.

And now, all this time later, he’s pulling something from his pocket.

Velvet box. Shaky hands.

And then he’s on one knee.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches. His voice shakes.

“From the moment you said hello to me, I’ve been yours. Hook, line, and sinker.” 

He laughs through a tear that rolls down his cheek.

“You are every part of me. You consume my every waking thought. I love coming home to you. I love seeing you in my jersey. I love every part of being with you—and I want to do it forever.”

His voice drops. Barely above a whisper.

“Please. Will you marry me?”

You don’t remember saying yes out loud.

But you’re nodding. Crying.

Reaching for him with both hands, and then he’s standing, arms tight around you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

And he sobs.

Not the kind of tears that fall on the field, surrounded by roaring fans.

But quiet, breathless ones. Overwhelmed. Grateful. Real.

Yoichi Isagi.

The world’s greatest striker.

A living legend.

A foul-mouthed genius with two World Cups and a target on his back.

And in your arms, just a boy in love.

Hopelessly, deeply, forever yours.

Later that night — or technically, early morning — the world finds out.

Isagi posts just one photo to his account:

A candid shot of you in his arms, standing at the very spot where he asked you to marry him.

You’re laughing, hand outstretched, showing off the ring.

He’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

No caption. Just a daisy emoji.

And within minutes, the internet erupts.

By the time sunlight filters through your bedroom curtains, he’s already lying wide awake, phone in hand, blinking at the dozens of articles piling in.

Isagi Yoichi: Giving Up Soccer for Love?

Engaged! The Striker Who Won the World’s Heart Gives His Away.

A Ring, True Love, Another World Cup?

He sighs and turns off the screen. Drops his phone onto the nightstand and lets his head fall back against the pillow.

Because in this moment, he couldn’t care less what the world thinks.

Not when you’re draped over him like this — half-on, half-off, mouth slightly open and drooling against his chest. One of your legs tangled between his, one hand resting right over his heart. Right where the ring he spent months agonizing over gleams up at him in the warm morning light.

He tightens his arm around your waist. Brings his other hand up to brush through your hair, so gentle, like he’s afraid to wake you. But you shift anyway.

“Mmhm… good morning, baby,” you mumble, voice raspy with sleep.

And he’s gone. Just like that.

Heart wrecked. Soul floored.

Totally, irreversibly, eternally yours.

A soft little laugh catches in his throat.

Eyes watering all over again.

God, you don’t even know what you do to him.

“Good morning,” he whispers. And presses a kiss to your forehead like a vow. Like he’ll never stop saying it.

Not for the rest of his life.

i'm obsessed with isagi HE'S THE MC FOR A REASON

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