"𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡"

hey girl....imma...imma need u to write ab the whole... bicep crushing thing w Isagi cuz.. now u got me thinking 😈😈😩

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧”

a/n: need to see his biceps and triceps flexed as he grips the headboard 

yeah i’m down bad so i made two parts 🙁 (second part is a little suggestive)

“𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐚”

one look at your boyfriend and you only have one thought: #needthat. 

isagi stood by the kitchen counter, leaning against it lazily with one hand holding his phone, the other casually gripping a glass of water. his thumb scrolled absentmindedly, but your eyes? glued to the way his bicep flexed subtly each time he lifted the glass. the veins along his forearm shifted with every movement, stretching across his skin like delicate, winding rivers taunting you. 

you were supposed to be doing something productive. anything, really. but instead, you sat at the table, chin in your hand, fully mesmerized by the spectacle that was isagi existing. 

“you good?” his voice snapped you out of your blatant gawking, and you realized you’d been staring for way too long. his brow arched slightly, though there was a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. he knew. and oh how much it boosted his ego. 

“hm? yeah, just… thinking,” you lied through your teeth. 

but then he did it. the absolute audacity. he set the glass down and stretched. arms raised above his head, shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abs, but that wasn’t even the problem. the problem was the way his biceps peaked, perfectly rounded and taut, as he locked his fingers together, letting out a small sigh. 

and you? done for. 

“you’re still staring,” he pointed out, lowering his arms, but instead of dropping them to his sides, he bent one and flexed slightly, pretending to stretch his shoulder. oh, he was absolutely messing with you now. 

you scoffed dramatically, feigning annoyance. “don’t flatter yourself.” 

but isagi, being the menace he was, smirked wider. “flatter myself?” he mused, flexing again, just subtly, enough for you to notice. “nah, you’re the one doing all the flattering with your eyes.” 

your face felt hot. and it only got worse when he casually walked over and placed his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down slightly. the proximity gave you a front-row seat to the definition in his arms, the way his triceps curved beneath his skin, the warmth radiating off him. 

“wanna feel?” his voice was low, teasing, but it made your breath catch. 

you blinked, caught between playing it cool and completely folding. spoiler alert: you folded. instantly. without another word, you reached out, brushing your fingers along the firm muscle. warm, smooth skin stretched over pure strength. you squeezed lightly, your hand barely able to fit around his bicep. 

“jeez,” you muttered under your breath. “these things should be illegal.” 

isagi chuckled, and you could feel the vibration of his laugh through his arm. “should they?” he teased, bringing his face a little closer, his breath fanning over your ear. “you seemed pretty interested in them a second ago.” 

you glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way you were still clinging to his arm. “don’t be cocky.” 

he leaned in further, lips just grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “too late.”

“𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧”

you should’ve known better. you really should’ve. 

it started innocently enough – playful, teasing, nothing serious. you were lying on the couch, your legs draped over isagi’s lap while he scrolled on his phone, absentmindedly tracing patterns along your shin with his thumb. soft. casual. domestic. 

but then your eyes wandered (because how could they not?) to the way his forearm flexed slightly as he adjusted his grip. the shift was subtle, but you caught it – the faint ridge of muscle, the delicate winding of veins beneath his skin. and just like that, you were done for. 

you stared a little too long. and isagi? he noticed. 

“you good?” he muttered, not looking away from his phone. 

you hummed, feigning nonchalance. “mhm, just thinking.” 

“about what?” 

you glanced at his arm again. mistake. your fingers twitched slightly against his thigh. the urge was too strong. you reached out before you could stop yourself, lightly squeezing the bulk of his bicep. 

and you had the audacity to say, “huh… not that big.” 

his head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing slightly. oh, you were asking for it. 

he didn’t say a word, just slowly set his phone down on the coffee table. the shift was deliberate. predatory. when he turned back to you, there was a faint glimmer in his eyes, something dangerous and amused all at once. 

“what was that?” he asked, voice low and steady. too steady. if you wanna test him like that, you have to be ready for it. 

you blinked at him innocently, playing dumb. “what?” 

his gaze dipped to where your hand still rested on his bicep. “not that big, huh?” 

before you could offer some snarky retort, he moved. suddenly. swiftly. in one smooth motion, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you beneath him, caging you against the couch with his arms braced on either side of your head. 

your breath caught. his face was only inches from yours, but you barely noticed. no, you were far too distracted by the wall of muscle surrounding you. his forearms, thick and unyielding, pressed into the cushion beside your face, framing you completely. 

“still not big enough?” he muttered, voice low and teasing, but there was a heat behind it that made your stomach tighten. 

you couldn’t answer. not when he shifted lower, bringing his chest flush against yours, and wrapped his arms around you. 

and then? he squeezed. 

slowly. deliberately. his biceps flexing against your back, the solid muscle closing around you like evil. warm, firm, and completely unforgiving. 

your breath hitched. “oh my gosh –” 

his arms tightened further, just slightly, enough to steal the air from your lungs. you squirmed, but the more you struggled, the harder his hold became. his biceps flexed again, the muscle shifting and pressing against your ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe without feeling him everywhere. 

“too tight?” he murmured near your ear, voice dark with mock concern. 

you shook your head weakly, your fingers gripping at the unyielding muscle. 

“no?” he taunted softly, his breath warm against your skin. “then let me…” his arms flexed subtly again, the veins in his forearms pulsing faintly beneath his skin, “hold you a little tighter.” 

and he did. slowly and thoroughly. 

you could feel the strain of his biceps beneath your palms, the way the muscles coiled, dense and unrelenting, keeping you locked against him. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you tried to get some semblance of leverage, but he was immovable. 

his chest pressed against yours, warm and solid, each breath making the cage of his arms press into you further. you let out a soft gasp against his throat, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as your body went pliant beneath his strength. 

“yoichi…” you barely managed to breathe out, voice muffled against his skin. 

his lips brushed your temple, a dark chuckle escaping him. “what?” 

you squirmed slightly, your breath hitching when his arms flexed again, hard muscle coiling tighter around you. you felt it – the shift beneath his skin, the sheer force of it. crushing. suffocating. consuming. and yet? you didn’t pull away. 

no, instead, you clung to him, fingers tracing along the tense ridges of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. 

“tighter,” you whispered, half-daring, half-pleading. 

he froze slightly against you, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second, before he grinned against your skin. 

“you’re dangerous,” he muttered softly, but his arms obeyed anyway, flexing harder. pulling you in so snugly against him that your ribs practically caved into his chest, breathless and overwhelmed. 

and still? you didn’t tell him to stop. 

his lips brushed along your throat, teeth grazing gently against your skin. slow. deliberate. 

and then? he stilled. just for a second. 

his arms were still snug around you, keeping you completely captive, but he shifted back slightly, just enough to look at you. really look at you. 

your eyes met his, wide and slightly dazed, chest heaving faintly from the lack of air, but still, you didn’t pull away. you just stared up at him, your fingers still trembling slightly against the bulk of his arms. 

“you like this, huh?” his voice was a low rasp, but there was something softer in it now, something dangerously tender. 

you didn’t answer. you just tugged him down, pressing your lips softly to his. slow. deliberate. deep. 

he groaned softly against your mouth, arms still holding you tight, still keeping you locked against him. but this time, he kissed you slower. deeper. his lips moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. 

he didn’t let go. didn’t loosen his hold. no, he kept you right where you were, completely encased by him. 

and when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he whispered softly: 

“mine.” 

and with one slow, final squeeze, you melted entirely into him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

ok but actually I don't think Kunikida's dead dead but I hope he stays dead long enough so Dazai can find out, have the scare of his life, and then they reunite and Dazai tries to play it off as "obviously I knew you were alive it was all part of my plan" and immediately breaks down

JEKDJESJS I LOVE THIS SM IF HE WANTED TO HE WOULD

"When a boy likes a girl, he's mean to her. He pulls her pigtails, stucks his tongue out at her, screams at her--"

Wrong. Because Blue Lock boys would never.

When Isagi first discovered he liked you, his first instinct was to become your personal "maid", while also following you around like a shadow. Everytime you needed help, he'd be the first to do so. Everytime you passed by each other on the halls, he tried to make your shoulders touch. Everytime you forgot your lunch, he gave you his, even if he spent the rest of the day hungry as hell. Everytime someone bad mouthed you, you can bet Yoichi was right there, ready to beat someone up. He's the perfect gentleman, through and throughout.

When Reo realized he was in love with you, he showered you with gifts. You couldn't spend a single day without recieving tons of your favorite things, even after you told him he didn't need to get you anything: favorite food, merch of your favorite show, etc etc. And you can bet no one can hurt you, his beloved. He doesn't even have to "get his hands dirty". He's going to use his influence to make the person's life a living hell without as much as lifting a finger. It's all for you, after all!

Hiori managed to ditch some practices just to spend more time with you. It was NOT and easy feat: it looked like his parents knew where he was at all times (do they have a tracker on his phone or something? Oh wait. They probably do), and he had a perfectly made schedule he needed to follow strictly. Even so, he managed to fool his parents (with the help of Karasu, who lied to them telling him he was at practice, bless him for it) and take a break from football for a while. And when you both are laying in the grass and looking at the sky while you caress his hair gently, he can't help but close his eyes and wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to freedom. When he opens his eyes again and sees you, he also can't help but notice that, if you're the closest thing he has to happiness, he doesn't want nor need anything else.

So yeah, that affirmation is just ridiculous. When a man is really in love with a woman, he does everything in his powers to be close to her. And here's the proof.

Dazai: You, someone who has only been used as a tool, wouldn't understand my motivations...

Sigma: You mean you've been plotting all this just to save your friends?

Dazai: (suddenly uncomfortable with the emotional vulnerability) It's just for the paycheck ^_^

With kaisagi being guns & roses, bachisagi being bees % spouts, what would Rinsagi be?? (hear me out: Nineleven)

Chuuya: How do we wake him up?

Dazai: True love’s kiss!

Chuuya: What?

Dazai: I kiss him and he wakes up.

Sigma: *Sits up* I’m awake! Don’t kiss me!

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something about play fighting with sae. more often than not, he isn’t phased by your attempts to provoke him. little pokes or prods, teases — they don’t get much out of him, other than perhaps a raised brow, if anything.

you can’t recall what you’d done this time that managed to get under his skin. you don’t think you’d really been trying, either.

warm and comfy in one of his stolen sweaters, you’d climbed onto the couch after a bath. you should’ve noticed something off, then. his eyes had fixated on you since you entered the room, arm flexing just a little tighter as he drew you into his side.

you mewl, coy and slippery. and somehow, for some reason, five minutes later, you’re caught under his weight. half-hearted kicks only get your legs pinned; your arms are next, stretched up above your head against the armrest.

“sae, no fair.”

he gazes down at you. his neutral expression hasn’t changed, but there’s an unspeakably keen glint in his eye as he watches you fuss under him.

“no?” he murmurs, a trace of mocking as he squeezes your wrists.

you twist and try new strategies. purposely arching in a way meant to entice and distract.

but he only slides his free hand under your sweater — his, really — and the thought makes his pinch to your supple side that much sweeter.

you make a protesting sound that provokes him better than you ever could’ve known.

“hush.”

“what—?” you start to demand in outrage, feigned to hide your delight.

but he swallows your voice, his lips finding your throat, and you finding the realization: to only start fights you can win.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ♡ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ ♡ ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

at age seven, isagi learns two things. one, universal truths are always in the present tense (his teacher told him so), and two, you kiss the people you love (his mom told him so). knowing these, he kisses you under the slide in the playground, because he loves you, at least as he understands it at his age.

at age sixteen, isagi decides two things. one, he will become the best striker in the world, and two, he still loves you, albeit a little more than his seven year old self previously thought. but instead of kissing you, he hugs you tightly before he boards the bus to blue lock, and he takes in all the details of you. he thinks of the smell of your shampoo and the melody of your laugh while he's there, but he never tells anyone that.

at age twenty eight, isagi achieves two things. one, he wins the world cup, and two, he gives you his last name. the kiss you share at the altar is wetter and saltier than the one you shared under the slide, thanks to your tears, but his feelings engrave themselves into your memory all the same. he kisses you again for good measure, much to everyone's amusement, and wonders how his love for you is meant to stay in the present tense when it exists in all past, present, and future tenses.