hello beloved emmie!! it’s been such a while, i hope you’re doing well 🥺 just wanted to pop in with a lil sel question and ask how you’d rate last year + what you’re looking forward to this year? 🥺 i miss you loads! 💗
my lovely sel 🥺 i miss you so much !!!!
id rate last year as a solid liiikkee 6.5/10 !!! not too great but it definitely coildve been worse .... and i look forward to being actively healthier and getting to use my nail license !!!!
emmie!!! hello!! how are you!! it’s been a while since i’ve popped in to send a message but i hope this half of the year has been kind to you 🥺 i am bringing fresh flowers and cookies! 💐🍪 for a sel question, i’m wondering—what are you most grateful for this past half a year? 🥺
hello my dear sel 🥺 !! i hope you're doing well, i miss talking to u sm !!! this half of the year has not been too shabby :3 how have you been <3
im probably most grateful to be able to hang with my friends, playing things with them and such c: how about you !! what's your year been filled with lately !!
sorry im thinking about geto and like ... how do you think he felt killing his parents? how do you think it went down? were they happy to see him and he just does it or does he let them down easy and makes it quick when they're sleeping?
all smiles in greeting, pleasantries exchanged, his father gives him a firm handshake and a brief hug, his mother grabs him by the face and peppers kisses all over his cheeks.
it's bittersweet, he thinks, the way she frets over him. asking if he's been eating enough, if he's been sleeping, if he's been giving himself breaks between whatever he's being taught at jujutsu tech.
she pinches his cheek when he only smiles and nods, clicking her tongue and pulling him into his childhood home like it's where he'll always belong.
they have dinner like they used to. his mother always made a wonderful feast when he'd come for visits; something his father complains about to him long after she's gone to bed and it's only the two of them.
"she never cooks like that anymore," he tuts, "only for you does she throw something so wonderful together." his father leans back into the cushions of the couch the two have made themselves home in, a small smile dancing onto his features, "but i love her all the same."
yes, it's all so bittersweet.
a whispered goodnight to his father, slinking off into his old bedroom. nothing's changed since he left last, encased in its own veil of suguru's youth. it's tidy in a way that tells him his mother has been doing routine cleanings, at the very least, his desk and dressers hold no dust, his bed is neatly made, there's not a thing on his floor that isn't meant to be there.
he sits on the edge of the bed mindlessly, elbows propped atop his knees with his hands clasped together. waiting, listening and waiting.
his father hasn't changed in all the years he's known him. to this day (well - night), he still stays up until 11:30 pm to watch a rerun of his favorite show, he stills grabs himself a glass of water from the kitchen as the outro plays on the tv, and he still clicks the tv off before heading down the hall for bed. a routine he's had for as long as suguru can remember.
there were some nights, when suguru was still a child, where he'd been put to bed and he'd wait for the familiar steps of his mother as she walked down the hall. then he'd wait an extra five minutes, just in case, before slipping out from under the covers and tip toe his way around the dark. his father would always somehow be well aware of his presence before he approaches, arm held out invitingly for his boy to tuck himself under with a cheeky smile.
"you should be in bed," his father would chide, but still, he leans into the couch with suguru pressed against him.
"'m not sleepy," suguru would (rather sleepily) argue in return, stifling a yawn and making himself comfortable.
those nights, he'd find himself tucked back into bed by morning - hardly able to last through the beginning scenes of the show before he's lulled to sleep by his father's even breathing.
no, it's bittersweet hearing those same breaths now. intermingled with his mother's as they both peacefully rest in bed. neither aware of how he looms above them, neither aware of the curse manifesting from the center of his palm.
he turns his back before the slaughter ensues. quick and easy, they'd never know what happened, how it happened, whos hands they died by.
a means to an end, he reminds himself as he shuts the door behind him.
that new art of first year geto gojo and shoko ........ geto loving his parents so much to be otp with his mom while he moves into the school ........ much to think about ...
Dude I read your hey brother fic and was like "omg this was so good I wonder if she'll make a part 2" and I was about to ask but then I looked at the date it was released.....2 years ago🧍🏽♀️... now I feel a like I might have asked a tad too late lol💀
LOOOL omg 2 years ago ???????? 🥲 im glad u enjoyed it enough to want a p2 but i fear i have no idea how that would even go </3
Years after your break up, Itoshi Sae returns to Japan.
He finds he left more than just you behind.
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.
pairing: itoshi sae x f!reader, one-sided itoshi rin x f!reader
wc: 4k
cw: aged up characters/pro-footballer au, sae and reader have a named daughter together that reader hid from him, exes to lovers, complicated relationships.
notes: i couldn't contain myself any more. after several false starts (aka me posting and deleting while having a meltdown), here is the real thing. i owe my life to @lorelune for their input and advice on this fic—i cannot even begin to explain. anyway, i hope you enjoy this first part! please note this will have slow updates - please be patient with me, thank you!
Japan is a haunted place for Sae.
He forgets that, most days. He spends most of his time as far away as he can get. And Sae is not a man who lives in the past; he is focused on the future, on the endless horizon of upcoming days.
Then he steps onto Japanese soil and remembers you.
You live at the edge of his memory, gone wispy with the passing years. These days, you’re just the tilt of your lips; you’re the elegant slope of your shoulder. An outline of yourself, an imprint left behind on a foggy window.
You’re a ghost of the worst kind: one of his own making.
And Japan is your territory. You linger in the very air; he breathes in sea salt and thinks of the taste of your tears. It stirs something inside of him that he’s quick to ignore.
This trip is no different.
The plane lands at the first bloom of dawn, pink streaking across the sky like petals. Sae’s been up for a while, reviewing game footage on his iPad. He makes another note before he puts it away; there will be plenty of time to review more.
By the time he slides into the car, the sun is starting to peek over the horizon. The light is sweetly golden, soft and warm, and to his surprise, your smile flashes through his mind. It’s one of the things he’s never forgotten, but he keeps it tucked away, under the melon rind curve of the bitter smile you gave him when he left.
He shakes off the memory. He starts the game footage again, his teal eyes sharp, a scalpel’s edge. He watches for a few more minutes before he sighs. He pauses it and takes out his phone, ignoring the notification from his manager. Instead, he navigates to Instagram.
It’s a relic of his past life. He’s never updated it since going pro; he can’t be bothered. He can’t even remember the last time he opened the app. Maybe to see what his PR team had posted on his official one.
He clicks into his profile. The most recent post is almost as old as the account itself; it's the beach at twilight, the waves eating at the shore.
Right.
He'd deleted all his photos of you.
With a sigh, he navigates back to his feed. He scrolls a bit, flicking through most of the photos without a second glance. It’s all tepid, glimpses into tedious lives that he doesn’t care about. He’s just about to close the app down when something catches his eye.
It’s you.
Older now, but undoubtedly you. You’re facing away from the camera, but he knows the line of your neck, the swan’s wing curve of it. He swipes to the next photo in the set; you’re still in the background, but you’re in profile this time, lips tilted sweetly, wine-kissed.
He swipes again, but you’re not in the next picture. When he glances at the caption, it doesn’t tell him anything, but you’ve commented. He clicks the link to your profile, but it doesn’t take him anywhere. His lips thin; he tries again and gets the same result.
When he tries to search by your username, nothing comes up.
You’ve blocked him.
His brow furrows. It’s not entirely unexpected, but he had thought that the years might have softened you towards him. He sighs and tosses his phone onto the seat next to him before starting the game footage once more.
It’s for the best.
—
Sae does not dream often.
Or if he does dream, he simply doesn’t remember. He wakes in the morning and nothing lingers. There are only the cobwebs of sleep, which he blinks away with ease.
But tonight—his second night in Japan—he dreams of you.
It’s hazy in that way that dreams often are. He knows it’s your first apartment, the one with the flickering porch light you always left on for him, but he can’t make sense of the rest. It fades into the background, leaving him with only the starglow of your eyes peeking over the horizon of your shoulder as you disappear from room to room.
You weave through the apartment with easy grace. He follows until he doesn’t, watching you vanish into the kitchen—a tiny, cramped thing with plants stuck wherever they can fit. You glance back at him, half-devoured by shadows. There are tears shining on your cheeks. Your lips part, and as you start to speak—
He blinks awake.
Sae stares up at the ceiling. He runs a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and sits up. The hotel room is dim, the rising sun held at bay by the thick curtains. If he were someone else, he might think of the shadows that you peered out from, but he doesn’t. The dream is already fading.
He gets out of bed. The curtains part under his hand; the sudden gleam of the sun makes him squint.
He opens the window, as he always does. The breath he takes is deep; it fills his lungs with the fresh bite of the morning air. It washes away all but the dregs of the dream. He takes another breath and buries those dregs deep.
He buries you.
—
Like all ghosts, you refuse to stay buried.
By his fifth day in Japan, Sae has thought of you more than he has in years. He’s not sure what it is about this trip in particular; you’ve always returned to mind when he’s back, but never to this extent.
It’s annoying.
With a sigh, he taps his pen against his notebook. He glances out the window and sees the hydrangeas waving in the breeze, tiny puffy clouds. He thinks of you, petal-bodied, and sighs again. He pulls out his phone and starts a text to his manager.
Sae has always been a man of action.
He’ll exorcise you himself.
—
Your neighborhood reminds Sae of Kamakura.
It’s nicer than he expected; a family neighborhood, based on the parents walking by with children perched on their hips like little birds. The houses are a mosaic of architecture, a few odd styles standing out, just like his childhood. It’s only missing the kiss of salt in the air, the sea’s eternal presence. Instead, there’s the earthiness of the park that cuts through it, pungent and grassy after the morning’s rain.
He crosses the street as the light turns; according to Navitime, your house should be on the other side of the park. The foliage swallows him down, a verdant throat, before it spits him back out into a manicured playground. Children are laughing, bright peals of sound like summer windchimes.
He glances at the parents lining the sides of the playground and blinks.
Sae thinks of the Instagram post from just a few days ago. He hadn’t paid much attention to who posted the pictures, but if he were to pull it up again, he knows exactly who it would be.
Rin.
Rin, who is currently staring at him from his spot next to you.
It can only be you. There’s a ghost of the girl you were just under your skin, blooming like a spring bud. It’s in the way that you move; it’s in the way that your eyes gleam. The imprint of you that’s haunted him given new life. Made real again.
You still haven’t noticed his brother’s early onset rigor-mortis, because your attention—your attention is on the little girl snuffling on your lap.
She’s a tiny thing, no older than three. Her hair gleams cherry-dark in the sunlight, the faintest sheen of red shimmering through it, and when she blinks, her long clusters of lashes sweep across her cheek like clouds. She blinks again, slow and sleepy, and it’s all sunlit stained glass, her eyes a familiar shade of brilliant teal.
His shade of teal.
The world narrows. Sae takes a step forward without thinking about it.
The little girl yawns. Her nose crinkles with it, twitching like a bunny’s. You lean down to nuzzle your nose against hers, a little smile unfurling on your lips, a night-blooming flower. She bats at you with a tiny hand before rubbing at her eyes.
Sae watches, entranced.
A shadow falls over him; a hand pushes against his chest. He glances up into burning turquoise eyes.
“Rin,” he says. “It’s been a while.”
Rin steps closer. His lean muscles are coiled tight; his lip curls back in a snarl. He’s blocked Sae’s view of you and the girl, a sheepdog circling his lambs.
“Stay away from them,” he spits out.
Sae blinks. “Hello to you too.”
“I’m not here to say hello. Stay away from them.”
He’d known. Sae has always had a quick mind; on the field, he needs only the smallest glimpse of information to put together the puzzle pieces, to build his strategy. He’d known as soon as he’d seen his daughter, but this—Rin and his bared fangs, Rin and the fear trembling just beneath his fiery tone—it confirms everything.
He has a child.
“Them,” Sae muses. “So the kid is hers. Mine, too.”
Rin’s hand flexes at his side, his long fingers twitching. “Go away.”
Sae raises a brow. “It’s a public park,” he points out.
Rin scowls, moving fluidly with Sae as his brother tries to step around him. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he says.
“She can tell me that herself.”
“Not telling you should speak for itself.”
Sae lets out a breath. “You can’t stop me, Rin.”
“You don’t deserve them,” Rin says, his turquoise eyes aflame, flaring like the auroras in the night sky.
Sae realizes that he is not the only one you haunt.
“And you do?”
Rin goes stiff.
Sae hums. “Does she know you’re still sniffing after her?”
“Shut up.”
“That’s a no.”
“At least I’ve been there. At least she wanted me there.”
Sae’s jaw flexes. “But she still doesn’t notice you.”
“You—”
“Sae?” you say. Your voice warbles, delicate birdsong, his name sweet on your tongue.
Rin flinches.
A little smirk flickers to life on Sae’s lips. Rin’s fingers flex, his glare deepening, but he wavers as you step closer. It gives Sae an opening. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he pushes past him.
Rin makes a sharp noise, but Sae ignores him.
You're his focus now.
There was a time that your eyes lit up when you saw Sae, but as he draws closer, he sees only wariness. A wolf with its lips drawn back, giving a glimpse of teeth. Not yet bared, but the promise of a bite.
“Sae.”
That airy warble is gone; your voice has settled into something cooler, the first kiss of winter on an autumn day. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but Sae still knows you. There’s a tremble to your lower lip; there’s sorrow tucked up secret in the corner of your mouth.
He says your name. Watches the way you cup your daughter (his daughter) closer to you, her little face burrowed in the gentle curve of your neck. You have one hand cradling the back of her head, as delicate as a dove’s wing, your fingers splayed like feathers.
“What are you doing here?” you ask.
“Looking for you.”
Something flickers across your face, a fleeting summer storm.
“Japan, Sae. Why are you in Japan.”
He shrugs. “It’s still my home, you know.”
“Is it?”
Your daughter makes a small, musical noise, shifting in your arms. You hush her, humming softly until she falls still again, lulled back into sleep. Sae watches the way her little hand curls into your sweater, tiny fingers anchoring her to you.
(He wonders, briefly, if she would hold onto him in the same way.)
"What's her name?" he asks.
"Why do you care?"
He sighs. "Games don't suit you," he says. "Tell me my daughter's name."
Something in you hardens, frost spiraling across a river's surface.
"Rin," you say quietly, and his brother steps in front of him again, blocking his view of you and his daughter. He flexes his fingers as Rin scoops up the little girl; she mumbles quietly before settling against his lean shoulder. It's easy, born of familiarity, and something in Sae grows teeth.
"One brother wasn't enough for you?" he asks.
Rin whips around, fury lining him like a cloak, splitting through him like a thunderclap. Your hand comes up to rest on his other shoulder, restraining him with the most delicate of touches. An owner pulling her dog's collar.
"It's fine," you tell Rin. "Can you settle her in the stroller, please?"
Rin's turquoise eyes are aflame, burning like a comet's tail through the velvet sky. He stares down Sae for another breath before he turns back to you.
He leans in close; too close for Sae to hear what he says to you.
You nod, and Rin sends Sae one last glare before he walks away, carefully cradling the little girl in his arms. Sae's gaze catches on her small form; he thinks of the sea foam that washes up onto the shore, too delicate to last.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, turning back to you.
You meet his gaze steadily. "You wouldn't have stayed."
Sae shoves his hands in his pockets; he stays quiet. You watch him, your lips curling down at the edges, like wilting leaves.
"What do you want, Sae?"
"My daughter."
"You can't have her," you say. "You'll break her heart."
"Like I broke yours?"
"You didn't break my heart, Sae."
He watches you for a moment. You meet his gaze steadily, but he sees the cracks in you. The ghost of who you were before he left you behind. The girl you’ve grown out of, her skin too small for the woman you’ve become.
"Yes," he says. "I did."
You sigh. "Go home, Sae."
"I will," he says easily. "But not without her."
You stiffen. "You'd take her from me?"
"No," he says. "You're coming too."
"Fuck off."
He steps in close, until he can feel your body heat, until he can hear the soft breath you suck in. Longing cuts across your face, a wound torn open. It’s gone in a breath, but Sae sees it.
"You miss me," he says. "Don't you?"
"Fuck off, Sae."
"That's not a no."
Your hand comes up as he pushes closer; you splay it across his chest. The heat of it sinks through his shirt, like spring sunlight, gentle and warm. He waits, but you don't shove him away. He wraps a hand around your wrist, stroking his thumb over the tender underside. Your eyelashes flutter, a butterfly’s wing.
"You miss me," he says. "Say it."
"I miss you," you breathe.
The words are delicate, spider’s silk. They linger in the space between you, a gleaming web spun from your trembling lips.
Sae leans closer, until he can smell the honeysuckle-kiss of your shampoo.
"Then let me in."
You let out a shaky breath. Your fingers flex against his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. "Sae—"
"Yeah?"
"No," you say, finally shoving him away. He steps back gracefully, his face impassive. “Don’t do this to me. You won’t stay.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “I do.”
Sae studies you. Your eyelashes are damp; one of them has caught on your cheek, a dandelion seed. There’s an urge to reach out and sweep it away with his thumb. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead.
“Do you give Rin this hard a time about leaving?” he asks.
“That’s different.”
“Not really.”
“Sae.”
He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
You purse your lips, a flower bud pinching shut. “This isn’t about Rin.”
He glances past you. At the edge of the playground, his brother is rocking the stroller with long, practiced movements. It’s a strange picture, this snapshot of Rin; his ease speaks of a life already lived.
Rin leans down; he’s reaching for the girl’s foot, kicked over the side of the stroller. Sae stares at that tiny foot, cupped carefully in the palm of Rin’s hand.
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”
He returns his gaze to you.
“It’s about my daughter.”
Something flashes across your face; Sae thinks of the last days of summer, the slow swallow of them.
“You mean my daughter,” you say. “She’s not yours.”
He sighs. “We both know she is.”
“No,” you say. “Not in any way that matters.”
Sae was stung by a sea urchin, once. He’d stepped on it in the shallows, its prickly body hidden amid the shadowed, worn rocks of the tidepool. The spine had pierced through the bottom of his foot; he’d bled. He hadn’t been able to play soccer for a week.
But he hadn’t held it against the sea urchin.
It was just protecting itself.
“I would say helping create her matters rather significantly.”
(Okay. He had held it against the urchin. A week was a long time to be banned from soccer.)
“It doesn’t,” you say.
Sae tilts his head. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be so scared right now.”
You flinch.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Quiet falls between you. Your eyes flash in the sunlight; Sae thinks of heat lightning, how it never touches the ground.
“You’re right,” you say, so softly that it’s almost lost to the wind. “I’m scared.”
He waits.
“Tell me I don’t have to be.”
Sae glances past you again. He wishes he could see into the stroller, that he could see his daughter’s face again.
“I can’t.”
Your face crumples, delicate origami crushed in a fist.
(You have always reminded Sae of the lacquered origami that’s scattered around your bedroom like stars. Like them, you’re tough enough to protect yourself against the elements, but underneath it all, you’re still paper.)
The creased paper edges of your devastation slice through Sae, scoring the tender underbelly of him, the part he’d thought had long hardened against such cuts. He thinks of roshambo; perhaps he should have known.
Paper always beats rock.
But if he’s cut, you’re wounded, a deep, terrible thing. You’re curling in on yourself, just slightly, as if that can staunch the sorrow seeping from you. Your lower lip trembles, but Sae can see the anger starting to filter in, a sunset bleeding across the horizon.
You blink away your unshed tears; the remnants of them leave your lashes glistening, the sunlight catching in them like a prism. Sae watches you piece yourself back together, your anger the glue, glowing through you in kintsugi gold.
You take a deep breath.
“You’re such an asshole,” you murmur.
He doesn’t bother to refute it. He knows this is where most people would apologize, but he won’t. Not for telling you the truth.
“I want to see her,” he says instead. “Can I come over tomorrow?”
You go stiff, a marionette pulled upright by its strings. He wonders if you’re thinking of what you both know: Sae does not ask for things. He does them, consequences be damned. It’s an olive branch, one barely blooming, a twig of a thing. But it’s there.
“No.”
Sae doesn’t flinch, but he feels his jaw go tight, his teeth clicking together, bone against bone. He flexes his fingers at his side.
“You—” he starts, voice chilled, a blade of ice.
“You can’t just walk into her life,” you say, cutting him off sharply.
It stops him in his tracks. He’s not used to that, not anymore. People tend to listen when he talks. The surprise keeps him from responding, giving you enough time to add:
“And you can’t just walk back into mine.”
He doesn’t need long to recover, though. “Even though you miss me.”
Your expression twists, souring at the edges, the first hint of rot in overripe fruit. “That doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does.”
“I don’t care what you think, Sae.”
“Yes,” he says, “You do.”
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, denting the plush flesh. “You’re such an asshole,” you tell him again.
“I know.”
The wind picks up; it catches at your clothing, plucking at it with playful fingers. You smooth the fluttering fabric back down with a trembling hand.
“You can’t see her,” you say softly. “She won’t understand.”
“Won’t understand what?”
“Why you have to leave again.”
“You don’t know that.”
You sigh. “I do,” you say. “It’s hard enough with—”
You pause, clamping your mouth shut before you can finish your sentence. Something cold curls through Sae, a winter river that snakes between the banks of his ribs.
“With Rin, right?” he asks. “It’s hard enough with Rin.”
You watch him for a moment, your eyes wary, a rabbit peeking out from the brush. You nod.
Sae exhales through his nose. “I see,” he says coldly.
You wince. “Sae—”
“Don’t.”
It’s not his usual calm tone. It’s shatterglass, keen-edged and ready to cut. He hates it.
Your eyes widen. There’s something in your expression that Sae doesn’t want to name. It catches beneath his skin like a burr, sharp and unrelenting.
“Sae,” you say softly. “I—”
A piercing cry rents the air, splits it apart like a blade. Sae blinks, but you’re already whirling around, heading for the tree Rin has settled under with the stroller. His brother is hefting the screaming girl into his arms, his big hand stroking along the slip of her spine, but she’s still wailing, a high, animal keen. She reaches for you as soon as she sees you, her chubby hands grasping at air.
She buries her face in your neck as you cradle her. Sae’s too far to hear what you’re murmuring, but her wailing starts to trail off. Your hand settles at the back of her head, cupping her close, a gentle promise.
Sae steps forward just as Rin shifts, curling around you like a shield. There’s a flash of turquoise heat; Rin’s expression is a dare.
He should know better. Sae has never been one to back down.
He ignores Rin and comes closer, until your voice floats to him. It’s softer now, but it’s steady. Sure.
“It was a scary dream, huh?” you say, pressing a kiss to the crown of the girl’s head. “It’s okay. You’re awake now. Let’s go home, yeah?”
The girl’s answer is lost in the salt of your skin, her face still glued into the curve of your neck. You seem to understand the squashed words perfectly, though. You hum an agreement and adjust her in your arms. She finally peels away from the cradle of your neck. There’s silvery tear tracks mapped across her chubby cheeks. From under her wet eyelashes, there’s a peek of teal, a crescent moon of familiar color. She sobs again, low and wrenching.
Something twists through Sae, a tender bruise being pressed. He takes another step forward, but before he gets close enough to garner your attention, Rin slinks forward, blocking him.
Sae gives him a sharp look, but Rin’s thundercloud scowl only darkens.
“Not now,” his brother hisses. “Are you stupid, you shitty brother?”
Sae glances past him. His daughter has buried her face in your neck again; only the sunset sheen of her hair is visible. You’re curled protectively around her even as you search the stroller for something.
Sae is not one to back down, but he also knows how to pick his battles.
He nods to Rin; his brother blinks, his scowl softening in his surprise. Rin watches him for a moment before clicking his tongue. He doesn’t nod back, but Sae doesn’t need him to.
Sae watches as Rin turns back to you and coaxes the stroller out of your grip.
“Let’s go,” he says gruffly.
“Okay,” you say, hushing the girl as she whimpers softly. “Got everything?”
“Yeah.”
You glance back at Sae. It’s only for a breath. For a moment, he thinks you’ll say something, but you don’t. You turn around and start down the park’s path, Rin pushing the stroller at your side.
Sae watches until the verdant throat of the park swallows the three of you up.
