After some thought I've decided to officially archive this account. This means that all my writing will stay up, but I will no longer be using this blog to interact, reblog on or post to.
Ultimately, this is due to a combination of me being too busy nowadays to write anything substantial and not being a part of fandom culture/keeping up with content anymore. There were some things I intended to wrap up (like the neglected last few fics from my event ijbol...), but I'm out of practice and not motivated enough to do them justice, so I apologize.
A big warm thank you to those of you who supported me, helped me, and, to some of you, became some of my best friends. I truly can't express how much my mutuals and those who read my silly little stories mean to me T_T
When I started actually using and posting to Tumblr for the first time, I was so nervous. I had no idea how the app or site worked, how to format things, or even if my writing would be taken well. I picked up writing as a hobby for the first time in years because I had just moved to a new city away from all my friends and family. Writing helped me open up online and make friends with some of the best people in the entire world, and I'm so grateful for that.
To my mutuals who I don't keep in touch with outside of Tumblr, let me know if you want to talk on Discord or anything like that ^.^ and to those of you who interacted with me, kept me company, and (frankly) kept me sane over the last 2 years, thank you.
"i think i'm in love with you" + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining
synopsis. love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.
wc. 2.4k
— for the lovely @hanrinz 🎀 | event masterlist ✉️
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
If you had asked Gojo Satoru what love tasted like two years ago, he would have answered with a lump in his throat.
Like curses, he would have told you. Like death and destruction. Fire and ash.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Satoru was surrounded by love from his very conception.
Wrapped in silk blankets and bathed in warm milk when he was born into this world—it was as if the nurses thought he had been spoonfed ambrosia by the gods themselves.
He knew what it was like to have his entire clan at his feet with their foreheads pressed to the floor; to be dressed in the finest cloth and only by the most nimble hands; to get anything and everything he ever wanted without question.
He was above everyone and had the eyes to prove it. He knew love like it was his only purpose.
Satoru was always a head in the clouds kind of guy. He understood his place in the world better than anyone else. That he was special. Gifted. Born with a blessing that only happens once in a millennium.
He hated the righteous above all. The ones who wanted to change the world that was promised to him from the moment he took his first breath. It was insulting; an act of defiance against the gods. Against him.
That is why he hated Geto Suguru—someone who wanted to change the world.
Satoru believed that he was too down to earth. It irritated him. But he never stopped being surrounded by love and never stopped loving, either.
For some reason, there was a strange comfort in standing alongside another.
Perhaps it was that Suguru had never once bowed down before him—the fact that he had gotten the chance to memorize every inch of his beautiful face. Or maybe it was the tender way he had spoken his name, so soft and filled with adoration.
For the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just his eyes.
Satoru adored and despised every part of Geto Suguru. He always would, even in death.
He thought that secret would die with him. That there was no one else worthy of standing by his side. He never thought he was capable of loving another again.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
(He was about to learn that love would loom over him wherever he went. It would chase him relentlessly, even if it were to the ends of the earth.
After all, Gojo Satoru was born to be enveloped in silk and sugar and everything wonderful in the world.)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries.
That was Satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens with a misfired blast of energy.
There was nothing particularly spectacular about you. There you were: horrified, head in your hands, crying over the phone to what he presumed to be your parents. He'd never seen someone doused in flour like you before, as if you had been plucked straight out of a cartoon.
Yet he remembers that his breath was stolen from him the way books described it.
Your very existence felt like it was built up from cubes of sugar. He was embarrassed that it was his first impression while you glared horribly at him.
The lawsuit came in the mail a few days later.
He paid, of course, without argument. And he tried to get your number afterwards because he really wanted to try that cake you were decorating before he blasted your shop to pieces.
You slapped him across the face and he let you. He even released his technique just so you could.
To your dismay, he kept showing up at the shop after it had been rebuilt. But he was a paying customer, and who were you to deny him a slice of butterscotch pie?
Still, he laughed at your ever-growing irritation with his presence. How he would preorder cakes days in advance just so you could anticipate his arrival. The way he would drop an extra five thousand yen on the counter and tell you to keep the change.
"Don't make me get a restraining order," you had once threatened him while he browsed the cupcake selection for the day.
"You wouldn't," he sang. And you didn't, because he knew your type.
You were the opposite of the one he loved most in the world. You wanted to make as little of a splash as you could—to bake pies and frost cakes with buttercream roses and wipe down your counters until they sparkled.
You knew your place in the world just as much as he knew his. And it seemed to be right behind the counter with a scowl on your face because of another poor attempt at flirting.
You didn't want to change the world. You just wanted to live in it, flour and all.
He found comfort in that, too.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Satoru became your midday companion when business slowed down. The sound of the bell strung to your front entrance brought you comfort when you were stressed about your little shop.
A part of you knew that this man was no ordinary human being. His eyes shimmered bluer than the sky when he would look at you with affection, nearly making your knees buckle beneath you on more than one occasion.
"What do you do at work?" You asked him curiously one afternoon as he sat on a stool watching you mindlessly pipe frosting.
"...Nothing important," he panicked, the thought of scaring you away when you had just started opening up to him too much for him to handle.
"Nothing important," you hummed, repeating his words until your eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"I am," he admitted shamelessly.
You looked at him in confusion, not missing the way he avoided making eye contact by burrowing his head into his arms. Through the glass of your display case, you could see his shoulders bunch up in distress.
You decided to drop it. It wasn't important.
"Here," you said softly, reaching around the glass separating you to place a dessert in front of him. "Don't worry about it."
Satoru gazed at the plate before him. Chocolate ganache and strawberries layered between sponge cake.
"This is for me?" He asked, poking at it with the fork as a grin split his cheeks.
"Just for you," you smiled. "As an apology for slapping you."
"I deserved it. I blew up your shop."
Your smile only deepened. "Sometimes things need to be destroyed to be rebuilt even better."
The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of his time was reduced to a puddle at your next words,
"I met you, after all. Didn't I?"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love tastes like champagne-raspberry truffles and cappuccino chocolates.
On the day he planned to confess, you unconvincingly glared at him as he approached you with his hands behind his back.
You pursed your lips, expecting him to demand you make him something out of season. Outlandish requests were not new from him, but you always managed to whip up something that had fruits imported from South America, or using that expensive hojicha he insisted you take off his hands.
Instead, he held out a box of lavish chocolates he bought in Belgium.
Nervousness replaced the confidence that was permanently etched into his every feature, and your expression melted into something mellower than the warmth simmering in the pit of Satoru's tummy.
He had been pining for you for months. There was something about your company that made him feel whole again—more whole than he had been in all the time since Geto Suguru left this earth.
You laughed as if it were a joke, using your palm to hide how you flushed slightly.
"Satoru..." You quirked a brow. "What's this?"
The way you said his name stuck arrows through his heart. You could act like you hated him all you wanted, but the way you smiled at him when he wasn't being a prick was enough for him to feel comforted.
"Chocolates from Europe," he straightened up, trying to shake off his nerves.
"Why?"
Why? His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and he sucked on it in anxious thought, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say even though he had practiced all night.
Wasn't it obvious that he liked you?
You took the box from his hands and placed it down on the counter. Then you rounded it, picked up your spatula, and continued folding your meringue.
Satoru's silence made you glance back up, scrutinizing his downcast, troubled expression. You huffed through your nose with an exasperated little shake of the head.
"Save some nice things for yourself, too."
He was surprised when you reappeared in front of him. His eyes trailed from your sneakers, up your dirty apron to your smiling face.
Chocolate was melting between your fingers.
His grunts of protest were muffled as you stuck the treat against his lips, forcing it into his mouth. He glared at you, but ate it anyway.
Sugar coated his tongue and eased his nerves. You only laughed at his fluster.
He pinched your cheek.
You didn't know that Satoru already had everything else he ever needed. The only thing left was standing right in front of him.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love is easy to taste when it's on your lips.
At least, that was the thought driving Satoru insane.
He didn't know when such an obsessive idea started plaguing him, or how to remedy it. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy with a silly, childish crush.
Worst of all, you seemed none the wiser. All his attempts to make a move on you fell flat—though, he wasn't very good at following through with them in the first place.
It culminated in his final attempt to rid the terrible thought from his mind: he was going to avoid you at all costs until it blew over.
If he could just have the time to get over you, to move on from his feelings, he could probably act with some normalcy around you again. It was tiresome to tread on eggshells around you, even if you were blissfully unaware of it.
You, however, did not take his avoidance very well. He did not see that coming.
Satoru's phone rang at 3:24 am, well past your store hours. In fact, you were supposed to be waking up in another hour and a half to get all your prep done.
"Hello?" Your timid voice crackled through the static of his phone and he jolted upright, fisting his blanket in anticipation. "Satoru? Are you up?"
He swallowed thickly, mouth moving to formulate an answer with a strange amount of effort. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.
The other end of the line was silent for another moment before there was a loud crash, and he could make out the distinct clatter of metal bowls hitting tile.
He could imagine you standing there in defeat, surrounded by dirty dishes and drowning in work, trying to catch up for the next morning.
The thought was enough for him to rip out of his sheets, a flurry of limbs as he got dressed to find you.
"Hang on," he told you over the phone, then hung up.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You had not anticipated that Satoru's very obvious avoidance would take such a toll on you.
You'd let it escalate until you were overwhelmed with emotion, unfocused at work, and not able to untangle the feelings you had for him.
And now he was standing in your shop again, helping you pick up everything you had clumsily scattered across the ground.
Whipped cream and icing spilled on the floor, painting the tile an array of pastel colours. You grimaced at the mess, thinking maybe you should just close the shop for the day and take a vacation.
Satoru was dutifully wiping up cream as if he were being paid to do it. But he wasn't—he was just too kind to you. Too generous. You desperately wished he would get mad at you for waking him in the middle of the night.
Instead, he only seemed concentrated and slightly concerned.
"That's enough," you told him quietly, standing up to discard the towels you used. "I'll clean up the rest tomorrow."
Satoru stood up with you, trying to decipher the doomstruck expression on your face.
"I'll come by tomorrow to help."
You shook your head. "It's okay, you've done so much already. Thank you."
Everything about him had grown so familiar, so warm. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and that scared you. In the three weeks since you had last seen him, it finally came crashing down on you.
You liked Satoru.
The thought was heady and overwhelming in your mind. You stumbled a bit and he caught you by the shoulders.
"Woah there," he chuckled lightly, finally able to make out the look in your eyes.
"Sato—" your lip wobbled and he stopped it with his thumb. Then, he used his fingers to clean up the icing decorating your face.
"I got you."
He snorted softly at your dazed expression, drawing away from you. Your hands shot up to grasp at him, keeping him in your bubble.
"Please don't pull away."
Satoru stilled, letting you drag him back into your personal space. "M'not going anywhere."
You weakly punched him in the chest, fist remaining there for a moment before you let it fall limp. Glaring at him, you sniffled.
"You're avoiding me."
"I was," he admitted.
"What happened?"
"I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought."
Silence hugged your bodies, heavy and stiff. You blinked at him in surprise, having trouble processing his words.
"H-Huh?"
"I like you," he said again, more adamant. More confident.
"Oh," you breathed. Heat enveloped Satoru's heart at how relieved you sounded. "That makes me..."
Your face morphed from relief to realization. Realization of the situation, of how close your bodies were.
"Really happy," you concluded, squeezing your eyes shut as his hands adjusted to cup your face a little more intimately.
He kissed the apple of your cheek, making sure not to skip over the spot where icing lingered.
The thought entered his mind: I am exactly where I need to be.
Gojo Satoru was born to be loved. It tastes like maple buttercream. And it's spilled all over the floor, stained on his hands and knees. Between his fingers. Melting on his tongue.
academic rivals to lovers + "i could kiss you right now!" + "we fell asleep by accident and woke up as a mess of tangled limbs."
synopsis. all rin said was that he would help you with calculus. he didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.
wc. 1.6k
notes. kind of a highschool au where rin is out for the season because of an injury 🙏 also kind of a one-sided rivalry because rin is a loser :p
— for @itoshiexx <3 | event masterlist ✉️
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I could kiss you right now.
Those were the last words you spoke to Rin almost an hour ago.
He's agonizing over it, really. He probably should have at least said something back to you instead of shutting you out like he does every time he feels himself getting too close.
Instead he's dutifully working through his calculus notebook.
If he focuses enough on perfecting derivatives, he can ignore the way your presence beside him has only gotten weightier. But it's hard to do that when the words are still echoing in his mind.
I could kiss you right now.
You're just as adamant on finishing your workbook, eyes glued to the page and attention completely devoted to making numbers dance.
When you asked him earlier in the day if he could help you with the new sets, he was confused. You'd always been the one to best him.
It irritated him. You reminded him too much of his big brother.
But then he saw your notebook. You'd hesitantly handed it over to him when you showed up at his doorstep with courtesy snacks and a bag of oranges for his mother.
(Which she gushed about, by the way. He felt like burying himself in a hole when she asked if you were dating.)
You'd been trying for so long to figure out the solutions that some areas of the page were torn where you had kept erasing and redoing the work. He even found things scribbled out in frustration.
He would have laughed if you didn't have such a grim look on your face. Rin was never one for humour, anyways.
He reluctantly agreed to help, though he was sure your other grades would make up for one botched math unit. It was the petty pride in him speaking—in reality, the way you looked like you were on the verge of tears was enough to send him into fight or flight mode.
He had never seen such a dazed, stressed expression on you before. You were the epitome of a model student—good grades, class representative, and friendly enough that no one ever wanted to step on your toes.
No one but Rin, that is.
He told himself he hated you. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful. Successful enough to do anything you wanted to do, so long as you had the drive.
Everything Rin would have been if he hadn't injured his knee right before the football season started.
But what he thought he felt about you was a lie. He hadn't even realized it until you were sitting down on his bed, knee bumping into him as you lounged there criss-crossed.
He'd always just seen you as the person who sat in front of him in homeroom. Untouchable. He envied you, even though his grades were nearly as good now that he had all the time in the world to study.
Now, though, you're just as human as he is.
Rin can see your face instead of the back of your head. Your words are meant for him—thanking him, praising how easy his method for solving these equations is.
Then, you shattered his daydream.
I could kiss you right now.
You said it so unseriously, not even looking at him when you did. You had gotten to the end of your third page of work, conquering the math with ease now that you understood it.
It was your funny way of expressing gratitude. He knows you didn't mean anything by it, definitely. But it's been stuck in his mind.
And neither of you have uttered a word to each other since.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when you slam your pencil down in your notebook and shut it with an audible thud.
"Break time!" You sigh blissfully, though he isn't sure if you're talking to him or yourself.
You flop back into his mattress and he just stares in quiet disbelief while you scroll through your phone like you fucking pay rent here.
Rin debates whether or not to kick you off his bed so that he can finish his homework without distraction, or if he should just leave you be. Ultimately, he decides that it's too much of a hassle to deal with confrontation and silently goes back to doing derivatives.
He would feel bad shoving you away when you finally started talking to him, after all. And you look so at ease now, with your work almost done.
(Yeah, you started working at a faster pace than him with his method. You seriously piss him off.)
He comes to the conclusion that this is going to be a one-time thing. Rin hates the twist of despair in his stomach seeing you about to burst into tears.
He hates the peace that fills him when you're back to your smiling self even more.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Rin wakes up to warmth.
Groggily, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes until they adjust to the light of sunrise pouring into his room.
It's strange. He doesn't remember falling asleep at all.
What was he doing last night? He shifts a little bit and freezes when he hears the crinkle of paper beneath him.
Oh, his calculus homework. Did he finish it? It's due today.
He's just about to sit himself up to check the time and hope he has at least another hour to sleep before school, when he realizes much too late that there's a weight on his arm.
Rin gets yanked back by the arm that's pinned down, yelping quietly in surprise.
And then everything hits him like a goddamn truck.
Maybe more like a freight train, really, because he feels like he's about to have a fucking heart attack. Rin dares to turn his head, so comically slow that it's like life itself moves in slow motion.
Somehow in your sleep, you've become a tangled mess of limbs.
His arm is tucked under your neck—the culprit for making him whelp like a child when he tried to sit up. Your legs are twisted together and... Oh god. His free hand is resting where your hip melts into your thigh.
Panic rises in his chest because one, he's never had another person in his bed before. Period. And two, because there's heat boiling in the pit of his stomach and he's pretty sure he's about to keel over and pass away.
Just as he's about to shove you off the bed, realization dawns on him.
You look so peaceful when you sleep.
Your breath smells, and your hair has gotten tangled under the weight of his arm. You're muttering to yourself quietly in your sleep, and he's pretty sure he can see a bit of drool in the corner of your lip.
He so desperately wishes that his first thought would be to tease you about this until the end of time. Or maybe use it as blackmail against you, if you were to get a higher grade on the upcoming calculus exam because of his methods.
But instead, his first thought is that he never wants to move from this position. That he needs to savour this moment.
It's horrifying.
18 hours ago, you pranced up to the side of Rin's desk and asked if he could help you with the problem set.
All he said was that he would help you with calculus.
He didn't expect you to show up at his door right after dinner. And he didn't expect you to seat yourself on his bed before he could offer you the chair at his desk.
He certainly didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.
You've just been a bag full of mysteries. Rin hates mysteries. It's part of the reason why math works for him—no surprises, no ambiguity. There's always an answer.
Rin can't formulate an answer on why his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his ribcage.
You shuffle in his arms and suddenly the pounding in his chest ceases.
Is this what death feels like?
"Rin?" You murmur sleepily, shifting into his warmth as if this is something regular classmates should be doing. "What time is it?"
"I can't see the clock," he deadpans, though it's just a facade to hide how utterly enamoured he is right now. "It's behind you."
You groan, rolling over to check the time. He breathes a sigh of relief as you pull away but it gets stuck in his throat when you collapse back into him, your back against his chest.
"6:07," you tell him nonchalantly. And then you cozy yourself up in the blankets again, nice and warm, and go back to sleep.
"Hey," he shakes you lightly. "Don't just go back to bed, moron."
"We can talk about the homework later," you mumble as if that's what he fucking meant.
A million words run through his mind, parading to the tip of his tongue where they all fall off and die. He can't find them when you're slotting yourself closer and closer in your sleep, squeezing his arm against your cheek.
Eventually, he decides that it's not worth the hassle of getting up and having you see his flustered face right now. You'd never let him live it down.
So he closes his eyes and pretends that you're not just the person who sits in front of him in homeroom. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful.
"I could..."
He swallows loudly, the words like molasses in his throat.
I could kiss you right now.
You're dead to the world, but he doesn't dare speak the thought into existence, anyway.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
("Rin! 95%!"
You shove your paper into his face and he opens his mouth to snark back about it.
But then you leap forward and press a kiss to his cheek. Everything in his head instantly melts into mush.
synopsis. itoshi rin meets you under a sky full of fireworks. he spends the next 6 years of his life trying to convince himself that he doesn't love you. you spend the next 6 years giving him every reason why he should.
wc. 12.4k (i need to close my eyes and sleep for a while)
notes. huge thank you to ellie (@hyomagiri) and mari (@saetoshi) for helping me with this 🥹 this fic actually put me through it and i'm so grateful to both of them for their support 💗
— for my beloved @ode2rin 💐 | event masterlist ✉️
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2024
Every year on the seventh day of the seventh month, Itoshi Rin finds himself standing at the daunting entrance to his local shrine.
The tradition is completely beneath him—something childish that he grumbles about under his breath despite letting you drag him all the way out here with soft eyes watching your smile.
Tanabata is the festival of stars. Of love.
It is a story his mother used to whisper to him as they watched the night sky in awe, pretending that the galaxy was collapsing in on itself to allow for a romantic midnight rendezvous between two lovers.
It’s something far too sappy for his liking.
But the food is okay, he supposes, and it’s a good opportunity to get out of the house and spend time with you which he seldom has time to do now that he’s back in his training season.
There were too many things about it that he loathed: the screaming children that would bump into his legs; the way his ears would stay ringing for days after the festival ended; how you could always convince him to come as if you were some sort of hypnotic devil in disguise, and how thoroughly wounded his pride would be at that fact.
However, his least favourite part of the festival by far is writing down his wish for the year on a scrap piece of paper and hanging it around a bamboo tree. One, because he can never for the life of him think of anything meaningful to wish for. And two, because he isn’t sure he even believes in that sort of thing.
Rin is struggling again this year, pencil lightly scratching his temple as he thinks.
He’s painfully aware that he’s never put so much thought into this before, but you seemed so excited to come all the way here before heading to the festivities that he couldn’t possibly let you down.
His wish dawns on him then, something he wants to do before the next time he makes the climb all the way back up here 365 days from now.
“Hey,” your voice calls out quietly. “What did you wish for?”
“What did you wish for?” Rin quickly refutes.
You cast your narrowed eyes from the side, tilting your little slip of yellow paper away from him.
“Only if I get to see yours first.”
Normally, he would give in to you right away. His resolve when it comes to you is embarrassingly weak. But there’s no way for him to explain himself. No way he could show you the words he’s written lest he hurt his ego.
He stubbornly folds up the piece of paper and shoves your face away. All you do is laugh and he feels terribly warm.
“No peeking,” he tells you when you kiss across his fingertips.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2018
A name appeared for Itoshi Rin when he turned thirteen years old.
He remembers the day well—it was hard to forget, anyway. As much as he wanted to focus on the burning of the name etching its way down his skin, he couldn’t. Not when he was blinking snow out of his lashes and watching his brother’s retreating back.
Rin likes to think that the universe fucks with him in any way that it can.
Maybe he had done something terrible in his past life and this was its karmic retribution, or maybe he was just unlucky.
What he does know is this: the name on his pinky only reminds him of all the things he ever lost.
Every syllable struck needles into his heart—a painful memory of crawling after the tracks of the wheels Sae left behind with his luggage until gravel and ice were stuck under his nails. Or worse, the clawing of his throat as they sat across from each other at dinner—the way he didn't even smile when Rin announced to his parents that his soulmate mark had appeared while his mother cried out in joy.
In fact, Sae didn’t talk to him for the rest of his visit. He remembers that hurt the most.
The name had haunted him for all the remaining years of his life—a forced memory that he wished he could forget. There came with it a feeling of loneliness that crushed him despite the proof on his pinky that there was another soul wandering the earth that would fix him.
He refused to believe it.
Only revenge would fix him. Only proving himself better would heal the cracks in his heart. Only beating Sae. Sae, Sae, Sae. His brother’s name had been repeated so many times that it was easy to ignore the other burning his skin.
In all those years he found it easy to cast aside his soulmate. To ignore it even if it hurt.
So he wonders why it’s so bad tonight.
He’s done everything he could think of: slathering cooling ointment down his finger to stop the searing, wrapping it in a cast to prevent himself from admiring it for too long, even tying a wish to a piece of bamboo hoping it would disappear.
A finger snaps in front of his face, drawing his attention to his teammates in front of him. Both look equally amused.
“You’re dreaming,” Isagi muses. “You’ve been spacing out all night. Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Rin mutters, swatting his teammate’s hand away from him. He had been staring again, longingly eyeing the way the letters danced down his skin. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“None of your business.”
“Yeesh, it’s not good to keep things bottled up, you know?”
“You’re annoying,” Rin glowers before it melts back into indifference. “I’m fine,” he reiterates.
Isagi seems unconvinced, as he usually is when Rin is being mysteriously vague about what’s on his mind. He and Bachira share a tentative glance before sighing and shaking their heads.
“Well… okay,” he finally yields. “We’re going to get some snacks before the fireworks start. If you’re going to sulk then at least stay put and do it here so we can find you again.”
“Yeah,” Rin grumbles, already making an escape plan. “Whatever. Will do.”
As soon as the boys are out of sight, he turns heel and hurries away. The crowd is driving him crazy and he needs somewhere quiet so he can stare at his hands until his eyes are dry.
He comes to a pond situated just outside of the festival grounds, deep water glimmering under the moon and the passing lanterns.
Plopping down on the bench, he hunches over onto his knees with his elbows and takes a deep breath. It instead comes shallow, as if someone has just punched him in the gut.
It’s then that he realizes he’s not alone.
Your yukata is muddy, fabric soaked and dripping at the sleeves though you don’t seem to care or even notice. You look frustrated for some reason, lip curled into a concentrated frown while you plunge your hands into the mud around the edge of the water.
Away from the crowds of people, he can hear the summer song of cicadas chirping all around. Your hands dip in and out of the water, quiet splashes filling the rest of the silence on top of the distant buzz of children laughing.
It’s just you and him. Something primal inside of him rages, pounding against his chest until it feels like he’s suffocating.
Run. Run. Run.
His legs jerk, urging him to stand up and leave, but he feels glued down to the bench—tethered where he sits and forced to watch you repeatedly sink your hands into the muddy waters.
No more than five minutes must pass as you both ignore each other, yet it feels like an eternity stretches by.
Finally, you pipe up.
“You’re scaring them,” you tell him plainly.
His head whips in your direction at your voice, soft and careful. His teal eyes narrow at you. “Huh?”
Your frown deepens, turning to look at him with your hands still submerged. “The frogs.”
“Come again?”
“Your vibes. It’s scaring the frogs away.”
His eye twitches.
“Ever consider that you’re just dogshit at catching them?”
“Excuse me?”
“And look at you, making a total mess of yourself. Don’t you care that you have to go home looking like that?” He presses, leering at you like an insect he’s about to crush under his heel. You simply stare at him, expression blank.
Huffing, you tear away from him and sink your hands beneath the mud. “No. I don’t.”
He watches in silence as you sift around for a moment before pulling your hands up, a smile slowly morphing into your face.
“I got one…” You breathe, looking more elated than he thinks you should. “I really caught one.”
“First time?” He quips sarcastically. A part of him wonders why he hasn’t gotten up and left you altogether yet.
“Cut me some slack,” you complain, eyeing him from the side again. You gently run a finger along the back of the frog, trying not to scare it away. “I haven’t done this in forever.”
“Clearly.”
You snort. “Yeah. Clearly.”
Rin looks at you quizzically, puzzled at your sudden change in demeanor. You seem… softer. Less agitated, at the very least. You’re gazing at the frog adoringly, as if it had somehow solved all of your problems and was dragging you into another world.
Any retort he had ready to shoot at you dies in his mouth. The anger rising in his chest extinguishes in the blink of an eye, and a deep hush settles over you as he watches in curiosity.
For a moment, the universe goes quiet. He’s gotten so used to having everything on his mind all at once that the silence is almost unnerving.
He once believed that his world would end with an injury that never healed quite right, or when he was too old for any team to want him.
He once believed that his world would end when he could no longer imagine the feel of a ball between his palms.
He once believed that his world would end the day he couldn’t play football anymore—that the only thing that would ever kill him was if the chance of standing alongside his brother died with him.
But he was wrong.
Itoshi Rin’s world ends with the bellow of a firework.
In a few years, he would think of this stretch of a few seconds fondly. He would squeeze you a little tighter with his chin resting on your shoulder, staring up at a colourful sky. He would think it was poetic, in a way, that you were the one who painted his world in the same hues of shimmering gold.
Rin remembers, though, that only one thought had crossed his mind.
I’m so screwed.
He can see every fine detail of your face, illuminated in all the colours of the rainbow. And he can’t help but think you are the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He can trace each intricate curve of your nose to your chin to the surprised parting of your lips; the way your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, tensed from the sudden explosion.
The light fades faster than it appeared, yet it feels like a millennium has passed. The reverbing echo of the firework crackles across the sky, thundering in his ears so loud that he can feel it pounding in his chest.
(Or is that his heart? He can’t tell. He feels dizzy.)
Darkness envelops your bodies again, save for the dim glow of distant lanterns. Every part of you is seared into his memory, a floating image when he blinks.
The frog leaps from your hands back into the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.
You stay there with your hands outstretched, looking lonely under the dark sky. Another one goes off above your heads, signalling the start of the display.
“There you are, Rin!” Bachira and Isagi come rushing over from the path, excited smiles and mirth bubbling in their laughs as they approach. “We thought you went home without us already!”
Rin slowly blinks out of his reverie. For a second, he glances in your direction again just to catch your eyes.
“I almost did,” he grumbles, forcing himself not to stare.
“Fireworks are starting!” Isagi yanks Rin to his feet and begins dragging him away before he can even protest.
Without turning around, he can feel the weight of your eyes in the back of his head. There’s an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and the name etched down his pinky burns infinitely hot.
Later at home, he stares at the spot where Sae used to sit back when he still came to Japan for anything other than to take a new passport photo.
“My soulmate’s name showed up,” he had mumbled that night to break the tense silence. It was strange that he still felt like he owed his brother that much—to make his visit as normal as possible despite having his heart carved open.
Sae only looked at him blankly, spoon halting just above his bowl. He was eerily still, quietly deciding how to react. Then,
“Good for you,” he said. And nothing more.
Rin squeezes his eyes shut and he feels warmth rolling down his cheeks. He quickly wipes the tears away, pretending as if they never existed.
He spends the rest of the night trying to forget your face.
(And the next year trying to recreate it in his dreams.)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2019
Rin makes it another 275 days before he finally remembers every piece of the puzzle that is your existence.
He saw you in his sleep. The back of your head, anyway.
You were sitting in his favourite café, at the table he claimed for himself right by the window. You ordered a coffee but let it sit for so long that the ice melted. Then, you wiped up the condensation rolling down the frosty glass with your finger.
Rin watched you from afar, observing you the way he wished he did last summer.
Maybe then he could have dived deep into the recesses of his brain to remember why exactly you struck him so. But there he was, stuck watching the back of your head as you gazed out the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Your fingers drummed mindlessly against the wooden table, reciting a rhythm just slightly louder than the pounding of his own heart.
“Can you leave me alone?” He finally called out, hoping it would stop your incessant beating.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You’re annoying me,” he hissed. Annoying for disturbing his peace and quiet. Annoying for plaguing his dreams even after all these days.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Seriously,” he grunted, standing up from his seat so fast that the chair scraped horribly against the wooden floor. Still, you didn’t pay him any mind, instead more interested in the faceless people walking by. “Knock it off!”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation, the itch in the back of his mind ever present. “What’s your name?”
Silence.
You finally turned his way. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. And Rin was right—you were still so beautiful, 275 days later.
Grinning at him big and bright, you almost seemed to collapse in on yourself with joy. Like a star about to implode, or maybe more akin to a firework.
Either way, his breath was stolen from him.
You silently mouthed your name, making sure he saw every vowel and accentuated syllable. Warmth flooded him in every way—probably brought on by the racing of his heart.
It was impossible that his soulmate was someone like this. Someone whose smile looked like it could heal even the deepest wounds.
You grabbed his attention again with a big wave of the arms, and he watched in anticipation.
“You’re—”
Rin followed your mouth as you sounded out the words without a voice.
“—smiling!”
He reached up to run his fingers along his bottom lip. And you were right, he realized, as he traced it midway up his cheek.
(When did he start smiling?)
(Why?)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Rin thinks about you just as much in the waking world as he does in his dreams.
It’s spring, though snow is still settled over the eaves of homes that he passes on the way to the grocery store. Apparently the winter cold is supposed to be especially long and bitter this year, permeating until mid-May.
He stares at his feet as they mark the virgin snow, decorating his sneakers white and making his feet cold.
Did you walk through the same snow this morning?
Then, when he’s going through the motion of smelling the bottom of pineapples at the store:
Do you like pineapple? What if you’re allergic?
(He shakes his head and puts them away. He suddenly isn’t craving it.)
His obsession with you has only intensified as the year has gone on. If you ever peered into his mind, he would receive a well-deserved slap across the face.
The soulmate mark engraved down his pinky has never bothered him so badly.
It’s like you’re constantly with him—a ghost haunting him, or perhaps more like a curse. Thinking about you takes up unnecessary space in his head. Space that should be dedicated to football, and football only.
He's about to go home so he can make a list outlining the ways he can forget about you.
(Ironic, he knows, but in all honesty he already exhausted all of his options from his first list.)
But then he comes to a stop outside of his favourite café. It looks the same, even has the same advertisements plastered in the window as the last time he was here.
He hesitates at the door, but when he walks in it smells the same. It's decorated the same. Not a single table is out of place.
He walks up to his regular spot, runs his fingers along the wood where he remembers you tapping in his dream.
There's no sign of your existence here.
Rin shakes his head in annoyance, cursing himself out in his head because he was stupid enough to think he would run into you here.
Then disappointment floods his body, like a dam had been released in his chest and it's flowing unstoppably to every piece of him.
(Wait, why is he disappointed? He really needs to take a nap.)
He runs his hand through his hair as a nervous reflex, simultaneously relieved and irritated that you're nowhere to be seen.
It takes him a minute to recollect himself, to realize that he probably looks like a crazy person just standing beside an empty table like a lost child who doesn't know where to go, and decides to just go home.
He pulls into the line to get a drink for his walk home when—
"Thanks!"
His heart drops.
You waltz out of the back, tying your apron around your waist as you exchange spots in the break room with one of your coworkers.
Rin is about to die, seriously. You must be new here, since he's been to this café more times than he can count and he's never seen you before. Or was it that he was specifically looking out for you this time?
Whatever the reason, he's dumbfounded.
“Hey,” your acknowledgment makes him freeze in his spot. “Frog guy?”
He looks at you stupidly, rubbing his eyes like a cartoon character as if he’s imagining you standing right in front of him.
His gaze drifts down to your name tag, fresh and newly printed with white marker. Signed at the end is a little flower, petals swirled into tiny hearts.
Your existence before him is undeniable.
"Um. Yeah," he sputters in disbelief.
"I..." You clear your throat, looking as bewildered as he feels. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
'You're my soulmate. Of course we'd run into each other,' he thinks to himself. Out loud, though:
"Yeah. Me neither."
The person behind him in line coughs quietly, impatiently tapping their foot. Rin takes the hint and quietly tells you what he wants. You lean in across the counter to hear him better, and his face grows warm.
Once you fill in the boxes on the cup, you place it down and move it to the side for someone to fill. It catches his eye immediately.
Itoshi Rin is scribbled neatly down the side of his cup.
“How did you...?”
You awkwardly shift in your spot, evidently embarrassed as you fiddle with the strings of your apron. Then, with your own hands.
“W-Well…”
His eyes dare to drop down to where your thumb is nervously slathering up and down the name on your pinky.
“Oh.”
"Sorry, I just figured—"
"It's fine," he interrupts. Your mouth snaps shut.
Tense silence stretches thin in the air, ready to shatter at any moment. But for some reason, he feels as though he's choking on nothing.
You fumble over the emptiness, quickly snatching up the cup to make his drink yourself after deciding it's too awkward to just stand there.
He watches you in a daze, half shaken and half in awe. Never in a million years would he have thought a dream would lead him back to you.
When you turn back around with a full cup, you look equally stunned.
“Itoshi—”
“Rin. It’s just Rin.”
You look at him in surprise, lashes fluttering rapidly as you let it sink in.
It's not your fault. You don't know that it's a sore spot that he just so happens to share the same last name with the person he despises most in the world.
It's not your fault that he has a quick temper and his voice raises slightly, enough to make you flinch back just a tiny bit.
And it's definitely not your fault that it stings so much—that he had expected you to speak to him as if you'd already known him for a lifetime and not as if you were just two strangers looking at each other from across a bar counter.
“O-Okay," you take a deep breath, cheeks puffed out and expression unreadable.
You slide the cup across the counter and he catches it in his hand.
He debates whether or not he should say more, like apologize for snapping at you. But then someone calls you by your name, and the way it rolls so beautifully off their tongue catches him off guard.
"Sorry. See you, Rin," you smile sweetly. Maybe a little awkwardly, a small step toward the one he dreamed about. And his heart is set in motion.
Rin decides that today won't be the day.
Another day, he'll be brave enough to crack a joke so dry that you try and scrub his name off your skin. And another day, he will ask for your number because, yeah, you might be the most alluring person he's ever met.
As he turns to take his leave after just staring at the spot you were standing in for a solid few seconds, he can hear some of the other baristas clamouring for you.
He doesn't want to look. Really, honestly, he doesn't.
But he does anyway.
It's just a quick glance over his shoulder—nothing more than a fleeting moment as he takes the chance to look at you one more time.
Those two seconds is all it takes for him to realize just how much trouble he's in.
You're laughing big and toothy, waving your hand in front of your face dismissively as your coworkers poke fun at how flustered you are. Then your hands are clasped over your stomach and you've doubled down a little in your awkward fit.
His heart has never beat so loud in his own ears.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Itoshi Rin used to smile just for the sake of smiling, once upon a time.
He had aunties who would pinch him by the cheek and fawn over him, cooing about how he looked just like his mother. How his face would cherub and the apples of his cheeks were bright red. Even when he grew out of his baby face, people would tell him how wonderful his smile was.
Sae rarely ever smiled, so it was something exclusive. He never felt like he was standing in his shadow. It was special—the kind of praise only one Itoshi would know.
Rin has forgotten how to smile like that.
He smiles to be polite to his family, if ever. Even then, it's not like he owes them that much. At some point, it became too much effort. And he had no reason to do it.
It was always a tiny thought bothering him in the back of his mind:
I'll never meet my soulmate if I'm always scowling like this.
He thought that was what he wanted, anyway. He wouldn't need to worry about running into his soulmate if no one ever looked his way. If everyone feared him enough not to spare him a second glance.
He doubts everything he ever thought as he sits on the edge of his bed staring at his desk.
It's lit up by a single lamp, shining down on his empty coffee cup like a spotlight opened up by the heavens themselves.
Your phone number is written just below his name.
Rin had almost tossed it into the trash without a second thought earlier in the day. He would have, if it weren't for the loose dog that blitzed by him and made him drop it.
Fate just loves to mess with him.
He picked it up and his thumb had stopped over the number. It was written so small, as if you had wanted him to miss it. Or perhaps you wanted to test destiny yourself—to see if the planets would align and he would discover your seven digits there for him to find.
And now he's home. He's been home, just looking. Contemplating. Stressing.
He migrates from the edge of the bed and settles into his desk chair. Then he gets up, moves back to the bed, and flops down. An endless cycle, back and forth, pushing and pulling.
Rin plops down onto his desk seat and sighs in frustration, ruffling his hair around before his forehead slams into the table.
Every part of his mind screams at him to stop. To toss the cup away and forget today ever happened. His head raises from his arms and he stares at the set of numbers illuminated on the paper, taunting him.
Finally, he exhales through his nose, sitting up straight and reaching for the cup to toss. His fingers delicately brush along your phone number.
“So dumb…” He huffs, eventually finding his phone instead and opening his contacts.
It’s nearly midnight. He tries to imagine your face as you wait by your phone for a message from him, that stupidly hopeful glimmer in your eyes, and he feels sick to his stomach as he sends it.
Rin: hey. it’s rin.
He throws his phone down on the desk again, screen down so he can’t cringe at himself. A few minutes pass in complete silence as he sulks.
He considers that you may have gone to bed already, or you were offended by the fact that he ignored your offer to connect all day and instantly blocked him. Maybe you thought he never saw your number at all.
Then his phone buzzes. His body moves on autopilot, snatching it up faster than he can realize what he’s doing. He’s halfway through the embarrassing thought that he just immediately read your message after you sent it as your text sinks in.
Unknown: hi! it’s great to hear from you ヾ(〃^∇^)ﾉ
Unknown: i was starting to think you were never gonna text lol
Rin: i wasn’t
He chews his lip for a moment before quickly following up:
Rin: but i changed my mind. just cause.
Unknown: hahaha got it got it. ‘just cause’ (˘◡˘)
Unknown: rin
Unknown: wait nvm
Unknown: whatever
Unknown: rin
Rin: what
Unknown: let’s get coffee ^ ^
He stares at the screen in disbelief, watching the typing bubble pop up and disappear again and again. He can imagine again what kind of smile you must have on your face right now, or maybe you look flustered, or maybe this all means nothing to you at all and this is your way of being polite.
Regardless of the reason, he eventually types out his response.
Rin: ok
Christ, he’s so tepid.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2020
He comes to memorize every part of you, like how the sun kisses the horizon and the moon knows the tides.
Intimately, almost—if he didn’t overthink the way your touch lingered on him he could easily ignore the way it made his heart pound in his ears.
Rin learns the feeling of your fingers against his skin as you compress an ice pack to his knee. He knows your laugh—can pick apart sarcasm from genuine cheer unlike most other people he encounters. He’s never been good at reading people yet for some reason you’ve become an open book for him.
It’s not fair that you’ve ensnared him this way, that he can’t seem to run from you (because his favourite coffee is from your café and he can’t be bothered to find a new place). That he finds himself instinctively reaching over to his phone when he can’t sleep (he has to make sure his alarms are on, might as well text you goodnight while he’s at it). And you’ve become annoyingly comfortable (he doesn’t have an excuse for this one—your lap is just conveniently a very nice place to rest his head).
He must be an open book, too.
At some point he probably stopped trying to hide his growing feelings for you, though you either didn’t notice his sudden shift or you didn’t care.
Vulnerability has never been a part of Rin, even before Itoshi Sae ruined his life.
He despises how you so easily pry him apart, skinning him alive with your hand lathering down his chest as you laugh.
Still, he’s grown accustomed to your fingers stringing through his hair, to the way your head tilts when he explains football plays to you, to the obvious way you fluster when he attempts (poorly) at flirting with you.
He’s gotten especially fond of the way you meet him at the end of his practices with such sweet, wandering hands—pushing the hair stuck to his forehead from sweat away from his eyes; using a towel to wipe up his neck; the squeeze you give his palms as you examine them to see if there are any new cuts and bruises.
Usually, he’s the epitome of confidence in his plays. Today, however, his cheeks burn as you approach him with the same honeyed smile.
“My shots were shoddy,” he admits before you can even get a word out. You only raise a brow, hands faltering in front of you. “That was lame.”
“I think you’re good.”
“Good,” he frowns. “But not great?”
“The greatest,” you quickly correct yourself, smiling at his cravings for praise. You’re armed with a fresh towel like you always are, reaching up to clean his face as if it’s the only thing you were born to do.
He relishes in your gentle touch, peering at you through his lashes while you prattle on about how amazing he was even though he missed half of his shots.
You were so blindly supportive, it sickens him.
Not because he felt you were being disingenuous, but because he’s not deserving of your praise.
For the first time in a long time, it feels as though his soul is disconnected from his body. He used to walk the earth this way—uninterested in his surroundings and obsessed with only one thing.
Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae. Itoshi Sae.
Suddenly, he’s thirteen again and gasping for air; screaming into his pillow and trashing their shared awards until his mother comes rushing in to stop him. He’s alone in a field, abandoned and crushed.
It’s not like he’d never lost before, even in front of you. Loss was just a part of football as much as he hated it.
But your praise only makes his stomach turn, because he knows you mean it.
You truly do believe he’s the best, when really he’s been futile in his attempts to catch up with the big brother he admired so much as a kid.
“Stop,” he gently interrupts.
Rin tries to use his hair to hide the wetness of his eyes, with little success. You can see right through him, unfortunately. It’s a talent he wishes you didn’t have.
“Rin?” You say softly, reaching up to brush the hair out of the way. He doesn’t try and back up or swat your hand away, instead letting you see his miserable expression. You sigh quietly, looking more exasperated than surprised.
“Sorry,” he mutters halfheartedly.
You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Shame boils in his stomach at your reassurance. There is something to apologize for. Here you are, supporting him with all your heart, and all he can think about is his stupid brother. How he’ll never catch up. How he’ll never be good enough.
Doesn’t your kindness warrant his attention at the very least?
“Come on,” you tug at his hand. “Let’s get you a pick-me-up.”
Rin abides silently, body following yours off the field and onto the streets though his mind has floated off elsewhere.
He tries to count how many steps you take in between the field and the destination, but loses count somewhere around three hundred. Then he moves on to counting the hairs on the back of your head. He loses count at one hundred. Eventually, he gives up and opts for staring at your conjoined hands while he lags behind.
When you come to a halt, he nearly bumps into your back.
The ringing in his ears stops as he blinks at his surroundings. Waves crash against the shore of the sandbank, singing the song of the ocean. It had been so long since Rin walked down this stretch of the shore, he almost forgot what the sea looked like.
“Wait here,” you urge as you hold him by the shoulders then disappear around the corner.
He collapses at the wall separating land from sea, swinging his legs under the railings to sit comfortably as he remembers doing when he was a kid. His gym bag is abandoned behind him, cleats and all.
When you return, you shove a popsicle into his hand.
He’s confused at first, just looking absently at the packaging. It must be for a concerning amount of time, because you eventually pipe up.
“Do you need me to open it for you?”
Rin glares at you and your teasing smile. Carefully, he unpackages the treat and pops it in his mouth.
Sweetness melts over his tongue and he exhales sharply through his nose. You watch him in amusement with your own treat stuck in your mouth.
Silence engulfs you, eating Rin from the inside out until he feels ill. He holds his half-eaten popsicle in front of him, watching it melt down his hand.
You stare at him for a second before nudging him lightly with your elbow.
“I was being serious. You were really good. I can’t even imagine playing like you do.”
Rin’s stomach turns. The last thing he wants is your pity.
“You don’t have to be so nice,” he mumbles, resting his chin on the railing. “42 percent.”
“42 percent?” You echo, peering over the railing to get a better look at his face.
“The percent of shots I made today.”
“Come on,” you urge gently. “Aren’t you being too hard on yourself?”
“If I’m not hard on myself, I’ll never—” he stops, choking lightly on his spit. When you don’t interrupt, he shoves the popsicle back in his mouth. “Whatever. You wouldn't get it.”
It’s quiet again, save for the crashing of waves upon rock. Rin thinks for a moment that maybe he had gone too far, or that his little meltdown had freaked you out.
But when he finally dares to look at you again, you’re smiling.
“Maybe not,” you admit with a whisper. “But I do know this…” You reach over and cup his cheek with your free hand, thumb sweeping the expanse of his cheek soothingly. “There is no one—and I mean no one—who works harder than you do.”
He swallows thickly, subconsciously nudging his face a little further into your palm.
“You deserve to be a little kinder to yourself.”
The way his heart catches in his throat is strange. He can’t describe it. The warmth in his belly is foreign, but it’s pleasant.
For the first time in the year he’s gotten to know you, the thought crosses his mind:
I think I’m in love with you.
Rin’s mouth opens with the idea, but he forces it shut just as fast.
Fear grips his lungs and squeezes, stealing his air and forcing him to pull away from your touch.
“Okay,” he breathes in resignation.
You seem stunned by his sudden retreat, smile faltering ever so slightly. But you recover quickly, hugging yourself as you slouch over the railing.
Conversation moves on just like that. He appreciated that about you, too. He never had to dwell.
It feels nice, everything about this; to have his legs dangling over the edge of the cement, feet barely ghosting over the surface of the water; to have a popsicle melting between his teeth while he listens to you talk.
For some reason, it feels as though he’s reclaiming lost time, reliving a moment he thought he would never have again.
When he checks his popsicle stick, it tells him he’s a winner for the first time since he was thirteen.
(He finally allows himself to believe it when your knee gently knocks into his.)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2021
“Frog cotton candy?”
“Frog shaped cotton candy,” Rin corrects, peering around the giant fluff of candy to look at you quizzically.
“Yeah,” you giggle. “But why?”
He grumbles quietly, cheeks a soft shade of pink as he shoves the treat into your hands.
“I thought you’d like it. Nevermind,” he deadpans, turning around to toss it into the garbage.
Your laugh crescendos and he feels his heart squeeze with affection. When your hand stops him by the forearm, he thinks he might explode.
“It’s cute.”
You pick apart the floss ruthlessly with your fingers, and he watches almost in a trance—hypnotized by just your existence.
(When you finally pop the sugar into your mouth, he imagines it melting on his own tongue. The thought makes him unbearably warm and he forces it away.)
His fascination with you doesn't end there.
There's a certain charm to you that he can't understand—something that draws him in, tantalizing but terrifying at the same time.
He can't help the way he watches in a daze, the way you've ensnared all his attention and taken up the space in his mind.
Rin has never been good at being kind, but here he is.
Here he is, bringing you cotton candy because he thought it was stupid but cute.
Here he is, rolling up the sleeves of your yukata with a gentle scolding when you rush over to catch goldfish.
And here he is, letting you cling to his arm as if he's the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.
He really, really hates it—how mushy you make his brain feel.
He's halfway through re-rolling your sleeves with a half-hearted scowl on his face when you stop him, hand pressed to his forearm.
“Listen, Rin.”
“Hm?” He leans down so that he can peer at your face hidden behind your almost nonexistent candy floss.
“I have to show you something.”
Rin stops dead in his tracks, raising a brow as he fully turns toward you. “What is it?”
“Can you close your eyes for me?”
His heart does a somersault in his chest. “You’re not doing anything weird, are you?”
“Who do you think I am?” You sputter.
He lets out a long sigh before complying, squeezing his eyes shut. After a long silence, he considers peeking a little bit.
That is, until he feels your breath gently fanning over his parted lips.
Nearly leaping back, he wills himself to stay grounded and slowly slides his hands up your arms until he gets to your shoulders. As he imagined, your body is impossibly close to his.
It takes every bit of concentration he has not to waver. If he really tries, he can focus on how your breath smells sweet of candy. How your hair blows softly with the summer breeze, tickling his cheeks. How you smell. How you breathe.
(Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. Is that okay?)
You tense up in his hold and suddenly you’re retreating from him, swiftly pulling out of his arms. Just as he’s about to ask you what happened, there’s a piece of candy shoved into his mouth.
“You wanted to try it, didn’t you?” You ask rather breathlessly. He opens his eyes, looking at you curiously.
Rin has never seen this expression on you before, lips pulled tight in embarrassment and pupils blown. You look more like a wild animal caught in a cage than someone who just made a move on him.
He gingerly takes the empty paper cone from your hands and folds it up, no longer able to meet your gaze lest he explode on the spot.
“Yeah,” he says softly, shuffling over to dump it into a bin. “Thanks.”
When he turns around to look at you again, his breath gets caught in his throat.
Why are you laughing?
You giggle into your palm, hiding your gleeful smile from him as you double over slightly.
“Your face is all red!” You holler.
He grunts in embarrassment, using the back of his hand to hide his own face. “Shut the hell up,” he spits.
“It’s almost like you wanted me to kiss you!”
“Oh my god, please drop it.”
“No way! I’ve never seen you look like that before!”
(‘Speak for yourself,’ he thinks.)
“So what if I did?”
Your laughter halts as if it was swallowed into the pits of your stomach. Slowly unraveling to stand up straight, he sees another expression he’s never been able to imagine on you, but he can’t quite place it.
“Did what?” You murmur.
“Want you to kiss me.”
Your face is warm under the glow of lanterns, eyes shimmering with the overhead lights. Rin watches your mouth open and close repeatedly as you try and formulate some sort of response.
A firework explodes atop of you, and he wonders if it just saved you.
You seem jarred for only a moment more until you jolt, grabbing him roughly by the arm and giving him a pull.
“I just remembered,” you gasp. “I actually did have something to show you!”
Rin doesn’t get a word in before you’re dragging him along by the arm. With each boom of an explosion, your footsteps pick up, building into a full blown sprint out of the festival grounds and through the thicket.
You tug him along, guiding him by the hand through the winding path of trees and logs. His stamina is better than yours but you’re pushing up the hill despite your huffing and puffing—it makes him laugh with you.
When you break free of the forest, Rin’s eyes focus on a field of plush grass and buttercups.
You let go of his hand, flinging yourself forward and spinning on your heel to exaggerate how wide the opening is with your arms.
“Isn’t it great?” You shout over the fireworks. “Away from the crowd!”
He rushes up to you so that you can stop yelling, invading your personal space until you can hear him just at his normal volume.
“It’s perfect,” he tells you earnestly.
You grin up at him widely before pulling him along to the edge of the clearing. You plop down together, eyes glued to the sky as the fireworks rage on.
Rin only lasts a few seconds before his eyes drift to the side, trying to drink in your expression. It’s become a habit of his to try and imprint your very existence into his brain.
Against his better judgment, his hand creeps toward yours until your fingers are overlapped.
Thankfully, you don’t use the opportunity to tease him about it, instead shifting a little closer until you’re practically burrowed into his side. If it were anyone else, he would have shoved them away.
(When did he stop trying to push you away?)
When your pinkies slowly close together, he feels as if he can’t breathe properly.
Mark-to-mark, it’s as though he is full of all the love he’s ever felt for you from every life—past or future. Like there’s a love that exists within him that transcends lifetimes, if it were even possible.
If he were to peer into another dimension, would you still be together like this? Would you be plucking buttercups and mindlessly twirling them between your fingers? Would he be itching to envelop you in his arms just to devour you?
His thoughts cease when you take a deep breath.
“I used to come here alone,” you admit.
“No one took you?” He asks. Your gaze is piercing the night sky, never leaving the show. He can see the bloom of colours in them.
“Not since I was little, but I always loved it here.”
The question burns hot in Rin’s mind: even if it was a little lonely sometimes?
He remembers back to the night that he first saw you, with your hands dipping into the murky waters of a frog pond and an air of desolation surrounding you. Then he remembers how he couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the image of you crouching there alone burned into his memory.
“Did you know this festival is a celebration of love?” He suddenly asks.
Oh what the fuck? Oh, god. Why did he say that?
That was so lukewarm of him. So stupid. So pointless and lame.
He just wanted something to say to you, something that would make him stop thinking about how you might have been alone for all that time before you knew him.
The silence burns between you, tense and awkward until he starts stuttering out something else to fill the void. But then you look at him, slow and intrigued and so damn amused that he can feel heat rising to the tips of his ears.
“I had no idea.”
There’s a longing in your expression that tells a different story. A twitch of your pinky against his that gives away your blatant lie.
And, damnit. Here he is again, four years later under the same stars. Under the same fireworks. Only this time, he’s able to see your face even closer as it lights up a million different colours—teal like his eyes; rose like his cheeks; golden like the heart he’s tried so hard to protect.
Four years later and he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen: pinkies interlocked, sheepish smile on your face, an undeniable shake in your voice that means you have more that you’re too nervous to say.
For a moment he considers finally letting go of all the things keeping him bolted and chained where he stands, swallowing the key to the cage surrounding his fragile, thumping heart. And for that fleeting second, he feels as though he’s the bravest man alive—that nothing could stop him even if you were to turn away and snub him out with the heel of your foot.
But how could he open his mouth and tell you anything when all he feels is the sick twisting of his stomach, the daunting glare of the older brother he adored so much, and the coldness of snow soaking his clothes as he sits in a field and cries?
There’s a burning, raging fire within him. Something primal and afraid and unchanging despite how much he wants to fall into your arms the way your shared etchings say he should.
It screams at him: run away. Run. Run. Run. This will only end in hurt.
He’s too fucked up. Too messed in the head and too quick to anger because he’s actually soft at heart, easy to betray—
“Rin.”
Your hand swiftly captures his face and he’s dragged unceremoniously out of his reverie.
Of course you would be able to pick out his turmoil by expression alone. By the droop of his lips into a frown—not the annoyed one he would flash his teammates, or the grimace he would scare children away with. The kind that’s sad and slow and timid, like an animal caught in a net.
“I’m really happy that we’re friends.”
“Friends?” He breathes, half confused and half incredulous.
Deep down he knows that it’s an attempt to comfort him without being too sappy. Maybe you can sense it somewhere in your soul that he would probably break down and sob if you were to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already is with you. It’s an effort to take away whatever guilt he feels and give him a chance to relax.
However, he can see a different tale in your eyes.
Loneliness as empty as the sky on a cloudy night. A yearning for more, for someone, for him, to fill the gap. I’m tired of waiting. That’s all he can read beneath the sea of colour exploding in your irises.
It only makes him feel worse, but he allows himself to be lied to anyway if only to feel the warmth of your skin against his just a bit longer.
“Yeah.”
Your pinky twitches again. He can feel the brush of your name against his, the grate of your matching soul marks. Your eyes tear away from his and are glued to the infinite sky above once more. To the stars you know are there but are covered by smoke and fire.
Rin only stares at you. He can’t focus on the explosions of fireworks anymore, not when you’re right in front of him looking so perfect. His summer treasure.
“Yeah?”
He knows he sounds dumb, repeating everything like an oaf who can’t fathom what’s being said. You giggle and it floors him.
“Just being able to stand here with you—” you glance at him again, only for a second. He can see the exhaustion in that moment, but he’s too selfish to pry. “—I think I’m the luckiest person alive.”
“Even if…” He swallows harshly. It feels like shrapnel cutting down his throat. “Even if I can’t be more?”
“Even so.”
There’s a pause and you open your mouth to say more, maybe to give him an ultimatum or to elaborate on your feelings, but then you’re interrupted by the end of the display.
Counteless fireworks explode above you in the finale. Rin can hear the awestruck gasps of families down the hill, the distant cries of children and the faint shutter of cameras filling the air.
He realizes then: he’s been smiling. His cheeks hurt from how big it’s gotten. And you’re smiling at him, too.
(The fireworks rage on, but in the end, all he can look at is you.)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2022
Falling in love with Itoshi Rin was one of the most foolish, most wonderful things that could have happened to you.
He was an enigma in and of itself, a mystery of a soulmate who was able to love you wholeheartedly and push you away at the same time.
There were nights where you would stay up wondering why he was your soulmate when it seemed like all he wanted to be was alone. Other times, you fell asleep smiling to yourself knowing that somewhere deep down you both belonged to each other.
The universe chose you. The universe chose him. It was indisputable, yet you still had doubts.
Tonight is one of those “foolish” nights. It seems as though you have been stood up.
For three hours you’ve waited in the same spot at the gates of the festival, watching families and couples pass by but never the one person you’d wait until the end of the world for. The sun has long since gone to sleep over the horizon and the streets are fully lit up with lanterns for the festivities.
6 pm. That was the time Rin promised he would meet you. In the past, he was always late but at least had the decency to tell you beforehand that you could go ahead without him. Only when you arrived and sat down to wait for him had he finally messaged you.
Rin: gonna be late. see you at 7.
7 pm. That was the rescheduled time. It was when you expected to see him walking up to you in his yukata that you begged him to wear this year, matching adoringly with yours. And at 7 pm you would tell him. You would tell him everything.
For months prior you had practiced almost pathetically so, recited and perfected your speech while staring at your reflection in a mirror. You’d written him a letter, too.
7 pm. You were finally going to thank Rin for everything. For accompanying you to such a silly festival even though you know he loathes it. For meeting you under the stars and the moon and the fireworks time and time again. For bringing life back into a childhood memory that you had long since hated.
7 pm. You were going to tell him thank you. You were going to tell him you loved him, just as it had been written in the stars many years before you were born.
It’s 9 pm, nearing 10 and the start of the fireworks show. He missed the entire night without explanation.
At 9:58 pm, just as you’re about to give up all hope, you finally come face to face with teal eyes and a stupidly handsome face sheen with sweat. It shouldn’t hurt so much, the way he looks at you so dismissively as if he hadn’t blown you off all night.
“Sorry,” he mutters disingenuously, attempting to brush past you without a second thought. “Let’s go, I’m thirsty.”
He has his gym bag slung over his shoulder and a windbreaker over his uniform. No sign of the yukata you had picked out for him to wear.
You don’t follow him, staring at his back in disbelief. When he realizes you aren’t trailing behind, he turns on his heel and raises a brow in question. “Are you coming?”
“I was waiting for you all night,” you tell him coldly. I was waiting for you all this time and you never showed up.
He swallows thickly, suddenly overcome by guilt because of your downcast expression. “I know. I lost track of time.”
“Lost track of time?” You scoff incredulously. Your mouth opens as if you have more to say, but you’re interrupted by a bang.
Rin’s eyes flutter closed. He can’t listen to this. He can’t watch.
He knows this all too well. He knew it all along.
The universe was wrong. Itoshi Rin was never cut out to be someone’s soulmate.
“We’re missing it…”
Your back is turned to him but all he can imagine is the terrible expression you must be making right now, twisted in sadness and anger. The worse image is a completely blank face—unfeeling and cold. He doesn’t even want to think about it.
Booms echo in the distance yet all he can focus on is the faint hum in his ears, the horrible churning in his stomach and the fog of guilt clouding his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that he’s sure you can’t even hear him under the deep, bellowing explosions over the horizon.
He doesn’t remember the last time he apologized for anything like this. Being cold and aloof was just in his nature. Never before had he felt like it was necessary to be remorseful for the way he is—for how he was made to be.
The slight tremble of your shoulders and the way you use the back of your sleeves to wipe tears from your eyes force the words out of him before he can stop it. He tells you again,
“I’m sorry.”
He weakly attempts to grab you by the arms, holding you from behind so he can make you look at him. You jerk away fast as lightning, knocking him away as you swivel around to glare.
“Why didn’t you come?” You demand. There’s anger shaking in your voice. Rin doesn’t know how to respond to it, not when you’ve always been so understanding and kind. Perhaps he was too cruel for you if he was going to break you this way.
“I got caught up with—”
“With football, right?” You laugh bitterly, taking a generous step back. Hurt pours from every inch of your expression and all it does is make his heart ache.
“Stop,” he suddenly snaps. You flinch at his tone and shrink back, only adding to his guilt. He always had the worst temper. “Don’t be like this. You know it was important,” he explains, gentler this time. Softer, trying to coax you back over.
There’s a beat of complete silence, save for the hollowed explosions in the distance. Rin blinks at you a couple times before his frayed nerves finally calm again. And then he realizes something terrible.
The look in your eyes, the deflation of your shoulders—this is what utter defeat looks like. For a moment deja vu rushes through his blood, bringing him back to a time when he too felt as miserable as you.
Every year he’s had the opportunity to read your expression: I’m tired of waiting. But he always foolishly assumed you would still wait around for him forever. That your patience would be as infinite as the stars in the sky. That just because he had the privilege of having his name scrawled down your pinky, he would be guaranteed to have you.
It was disgustingly selfish.
Just as he opens his mouth to apologize again, you storm up to him and shove the piece of paper roughly into his chest. With the closed gap, he can clearly see the tears streaming down your face illuminated by warm lanterns.
“Just forget it.”
“Wait—” He catches your wrist as you push past him, stopping you in your tracks again despite your struggle to get away. “Come on, I said I’m sorry!”
“Rin,” you sniffle, voice breaking with just the syllable of his name. It makes him falter. “I’m tired.”
“But—”
“You can’t even spare me one night? Just this one night in the entire year?” You breathe, no longer trying to dance around the subject. “What is it with you? What are you so afraid of?”
Being put in the spotlight never bothered Rin before. It was easy enough to ignore when all his life he was watched carefully. But it’s different with you; you’re the only one looking at him in this moment yet it feels like the weight of a million pairs of eyes at once.
An answer comes quickly to his mind, almost natural. He knows exactly what’s wrong with him.
He’s afraid of being left behind again. Of being hurt. Rin is terrified of love and being loved because he’s too pathetically fragile.
The pieces of his heart are clumsily glued together and he’s scared that even the smallest turbulence would send it shattering into a billion shards again. He doesn’t know how to put himself back together properly anymore.
Itoshi Sae permanently fucked him up.
Though they were on slightly better terms now, the scars would always haunt him. The simple solution is to shut everyone else out, to protect the weak heart he harbours.
If he told you that, would you understand? Or would you try and claw his name off your skin?
You take his silence as an answer and pry away from him again, holding yourself protectively—guarding yourself from the catastrophe that follows Rin wherever he goes.
“Goodbye, Rin.”
He doesn’t watch you go.
The nearest bench becomes his temporary home. He could do hundreds of plays in a football game and never tire, but for some reason your disdain has sucked every ounce of energy from his body.
It doesn’t register that he’s still holding the paper you forced into his hands until it crinkles in his hold. He slowly unfolds it revealing ink sloppily smeared across the page.
And then he reads it. Again. And again. And again, until it’s shaking in his hold. Until the dull ache in his heart feels like the pierce of a knife.
Rin doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s always had one clear goal for his entire life, but now everything is all muddled. Messy, like everything else he touches.
He turns everything into a disaster.
Does he chase after you and risk having his fragile heart broken all over again? Does he risk being left behind or does he close off the gate for that option entirely? He could sit in his cowardice and never change, preserving his heart forever in this moment of time; a polaroid in the slideshow of his mortality.
There’s a familiarity to this all. Perhaps he had lived through this decision a million lives before this. Maybe he would live through it again an infinite amount of times, so long as it was your name etched into his skin.
Was he as messed up in this life as he was in every other?
If he had ruined everything in this life, if he made the wrong choice and drove you away in hatred until you drew your last breath, then maybe he could make it all up to you in the next one.
Or, if that were the case, maybe he was born into this world only to love you—to make up for the millenia where he ran away.
Rin’s legs have never moved so fast. Not in football. Not even from his brother. If you were the light at the end of the tunnel then he would keep chasing you forever, he thinks. Until his wounded heart gave out.
Of all the stupid decisions he’s made in his life, have any of them amounted to anything? He’s going to give it one last try. One more chance to prove to himself that not everything he touches burns to ashes.
“Wait!”
You visibly startle, eyes wide as you turn to see Rin dashing toward you. He doesn’t give you even a moment to ask questions, to wonder why he’s coming back to break your heart again.
You’re engulfed in a hug faster than you can blink, stumbling back from the force of his body colliding with yours until your sandals get kicked off your feet.
“Rin?” You murmur his name in disbelief, breathless even though you weren’t the one sprinting down the road.
“Just give me one more chance,” he stammers out. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he holds you and fights for air simultaneously. Your hands twitch at your sides but you remain lifeless in his arms.
He tries again: “Let me prove it to you. Let me prove that it wasn’t some freak accident that led me to you. That my name on your skin is meant to be there.”
“Don’t do this,” you tell him quietly, lips brushing against his ear as you speak. “I don’t want to be loved and feared at the same time.”
“But…” Rin squeezes your body against his, almost desperately. Clinging to what he has ruined. “For once in my life, I want something more.”
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
You hesitantly shift, hands slowly trailing up his back until your body is curling against his. He can trace the outline of your body against his, like a puzzle piece that he was missing slotted perfectly in his grasp.
“I thought my soulmate would only slow me down and break me. I was wrong. I know that now.”
He slowly rocks your bodies back and forth. You pull away until your eyes meet his, red with tears. It’s the messiest he has ever seen you, but his heart refuses to be still. It aches.
Beautiful. It’s the only word he can describe you with. It didn’t matter if you were lit up under the wondrous sky, or handing him coffee in a crowded café, or sobbing in his arms.
You would only ever be his infinitely beautiful soulmate.
It’s the only constant he would have in this life and every other, even if you were to break his heart. It would be the single greatest achievement in his time, above football, above any of his petty competitions—that your name is etched down his pinky.
It scares him. It thrills him.
With the distant roar of fireworks, he kisses you. And you allow him, hiccuping against his lips as you cry.
You stay like that for a long time, listening to the hollow shockwaves of fireworks exploding miles away. He’s the first to draw back, raking in shallow breaths. You chase him, finding solace against his lips once more but not fully indulging him with another kiss.
“Do you fear me?” You whisper into his mouth.
“More than anything,” he tells you.
“Do you love me?”
After a moment of contemplation, he answers,
“More than anything.”
You nod slowly, awkwardly pulling away from him and taking a step back. It’s your first kiss and you don’t know where you’re supposed to look anymore. Rin stops your nervous shifting with his hand swooping under your chin.
“One year. I promise.” You look at him in confusion, so he continues. “Next year, when the season and my contract are over, I’ll meet you there. At the pond.”
You seem skeptical still, with your brows knitted together and a lost haze in your eyes. He raises his pinky, the one with your name forever grafted into the skin, and offers it to you.
“I pinky promise.”
It’s so ridiculous, wearing his heart on his sleeve with something he learned about on playgrounds when he was a child. A pinky promise shouldn’t mean any more than the words he has already spoken. But for some reason, your eyes light up.
He feels nothing but relief when your pinkies lock together.
“Okay,” you breathe.
“You’ll wait for me?”
“Rin.” His name leaves you in a breathless laugh that makes his world spin. It sounds so tired yet so sweet. “I’ve been waiting all my life.”
“I’m sorry,” he says once more for good measure. You nod. A wordless acceptance.
Itoshi Rin is your soulmate. It’s not like that fact will ever change no matter the time, no matter the distance.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2023
Fate is a funny thing. Soulmates are a funny thing.
The universe threw Rin curveball after curveball, beating him down until he was nothing but a husk heavenly built for one purpose only: beat Sae. Beat Itoshi Sae.
There were times when he would lay awake at night wondering why he was given this life, why he was thrust into hardship and hurt and betrayal. How could something so perfect, something so all-knowing, be so cruel?
For as long as the name had been grafted into his skin, he resented the idea of a soulmate.
He hated the idea that only one person in the world would be his eternal weakness. That one day, one person would hold every piece of his soul in their hands. Even then, his soulmate was the other half of him—his salvation. His downfall.
They would know every inch of his skin. Every bleeding wound of his heart. Every bruise and scar along his legs from cleats and nails and gravel. Having a soulmate meant having every part of him exposed, to be judged and worshiped at the same time.
At your hands, though, he’s certain this is what he was born for—to spend the rest of his days by your side even if you were doing something as mundane as catching frogs together.
“You’re scaring them,” you hiss quietly.
Your fingers sink into the pond and Rin watches your reflections ripple as water fills your palms. Your faces contort and meld into one being. In some ways, it’s a familiar feeling—to have been intertwined with you since his very conception.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“It’s your fault!”
“Right,” he deadpans. “You haven’t caught a single one all night.”
“You were late,” you remind him with a huff, cheeks inflated. “Before you got here I was catching frogs all night. Coincidence?”
Rin makes another noise, something akin to a snort. But he doesn’t acknowledge your statement, instead reaching over to gingerly roll the sleeves of your yukata up to your elbows.
“Are you always so sloppy? Your sleeves are getting all wet.”
You glare at him from the side, delivering a deadly warning. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”
“I get it, I get it. I said I was sorry for being late. Nii-chan really wanted to try that new ice cream place downtown.”
Your gaze drifts to him in the shimmering reflection, watching his smile soften at the mention of his big brother. It was wonderful that they were trying to patch things up.
Sae had decided to come home after all, promising Rin that they would play together again once they both took a well deserved break.
You could tell that Rin was trying his best not to make a big deal out of it, but the way he cried into your shoulder later that night said it all.
“I feel bad having you come all the way out here just to see me. Your brother is back in Japan isn’t he?”
“Yeah. And he wants to meet you.”
You nearly fall over. “What?”
“Please don’t look so starstruck about that. I feel sick.”
Laughing, you recentre yourself, sitting back on your heels with your hands on your knees. “Sorry, sorry! It’s not that…”
Rin raises a brow. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“It’s just—” you fumble, cheeks burning hot at the idea of being introduced to Rin’s family after all these years. Formally, as his partner. His soulmate. The name they had all known since he was thirteen. “What would I even say to him?”
He looks at you in bewilderment. Then, he snickers, only laughing harder when you smack his arm.
“Don’t worry about that,” he assures, reaching out to pat the top of your head. “Just be yourself. My family will love you.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, studying your reflections in the water with a soft smile. You’re staring right back at yourself, but Rin is only looking at you.
“I haven’t done anything special.”
“You lit up my world,” you laugh, turning back up to look at him properly. You make a mini explosion with your hands. “Boom! Like that. A firework.”
“You’re too corny,” he murmurs in embarrassment, turning his head away to hide his flushed face. “Can’t you explain it like a normal person?”
“No can do,” you tell him, voice gentler this time. After a pause, you shuffle your sandals around in the mud and take a deep breath. “If you want me to be totally serious…”
You lunge over and tackle him into your arms. He nearly loses his balance holding the both of you upright, stumbling back on his heels before he catches your waist. You don’t seem to share the sentiment of staying pristine, knees digging into the dirt as you squeeze him tighter.
Rin feels his heart catch in his throat the same way you’ve made it for the last six years.
“Thank you. For letting me love you. For being my soulmate.”
His hand is automatically in your hair, scratching your scalp as he smiles into your shoulder.
“I’m sure I gave you nothing but a hard time,” he grumbles.
“But I still love you.”
“Even though you had to wait?”
“Even so.”
“And that I’m a pain in the ass?”
“Even then, I do.”
Rin burrows himself into your neck, hiding his face again. It does a poor job at masking the kind of expression he’s making, though, considering how warm his skin is.
“What if I’m not good enough?”
He feels terrible—guilty that he needs to keep having this conversation with you. But you always comfort him the same way. He hopes you always will.
Drawing his head up with your muddy hands, you dirty his cheeks just to get a glimpse of him. You murmur a half-hearted sorry for making a mess.
Then you’re kissing him.
“I’ll be here to remind you how much I cherish you.”
You nip his bottom lip and he opens wider. You whisper into his mouth,
“And how happy I am that Itoshi Rin was born into this world.”
Itoshi Rin, broken. He who thought that he could never be put back together.
Itoshi Rin, vengeful. He who believed the only happiness that existed for him in this world was to surpass his brother.
Itoshi Rin, who did not believe in his soulmate while staring right at them. And Itoshi Rin, who finally allowed himself to love you wholly, completely, as it was written in the stars.
“I love you,” he says, as if just those three words could encapsulate everything he feels for you.
“Always?” You giggle. He rolls his eyes.
“Wherever you are, and wherever you may be, I will.”
You kiss him one more time for good measure.
“That was corny.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
2024
“No peeking.”
Rin folds up his piece of paper and hangs it from the bamboo tree. You’re tugging him along before he can even properly check to see if it’s been secured.
“Come on, I don’t want to miss the fireworks!”
He wouldn’t miss them for the world. You’ve always looked the most beautiful under the brightened summer sky.
The wish he scribbled down blows softly in the breeze as both of you rush by, back to the festival where it all began.
7 July 2024. I wish I had the words to tell you how much I love you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
extra notes. hi! if you made it this far, i'd like to give you the warmest most grateful thank you ever ( ´ ω `)
so, here it is. i've been working on this since last september-ish... for some people that amount of time is not much, but genuinely, i've never devoted so much attention and time to one single fic and i hope i did this one justice. rin has always been a guilty pleasure of mine to write for. i hope this man stays far far away from me until i can stomach even looking at his name again LOL ‾́ ◡ ‾́
also i finally admitted defeat and took out all my pictures and dividers because tumblr was fighting my posts that had any. so... sorry the formatting looks like this
additional tags: @jenoutof10 @hanrinz @itoshiexx lol hi guys it made it out of the drafts i hope you like it
synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.
content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman
wc. ~4.4k
NOVEMBER 1 2018
You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.
"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.
Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.
You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.
Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.
The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.
He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.
And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.
Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.
"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."
Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.
"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.
"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."
"You're not evil, Yuji."
"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.
You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.
"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"
"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.
"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"
His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.
You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.
"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."
You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.
You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.
The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.
"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.
His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"
"I can't until you do."
"That's stupid," he tells you.
It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.
A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.
It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.
You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.
There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.
"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.
"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.
You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.
"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.
"Huh? 2 was way better."
"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.
"2 had the best special effects though."
Your body shifts under his blanket.
"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)
His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.
"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.
Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.
"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.
NOVEMBER 2 2018
You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones.
You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.
Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.
When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.
"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.
He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.
You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.
He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.
You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.
"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"
He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."
You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.
"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"
He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.
"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"
"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."
Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.
"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."
"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"
Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.
"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.
The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.
You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.
Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.
You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.
A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.
On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.
To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.
Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.
The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.
Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.
He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.
You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.
"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.
It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.
The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.
It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)
At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.
Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.
His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.
"What?" You ask.
"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.
"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.
He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."
You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.
Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.
An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?
"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.
He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?
"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."
You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.
For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.
(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)
Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.
You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.
If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.
"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.
But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.
Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.
Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.
He kisses you like it's his last day on earth.
You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.
Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.
He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.
You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.
It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?
Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.
Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.
"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly. You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."
There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.
"Like I could just... reach out and—"
"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.
When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.
It was nice to have you fawning over me.
You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.
"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.
(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.
So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)
NOVEMBER 3 2018
The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.
His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.
Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.
It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.
"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.
"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."
"I can fight!"
"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."
Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.
"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"
Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.
You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"
Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.
"We will."
You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.
“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”
You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”
She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.
“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”
“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”
You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.
Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.
“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.
You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.
You watch as they pack up their things.
Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.
Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.
"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"
You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?
He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.
A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."
I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.
He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.
When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.
"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."
Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.
But you stop.
"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.
You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.
"i'm done waiting" + "i think i'm in love with you" + "don't look at me that way" + unrequited love
synopsis. you were always staring at itoshi sae's back. he was forever chasing something greater, not once turning around to see that look in your eyes.
wc. ~1.2k
— for @verysium i hope this is enough angst for you... | event masterlist ✉️
Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae.
He's too pretty for his own good, handsome and impossibly solid. He has this expression, too—cold and calculating, easy to admire so long as you aren't on the receiving end of his scrutinizing eyes.
Sae is a wonder of the world, a whirlwind of talent and fame and witty remarks and everything in between. He's the entirety of the word football, syllable to syllable, playing as if he were damned to do so. As if he were only ever born to decimate a soccer field. As if the universe had swallowed up the meaning of anything else in his heart long before he was even born.
Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae.
Your next door neighbour. The one who smacks you behind the head when you're being impolite to your elders. The one who makes sure your legs are properly tucked under the kotatsu so nonchalantly, as if he's incapable of telling you he cares any other way.
You're confident that he's this beautiful in every other life, in every reincarnation, in every world. That perfection could only possibly exist simmering in his soul.
Teal eyes that blink at you in confusion and annoyance, yet have an unmistakable fondness hidden beneath the stormy waters of his irises; soft hair slicked back because he couldn't be bothered to deal with his bed head; lashes that hug his waterline—you're not sure you'll witness raw beauty like this again in your lifetime.
Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. You know that much for sure.
If you ever lost your memory you're certain you would know him still: the feeling of his back against you as he shields you from his screaming brother, the smell of his cologne permanently dancing under your nose. You would know the expanse of his skin, every light freckle on his nose, the firmness of his chest beneath your palms.
Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. You could crumble to your knees and tell him everything—the love you harbour for him, the way he has devoured your heart. But truth be told, he's the devil. He could never love you back—not in this life. Not in any other.
You knew that. So why are you still standing on his front porch in the middle of the night?
"I'm in love with you."
He stares at you absently from his door, hand gripping the handle so tight that his knuckles are turning white.
"That's not funny," he scoffs.
"It's not a joke."
His gaze sharpens into a glare, head tilting back almost as if he's looking down on you. It's a foreign feeling, one that you'd witnessed a million and one times before but never felt for yourself—to be unwanted by Sae. To be without meaning.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" He hisses. It appears that he's bubbling with emotion, but you can't figure out which ones. "I'm supposed to get on this plane in eight hours."
Ah, Spain. He was leaving and you'd never be able to stop him if you tried. If you did, you're positive that he would rip through you like a bullet with no remorse.
"I love you," you repeat. He falters, eyes roaming your expression to try and understand what the hell you're doing.
What are you doing? You have to wonder that for yourself.
You were always staring at Sae's back. He was the one who stood between you and Rin when you fought, protecting you from his temperamental little brother despite thinking you were both being idiots. He was the one who sat in front of you in class, passing his eraser whenever you kicked the back of his chair. He was the one on the other end of the field, attacking enemy territories while you were left behind in the bleachers.
He was forever chasing something greater, not once turning around to see that look in your eyes. He was born to be more than a lover, a friend, a companion. Itoshi Sae was destined for perfection, to be out of reach despite being so close.
But you'd mistaken his rotten kindness for love too many years ago to take it back, never able to undo the knots he had tied in your stomach.
You wanted to be selfish, just this once. You wanted to be seen, to know that he knows. You've waited long enough.
If Sae was born to play football, you're sure you were only ever born into this world to chase after him. To love him so much that it ate your flesh.
"I just had to tell you. At least once in my life, I had to."
"Stop looking at me like that—"
"I've always loved you."
"—it's pathetic."
Silence fills the air and you suddenly become hyper aware of how many tears have gathered in the corners of your eyes; the heat of your sorrow streaming down your face.
For a moment, he hesitates. There's that familiar fondness glimmering in his gaze, soft and reserved for you. His childhood friend—the one who kept losing all his erasers and the one whose voice he could hear cheering for him from all the way down the field.
Then it melts away, and he looks at you with utter indifference. You think that he's unfairly good at hiding his thoughts behind a mask of apathy.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he whispers.
I want you to love me back. "You don't have to say anything."
He looks at you for a long time, just staring. There's conflict swimming in every part of his expression, lips parting then shutting again as if he can't decide how to respond.
"I think you should leave."
You blink at him, at the bluntness of his words. You've witnessed this before; the way he so easily pushes others away when he feels too vulnerable. To be loved is to be seen, to be known, and Sae wants none of that.
"If that's what you want."
Some part of you deep down knows that it's not what he wants. That there are words unspoken tangled up in his throat. But his apprehension is enough, telling you that his heart is devoid of space for another human even if he wished for it to be different.
"It is," he strains out, lying through his teeth. "I don't love you that way. You're like a sibling—"
"Don't do that," you interrupt, drawing away from him. "Just break my heart, please."
"I don't love you." And he leaves it at that.
Hell comes in the form of Itoshi Sae. It's a notion that follows you as you walk down the driveway toward your stalled car, left running because deep down you already knew his answer.
The beauty of his forbidden paradise drives you to turn around, too, and just like every other time his back is turned to you. His hand rests on the handle of his door, yet his body is frozen in place. You wait for a moment, eyes cast over your shoulder to see if he'll turn around and finally look your way.
He doesn't.
(You've driven off by the time he comes back outside, watching the back of your car pull away into the fog.
He's done the right thing, he thinks. He could never stand watching you cry.)
synopsis. rin doesn't get how his "friends" can come up with such insane ideas. like, seriously. or: blue lock tries to play matchmaker with a flustered loser and their terribly unfriendly teammate.
wc. ~1.1k
— for @jenoutof10 🤞 | event masterlist ✉️
"don't be mad, but..."
rin's eye twitches.
4 words. 4 measly words is all it takes for his blood pressure to start rising. that, and the fact that isagi can't meet his bloodthirsty gaze.
in all the time that he's had the displeasure of knowing these morons, he's come to know one simple fact: nothing good ever happens when they break news starting with 'don't be mad'.
before his teammates can even get a chance to explain further, rin interjects.
"you lost it, didn't you? you fucking lost it."
bachira's lips just press into a thin line, mischief missing from his expression where it usually permanently dances. now, he just looks utterly terrified and a little guilty.
"hey, but there are worse people to be cuffed to!" bachira nervously states. and at that, all eyes land on you.
you'd been hoping that maybe rin's temperment would have drawn all attention away from you right now—that they at least wouldn't have to witness the absolute despair in your face realizing you've been cuffed to your long-term crush for an indefinite amount of time.
but their eyes are heavy on you, trying to scrutinize your reaction. you want nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
the chains connecting you jingle impossibly loud as silence fills the room. you flounder slightly, caught off guard by the collective weight of everyone's eyes, and rin seems to understand how dire your situation is. he quickly gathers everyone's attention back to himself.
"you all better crawl on your hands and knees until you find that fucking key."
to think that an entire group of people could have gone through with something so stupid—rin doesn't get how his "friends" can come up with such insane ideas. like, seriously. handcuffing the two of you together as a last ditch attempt to solve the last puzzle of their escape room? he would probably be laughing at their idiocy if he wasn't the one locked to your side right now.
and why him, of all people? was it so obvious that he was maybe, kind of, sort of a little into you? no, impossible. he's incredibly good at hiding his feelings for you, so much that he's completely stone-faced while you're busy panicking beside him.
what should have been an innocent team-building exercise put together by their calm and collected manager has suddenly turned you into a blithering fool and him into a cranky asshole.
he'd always had suspicions that you'd liked him, never able to look him straight in the eye without fidgeting and messaging him out of the blue for seemingly insignificant reasons. ("did you try the new garigari-kun flavour?" or "i saw this cat that reminded me of you," and even "did you eat dinner yet?")
if you had told his teammates, you made a grave error. a fatal mistake. because they were all half-wits who would want nothing more than to try playing cupid, and he knows that only they could come up with a plan so stupid and still claim it to be foolproof.
frantically searching for the key, they get to work scouring the floor and drawers—anywhere they could have left it in the last twenty minutes. he takes the opportunity to focus on his breathing, as his therapist had advised him to do when he was feeling overwhelmed with emotion.
"you okay?" rin asks quietly, lathering a hand down his face in exasperation. you hum nervously, clutching yourself instinctively. it draws his hand closer to your body but he doesn't mention it, instead letting it dangle limply in front of you. the warmth emanating from you makes him realize just how frazzled you are.
he decides he should guide you to the next room where it's quieter, all the puzzles already solved and abandoned. he sits you down on the sofa, standing in front of you with your hands connected in the middle.
"what if we're locked together forever?" you murmur.
rin looks at you in confusion, perplexed by your sudden loss of functioning brain cells. you were always so rational, it's strange to see you so...
you meet his intense stare and the rest of his train of thought derails into a disastrous dumpster fire.
"i... don't think that'll happen."
"but what if we are?"
"there are worse people i could be locked to."
silence suffocates you. rin blinks at you, but doesn't back down as you fumble over your own tongue.
"you think so?" you finally manage out.
god almighty, you need to break this eye contact before he shrivels up and dies. okay, so maybe his feelings for you aren't entirely miniscule, but that doesn't mean he's going to get any enjoyment out of this.
he scoffs, gesturing to the next room. "at least it's you and not them."
you sputter in embarrassment, hand yanking toward your face as you try and cover your cheeks with your palms. his hand follows, nearly smacking you in the nose but you don't seem to care or even notice.
he slowly seats himself beside you, dragging your conjoined hands back between your bodies and settling on the couch.
"i hate this," you admit. "it feels claustrophobic."
rin knows exactly what you mean. your hand is inches away from being in his—he can hardly breathe. he would rather eat natto every day for the rest of his life than come to terms with that, though, so instead he just sneers at you funny.
"you have claustrophobia?"
"i just mean that we're so close right now."
"so?"
you gulp loudly. "and—" you sigh, breaths shaking. "well, you're sort of right. i guess it could be worse."
"...you're weird," he tells you.
your lips quirk up into a tiny smile, so small that he would have missed it if he weren't chained to your side right now. for a moment, he almost forgets all about why he's even in this situation in the first place.
"sorry," you stammer, fingers fumbling around with the hem of your sweater. "i hope they find that key soon."
he stares at you for a few more seconds, tries to trace the outline of your face with his eyes and memorize the curve of your smile.
"yeah," he lies. "me too."
("is it working?"
"i don't know, i can't hear them!"
"shh," chigiri hisses. "i'm trying to listen!"
rin puts his head into his hands at their volume, bringing your hand along with his motion. he glares in their direction, catching a glimpse of his team stacked on top of each other as they peer into the room.
"idiots..." he mutters. you look at him, puzzled. "i'm surrounded by idiots.")
synopsis. "be kind, shinsuke." that's what yumie always told her grandson. and he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.
wc. ~2k
— for @mastering-procrastinating & an anon bff! 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️
The day after Kita Shinsuke turns six years old, the vacant house across the street suddenly springs to life with occupants.
His life spirals from being humble and quiet to chaotic in 24 hours. Suddenly, he's responsible for taking care of the bratty kid next door even though they're his age. His bedtime gets thrown out the window because he needs to chase them down to get them to brush their teeth, and his dinner always has some suspiciously missing elements that he never finds.
You become the centerpiece of his entire existence—a floating memory in every crevice of his mind.
Kita hears your laughter in the songs of his childhood; feels your hands roughly pushing him and dragging him around by the wrist; smells the minty toothpaste he forcefully shoved into your mouth after finally catching up to you.
It seems as though you and him were born to be polar opposites. Where he climbs you stumble. Where he sits quietly at the dinner table, you have a never-ending stream of anecdotes to tell Granny (even though half of them are greatly exaggerated—he was literally there to witness it). Where he behaves like a normal child, you can't even sit still during storytime in class.
However, your differences do little to remove you from his life. Where he goes, you go.
It's a consequence of growing up thirty meters from your front door and having you over when your parents suddenly uproot to go on week-long business trips.
And he wouldn't care so much, really, if it weren't for the fact that Granny had equal amounts of love to go around. That, and he would have to sleep on the floor whenever you came around.
For someone so disciplined and grounded, Kita Shinsuke was an envious child. He hated having you in his home, because it meant that his beloved Granny had to split her attention between the two of you. Because she would always tuck you in before him. Because you were louder, more needy, more everything. Because he often woke up with back pains at the ripe age of six years old.
When Kita turns eight, he finally bubbles over.
You're on the swings behind one of your friends, standing on the back of the seat and clinging to the chains. You're being careless, and he would be remiss if you were to hurt yourself.
"Get down from there," he scolds, standing in front of the swing set to stop you from continuing.
"Make me!" You exclaim back, childishly sticking out your tongue and rocking the swing back and forth, gesturing to your friend to keep going.
"Stop."
He comes up behind you and tugs at your shirt, making you wobble.
"Quit it, Shin!"
"You'll hurt yourself!"
He convinces himself that he only cares so much because Granny would have to spend more time with you to patch you up if you fell, and not because he would hate to see your snotty, crying face.
No, it doesn't make his heart squeeze. Not even a little.
Eventually, you end up face first in the wood chips anyway, with Kita hovering over you looking guilty as ever. He hadn't meant to pull you off so roughly, nor had he meant for you to land on the ground like that.
Oh. Why does it hurt him so much?
That night, you don't sleep in his room.
You end up tucked into Granny's bed instead, down the hall. He misses your presence—he even ends up on the floor though the bed is empty for him to take.
He blinks up at the space where you should be and feels bitterness swelling in his throat.
"Shin." His Granny calls softly when she eventually comes into his room. She doesn't sound the least bit angry, but he still aches with nothing but guilt.
"M'sorry." He knows the apology should be for you, but you couldn’t even look him in the eye over dinner.
His Granny only sighs, kneeling down beside his futon with a tired huff. A reminder of her age. He only feels worse.
"Be kind, Shinsuke."
"I'm tryin'," he argues weakly.
She's silent for a pause before she carefully tucks the silver hair from his eyes.
"You'd be lonely too if I were gone all the time, eh?"
"..."
Kita pulls the covers closer to his chin. Yes, he was aware there was a reason you were always here. There was a reason your house was devoid of life despite being filled with furniture. There was a reason you wanted Granny to love you so much, cementing in the gaps where your parents were always absent.
Did you ever want him to love you like that, too?
The next night, he sits you down on the edge of the tub with no complaints. And he's surprised that you accept the toothbrush into your mouth so easily, no resistance and no qualms like you usually have.
He sees the tired defeat in your eyes, feels the awkward tension in the bathroom, and guides your hand to the end of the brush so you can do it yourself.
"I'm sorry," he tells you without elaborating. You never need him to. (When you reminisce about this day, you sometimes laugh to yourself. You always did love how straightforward he was.)
His words are followed by a tense hug, his hands holding your head against his tummy. The brush stops moving in your mouth as you hug him back.
It dawns on him then: he's just as much of a kid as you are—feeling something as petty as jealousy when all you needed was a hug.
One day, he swears, he'll make it up to you. And he'll be nicer, too. It's the least he can do if he's all the company you have until your parents return.
Be kind, Shinsuke. That's what Yumie always told her grandson. And he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.
The day after Kita Shinsuke turns twenty-two years old, your apartment floods.
Of course he's the first one there, helping you move what you could salvage from the apartment into suitcases and onto the back of his truck. Of course he's the one to offer a place to stay, because if not him, then who else? And of course he's the one who holds you when you're stressing about what to do and where to go, hand firmly on your back as he lets you snot on his shirt like you've done since you were six.
For a brief moment, it feels as though he's just a little kid again with you making a mess of the home he grew up in.
Well, mess is a stretch—you've infinitely matured since starting food wars with him over dinner, but the point stands when he ends up helping you with an assignment. It had been pushed to the backburner with everything going on, whilst you were moving essentially everything you owned into his house as if you paid rent there.
He should have known that some things never change.
"I can't believe you kicked me out onto the floor."
Kita shuffles in the comfort of his duvet, resting atop his mattress. He stares at you with honey brown eyes swimming in conflict from the bed.
You curl tighter into a ball on the futon. And he knows this ploy—knows that you're trying to guilt trip him into swapping places with you. You've always been manipulative when it came to him, and god-forbid he be anything but an angel to you. (Because his Granny told him to, not for any other reason at all.)
"M'not the one who made a bet they couldn't win."
Words straight and cutting as ever, like a blade through your heart. You pout childishly, rolling over so that your back is turned to him.
It was your idea to challenge him when he said you were on your phone too much while working. It was your idea to be a brat and defiantly say that you could finish your assignment by midnight. It was your idea to bet this all on the most beloved yet war-inducing place in the entire house: Kita's bed.
It's hardly his fault that you got distracted with YouTube.
"I hate you, Shin."
"No y’don't."
"I do."
"No. You don't."
"Okay fine, I don't, but can we please swap now? It's freezin’ down here."
He can practically hear the pout still engraved into your face right now. And it takes every ounce of fight in him not to give into you with the snap of a finger. To argue back and list a million reasons why he should be allowed in his own bed.
Yet here he is, slipping out of the sheets almost instantly and crouching down beside the futon. He shakes your shoulder.
"Fine. Get goin' before I change my mind."
Any resolve left in his body melts away when you shoot upright with a bright smile, victorious as ever.
Sometimes you made it hard for him to imagine why he cared about you at all. You were too sly for your own good. How could he ever deny such a smile? It's not fair.
You scurry into his bed instantly, making yourself comfortable where you have hundreds of times before. "You should make sure I'm comfy. I am a guest in your house, y’know?"
Yes, Kita knows this all too well. You're trying to provoke him, to see how far you can push him until he breaks. Stubborn and obedient, he reaches down to slowly pull the blanket over your body.
There's a pause from you as he drapes you in warmth, blinking up at him dumbly as if you weren’t expecting him to do so without complaint.
"I'm..." You seem to choke on your own words, silently contemplating whether or not you should push further. "My face is still cold."
His hands hold your face instantly, warming your cheeks skin-to-skin. You stare at him with wide eyes, looking so surprised that he wonders if what he's doing is a mistake. But then your hands gently cover his, and you tug him closer until his knee is sinking down on the mattress beside you.
"M'super cold."
"It's twenty-two degrees in here," he informs you flatly.
You make a face, nose slightly scrunched in thought and brows pinched. It's such a troubled expression that he can't help but scoot a little closer.
He's being kind, that's all. He's just making sure you're okay as a friend. No, not even a friend—an obligatory companion. The lifelong thorn in his side. The reason why his back still aches some days.
Be kind, Shinsuke.
When did being kind turn into this? Into moving involuntarily, into having a second nature response to you? Into a stubborn body only movable by one soul, one voice, one pair of hands?
"Keep me warm, Shin."
He gives in to your whims without reason, without logic or hesitation. You are the sole person able to break down any semblance of routine that's been methodically coded into his muscles.
He doesn't get you, perhaps he never would. He would never completely understand your wishes, or how your cheeks were so cold yet burning hot at the same time, or why he was submitting to you so easily.
The only thing he knows is that you are still somehow the centerpiece of his life, dancing in the middle of it all like a black hole sucking in everything else; the whirlpool swirling in the center of calm waters; the supernova of his galaxy.
"...'Kay."
Maybe he doesn't need a reason to care about you. Maybe your very existence is reason enough. And he’s okay with that for once in his life. He had never been the type to go with the flow, but your hands are dragging up his neck and pulling his body onto the mattress.
synopsis. all that fretting was over nothing, because he's looking at you now and the only thing he can think of saying is...
wc. ~1.5k
— for @rintosei smooch 🫶🫶 | event masterlist ✉️
"You did what?"
Lyney flinches at his twin's harsh tone, the words seething out through her grit teeth. He pauses in his rummaging, deflating with his hands hovering over the open box.
You had originally agreed on helping them set up for their next show, even going so far as to personally arrange for all the props to be transported to the Opera Epiclese. But you're nowhere to be found now, leaving the magician sweating under the cold gaze of his dear sister.
"Lyney—" She sighs, fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. And he knows he's messed up big time to elicit such a powerful emotion from her. "How could you do that? Y/N has been nothing but amazing in helping us through all of this."
It was true that you had been supportive to a fault ever since you first stumbled into a performance way back when. Since then, you'd always looked at the pair with stars in your eyes, perhaps hoping that one day your beloved would pull you onto the stage despite his repeated worries about props misfiring or sabotage.
He had never worried about that sort of thing until he was framed. He'd be damned if you were to be injured during one of his shows.
So he banished you to the audience, swore to himself that he would never endanger you by pulling you into the spotlight of the stage. And he upheld that promise to himself, until you finally broke him down with such honeyed smiles and even sweeter words.
Because he was weak when it came to those he loved, he caved in just to see the joy shining in your eyes. He didn't have time to regret his decision—not when you were already leaping into his arms with a chanting prayer of thanks on your tongue.
And now...
"I know, I know..." he huffs in frustration, resuming in busying his hands with the contents of the box. "But what was I supposed to do? I owed Father's friends a huge favour and this—"
"Are you really choosing Father's approval over your relationship?"
He stops again, eyes cast solely on the props in his hands. One of the associates of the House demanded that his child be put into the show as an assistant. You were visibly hurt when he had informed you of the last minute change, and hadn't heard from you since.
While he would have normally chased after you in such a moment, he was too preoccupied with preparing everything for the changes made to the performance to worry about where you'd gone or the extent of how upset you were.
"What would you have me do?"
Lynette saunters over to her brother's side, crouching down beside him. Her hand gently guides his own down to place the props back into their spots.
"Making sure they're okay would be a good place to start."
The magician makes a face, lip jutted out in a half-pout as he considers it. Yes, he would be distracted if you were on his mind this way after all. It would be better to clear the air before the show started. His sister was always the more level-headed of the two of them—the soft yet stern voice of reason when he was being careless.
"You're right," he concedes. Lynette was always right.
He doesn't find you at your home.
After knocking at the front door until his knuckles hurt, he deems that you must not be here. Clutching the bouquet of Rainbow Roses carefully to his chest, he makes his way to his next destination: the Fountain of Lucine.
With nearly everyone tucking away for the night, there's hardly a peep in the plaza. He approaches slowly, watching your figure come into focus.
Ah, of course you'd be here. You always came here when you needed to think.
There were a thousand things he wanted to tell you. He'd practiced on the way here: how to apologize, how to grovel for forgiveness even though you were so kind that he was sure you'd accept it in a heartbeat.
Still, you were the love of his life. He seldom expressed his vulnerability to you, but he truly did feel horrible for bailing you out of the show last minute—especially when you seemed so excited to finally be a part of it.
"Sweetest," he calls you. You don't respond, instead opting to quietly swish your bare feet around in the shallows of the fountain. His heart plummets at your lack of interest, so he takes a cautious step forward. "It's late. You'll catch a cold sitting out here."
Again, you're silent. He swallows, trying to think of a way to get you to even look his way.
Lyney has always been good with words—talented at misdirection and deceit. But he has no reason to be like that with you, to be dishonest or closed off or misleading. It leaves him tripping over his own tongue.
He loves you with all his heart, yet he doesn't even know how to talk to you without making a fool of himself.
His whole life has been about buttering up an audience, making a spectacle of words and dance and magic. But you're real. How does he handle that?
Slowly, he sheds his coat before draping it over your shoulders. He sits beside you facing away from the running water, the paper holding his beautiful bouquet together rustling with each movement.
The noise makes you look his way, eyes curious as ever. It was what he adored so much about you.
For a second, he sees the undeniable softening of your expression—a small but unmistakable smile gracing your face before it vanishes again.
"You'll catch a cold," you scold.
"That's okay."
Your gaze flickers between his eyes and his lips. He can feel the heavy tension melting away with every shameless glance up and down, smugness firing through his veins when he realizes you've missed him despite your avoidance.
"I'm sorry I made such a big deal about all this," you whisper, tearing your attention back to the way the water ripples with each movement.
Lyney reaches over quickly, hand swiftly turning you to look at him again by the cheek. "Don't apologize," he argues. "I was being stupid."
You nod, mouth opening then closing as you wait for him to continue.
He doesn't. He can't.
The whole walk here he had planned out exactly what he wanted to say, all the ways he wanted to tell you that he only gets so protective because his work can be dangerous. There were a million ways he planned to apologize, a dozen scenarios where he imagined you would walk out of his life for being so careless with your feelings.
But all that fretting was over nothing, because he's looking at you now and the only thing he can think of saying is...
"You look so beautiful in the moonlight."
You blink at him in surprise, instinctively burying your face into the warmth of his palm as you lean forward. There's a knowing in the way you look at him, as if able to read the words in his heart that he can't seem to get out.
"You're not trying to butter me up, are you?" You ask teasingly, an attempt to relieve his racing mind.
"Just being honest," he laughs. Another silence fills the air before he continues, "I'm really sorry. Next time, I promise to drag you onto the stage with me."
You stifle a giggle, pulling away to watch your feet prod at the surface of the water. "It's alright. I know I'm not exactly cut out to be a star."
The magician shuffles closer to you until your shoulders are bumping, then he places the bouquet of Rainbow Roses in your lap.
"You are a star," he mumbles. "The brightest star in the sky."
Dancing in the moonlight, bathing in it so beautifully. Lynette would hurl at him admitting something so corny, though.
"Really?" You ask with a laugh in your breath.
"Really really."
You hum softly, hand settling over his. Your bodies are turned opposite ways but he can imagine the smile spreading across your face, the warmth of it. You were always poor at hiding when he flustered you.
The soft sound of streaming water fills the comfortable silence. It's a stark contrast to the applause he's grown so accustomed to but he would choose this a million times over.
Your hand squeezes his. He realizes, then—you're a star no matter which spotlight you're under, whether it be under the weight of a thousand eyes or just for him under the quiet moon.
("Stop gagging! It wasn't that cheesy!"
"A star?" Lynette pales further, placing her head into her hands. "A... A star?"
"Oh, quit with the dramatics already!"
"I have a lovesick idiot for a brother... I'm going to throw up."
a/n: fwb zhongli who catches feelings for you and mopes when it's time for you to part ways bc me and art said so. suggestive obv but nothing blatantly nsfw
You've become sort of a sore topic for Zhongli.
No, not because you've rejected him in any way. Not even because he's trying to avoid catching feelings for you. Quite the opposite, actually.
He doesn't know what you are. He doesn't know if he means anything to you below the surface.
Sure, the flings were fun—distracting, even, when he was stressed from work. You were only meant to be a good time outside of work which Childe so earnestly encouraged him to find. And you were for the most part wonderful company even when he wasn't tangled in bedsheets with you.
The problem is that he was falling hard and fast, and he's almost positive the sentiment isn't shared.
"You're going out again?" Hu Tao asks as she peers into his office. He's packing up his belongings and shoving your favourite snacks into his bag.
"Yes, does that concern you, Director?"
"Yeesh," she hisses. "Cold. Haven't you two made it official yet?"
"No."
"And that's because...?" She trails off, awaiting some sort of explanation. It's been months after all. Months. Frankly, she's tired of watching Zhongli do this back and forth without making any actual advances outside of... well.
She coughs when he doesn't provide any answer. "Are you going to?"
The man only sighs, frustrated with himself or with the Director, he can't tell anymore. And again, he tells her:
"No."
She shakes her head. He's utterly hopeless.
"My, you sure do know a lot about Glaze Lilies."
Zhongli's fingers twitch and he recoils from you. The flower he placed behind your ear shimmers in the glow of lanterns, sparkling like diamond itself is sprouting from your hair. You look so breathtaking, he thinks. Could he tell you that? Probably not.
Ah, he must have been rambling without realizing. A bad habit that he has yet to kick. It must bore you to death.
"An old friend of mine used to love them," he tells you. "My apologies for going off on a tangent."
"No, no," you wave him off, a smile spreading across your face—warm and welcoming. For a moment he believes that you're looking at him with something more. "It's alright. I like listening to you talk."
"You... do?" He questions.
"Why wouldn't I?"
He opens his mouth like he has an answer but it quickly snaps shut. Yes, why wouldn't you? He's surprised that you haven't lost interest in him yet simply because he's a talktative walking history book, yet simultaneously relieved that you haven't left his side.
There's zero dishonesty evident in your expression, nor is there any sign that you genuinely want him to stop blathering. But the time has come to leave you anyway. If only the night could be as lasting as his growing feelings for you.
The winding streets of Liyue have lead you back to your front porch. It must be well into the night—hardly anyone is around. The shops have all packed up and closed down for the day and even the croaking of frogs has quieted down.
You turn slightly, glancing at the welcoming entrace of your home. "So... this is it."
"Home."
"Home," you echo.
"When will I see you next?"
You laugh, seemingly amused by his formality. "Whenever you'd like, Zhongli."
A long silence settles over you as you watch each other. Your eyes bore into his intensely, as if searching for something in them. With the distance between you, he can't make out exactly what it is that you're thinking.
You turn to leave and it's a familiar, gut-wrenching feeling. The sight of you leaving him: sometimes draped in nothing but his bedsheets and others like this. And for some reason, this version bothers him infinitely more.
It's pathetic that he mopes about it, feels like a kicked puppy now that your date (if you could even call it that) has ended. The uncertainty of having you means that it could be the last time he holds your gaze, or it could be just be the beginning of your story.
He wants you. He knows he does. Would it be selfish to ask you to be his? Does he have that right?
Just as he's about to leave you at your door, once he knows you've gotten safely there, your voice calls out to him.
"Actually, do you want to walk around a bit longer?" You freeze, looking surprised at your own suggestion before continuing. "I-I know it's quite late but..."
He holds his breath. But?
"But... I just want to hear your voice a little longer."
It's a silly reason, he knows. It's even worse how giddy he feels inside, acting like a child having a crush on someone. He's certain you can see the melting of his expression, eyes impossibly soft.
The realization strikes him down like lightning. Oh. How could he have not realized? Had he been so busy worrying about how to move on from you while you were still in his bed that he missed the way you purposefully lingered around a little longer? That you were always the one asking him when he was free?
He chuckles—to you or at himself, he isn't sure. "Of course."
When you close the distance between your bodies, he offers you his hand with a blooming smile. He can't help admiring you under the warm lights of the harbour. You take it without question and don't let go. He doesn't either.
"Where was I?"
"You were telling me about why they only blossom under moonlight," you ponder. You're not very subtle with the way you scoot your body closer into his side and how you try to nimbly interlock your fingers, but he doesn't mind.
He had been blind this long. He would be remiss if he were to let the opportunity slip.
"Ah, yes." Zhongli squeezes your hand as you walk. "I should tell you of this old legend."
There's an uncontrollable joy in his heart when he realizes that, indeed, it is only the beginning of a long tale.
mutual/oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."
synopsis. yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.
wc. ~1.2k
— for @kruinka and @ph-xntasy / @yuellii 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️
You've cut his apples into petit rabbits today.
The ink at the end of Ayato's brush has soaked through his page at least three times since he started scribing, big globs of black ruining what could have been a beautiful sequence. And the culprits for distracting him taunt him with their little red ears.
In fact, they've been sitting for so long that the flesh of the fruit is starting to brown. How long has he been unproductively glancing up and down between his paper and his breakfast?
He had told you that they were in season as a passing comment the last time he saw you—nothing more than a throwaway line to make conversation. Yet here you are, showing up at his table with a tray of his usual breakfast and something extra. Something hand-crafted and too cute for him to even fathom putting into his mouth.
It seemed that you had a special place in your memory for him. He could bring up the smallest wish and it would show up on his desk the next day.
It was your job to know him inside and out, after all. Your sole duty as his scheduler. Even so, you made time to do things outside of your job description if only to please him. You always looked so happy to see him, too. He's starting to wonder if you have a crush on him.
He glances at his clock. While he is busy with work, what harm would a few minutes do if he were to be a little distracted?
Kamisato Ayato cannot cook.
He remembers fondly the only time he had ever demonstrated his kitchen skills to you. After unpacking his favourite tempura from Uyuu restaurant, he proceeded to line the shrimp up on a plate and decorate it.
You found humour in his apparent lack of expertise in the kitchen, chalking it up to his spoiled upbringing. He hadn't believed you then, thinking that you were being too harsh as well as too distracted by the melody of your laugh to bother dwelling on it. But now he's here, trying to do something as simple as cutting apples and failing miserably.
What spurred him on to do this in the first place is beyond him. Maybe he thought that the smile on your face when you saw his efforts would be worth all the trouble, or perhaps he was seeking your approval since he admired your ever-growing list of skills.
From servant to sparring partner to cook to personal scheduler, you were quickly making yourself a regular part of his day. He envied your adaptability, having little opportunity as a noble to try.
He figured this would be a chance to start. To learn, if it were to make you happy or proud.
Oh dear. Who knew cutting apples was such a daunting task?
Ayato thought this would be simple—cut some apples into cute shapes, make you smile, perhaps keep you around a bit longer to discuss it than you would usually stay. (Lately, he's been craving to hear your voice more and more.)
But this blade is tiny, unlike his hefty sword. It's too nimble for his fingers, and he's sure he has nicked himself at least a dozen times by now.
If you were here, you'd probably scold him for being so careless. And you'd set aside time in your busy day to help him, he's sure. It's in your nature to be kind which makes him miss you all the more.
Just as he's about to give up and call it quits, the door slides open.
Archons. He's been so engrossed in his woes that he had forgotten it was almost time for your scheduled meeting to go over his other plans for the week.
The scraps of peel and sloppily shaped apple slices are so incriminating that he doesn't even bother hiding it. You both stare at each other from across the table, completely unblinking and still.
"Um..." You strain out, clearly attempting to hide your amusement. "Hello."
He coughs awkwardly, placing down the paring knife and trying to uphold as much dignity as he possibly can.
"Hello," he greets, unable to meet your gaze anymore. "My apologies. Our meeting slipped my mind."
You gently pluck a rabbit from the plate, rotating it around in your fingers to get a better look. They're sloppy, for sure, with jagged edges and tiny slits where you know his knife slipped. And they don't even resemble anything remotely close to rabbits in the first place, more like blocky V-shaped thingamabobs.
You glance up and down between the rabbit and the man behind it, who looks strangely flustered considering his usually calm temperament.
"Don't look at me that way," he says quietly, wooden end of the blade gently knocking against the table as he deflates.
"Are these... bunnies?" You ask him in bewilderment.
"They are... supposed to be rabbits, yes."
Complete silence fills the room until Ayato feels as if he can't breathe. Coupled with the way your eyes are scrutinizing his attempts, he wants nothing more than to melt away.
And then you laugh. You can't stop laughing, it seems. Doubled over onto the table and fighting for air between giggles.
He can't help the softening of his expression, the warmth in his chest. If this is all it took to get you to smile like that, then who cares how embarrassing it is that he can't even cut fruit correctly?
You round the table, plopping down next to him. Oh no. He can't control his racing heart when you're leaning in so close to him, so close that he can feel the rumble of your laughter in his own body.
With your shoulders pressed together, body resting comfortably against his, you take the blade and slice of apple from his hands.
"I'll show you how," you offer. He watches intently as you make the first shallow slits through the peel, then gently slide the knife across the top. Too busy admiring your skillful hands, he almost instantly blurts out:
"Can you please show me again?"
You look at him funny, brows pinched but a smile still seeping across your face. You show him another time, expertly cutting another slice. And another. And another.
Unconsciously, or perhaps following the quiet voice in his heart, his head falls atop yours. You sink into him, allowing him to rest against you without complaint.
"Hm, am I your personal comforter now?"
"I suppose you are."
"You know, if you actually pay attention you might be able to make your own breakfast."
"Mm..." He hums when your hands don't stop moving despite your words. Instead, you laugh again. And again, there's the ever familiar thrum of his heart.
"Oh, dear Commissioner. What would you do without me?"
Yes, he thinks. What would he do without you?
Well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. He's far too busy to keep track of it all on top of his other work. And he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.
He would rather you keep him company anyway, bunnies and all.
synopsis. oh. oh no. you were most certainly not supposed to overhear this conversation between the iudex and the duke, but now you don't even know how to act right.
wc. ~1k
— for an anon bff 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️
You didn't mean to eavesdrop.
Really, truly, you didn't. All you had come for was to deliver the new reports from Poisson, have your usual polite chit-chat, then take the rest of the night off for your date.
Really, truly, you wish you hadn't overheard the conversation on the other side of the door—the muffled voices of who you presumed to be the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide making his rare overworld appearance and the Iudex of whom you held so dear.
Really, truly, you meant to walk away when you heard the passing of your name from Wriothesley, the curious tone and the silence that followed.
"I don't get you." A sigh, indignant and frustrated, then: "You're supposed to tell people how you feel. Jeez."
"It's quite complicated."
"Complicated? Come on, I'm tired of watching the two of you make goo-goo eyes at each other."
"... 'Goo-goo' eyes?..."
You stifle your laughter at the strained voice, though you have to wonder if your crush on Neuvillette was so obvious that even the warden had noticed from afar.
"You're seriously just going to let them go on a date?"
"That is their decision to make. Not mine."
"Whatever. I'm just saying you should consider the possibility that you should pursue this."
"My feelings for them don't amount to anything, so just forget—"
The door swings open faster than you can blink and you're left flailing around pathetically with your stack of papers. Both men stand dauntingly in the doorway, peering at you in mortification (and, to your horror, a shine of amusement in Wriothesley's eyes).
Really, truly, you wanted to melt into the Primordial Sea right then and there. And perhaps you should have turned heel and bolted away to do just that, if only to miss the incriminating colour blooming on Neuvillette's cheeks.
He was right. It is complicated, and the way he can't meet your gaze makes it all the worse.
You've called off your date tonight.
It's not the first time. It certainly won't be the last if this keeps up.
Unsure of what to do or where to go, you end up soaked in the rain at the edge of the city. The bridge overlooks the flooding Court of Fontaine—a pretty, weeping sight that Neuvillette had shown you what felt like eons ago. Back when the two of you were just friends and nothing more, when his name didn't stir something scorching within your heart.
What should have remained a professional, civil relationship between you and the Iudex grew into something more as the years passed.
You noticed the glow of his lilac eyes, the way they softened when you entered a room; the undeniable fondness in his expression as it crinkled with his smile, dignified but warm; the lingering of his hand over yours as he accepted whatever you brought to him for that day, a gesture which he hadn't graced others with to your knowledge.
Wriothesley had bugged you once about it before during one of his visits, calling you a lovesick fool. As it turns out, he loved drama of all sorts and was making it his personal mission to witness this opera himself.
You hadn't expected him to bring it up with Neuvillette as well, thinking that he would be too off put by the judge's apparent indifference toward you.
The soft pitter-patter of rain hushes as an umbrella unfolds above you, shielding you from the onslaught.
"You'll catch a cold."
You visibly deflate, head burying into your arms along the stone railings. Oh, dear. You don't know how to act right now. How are you supposed to act in front of the person who admitted to having feelings for you just a few ago?
Neuvillette takes your silence as his cue to continue probing. "I wanted to chat with you about what happened today. But, if you're busy then..." He turns his head left and right, searching for any signs of the date you had thrilled about earlier this week.
(A date that you wished could erase all the feelings you had for him, to no avail.)
"I'm not busy. I canceled," you tell him quietly. You stand up straight, turning to face him but with avoidant eyes. "What is it?"
"I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable this afternoon. I understand it is unprofessional for us to be involved with each other, and I won't bring it up again. Not even to Wriothesley."
You blink at him, half surprised yet half not. The sudden downpour of rain roars in your ears deafeningly, somber weather matching his darkening appearance.
"You don't have to apologize. I wasn't uncomfortable, just..." You look away awkwardly. "Confused."
"What is there to be confused about?"
You bite the inside of your cheek. "About why you never told me how you feel."
(Hypocrisy at its finest, honestly.)
Silence overcomes you again as he considers your words, deep in thought. You can tell just by the minute twist of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes, and it makes you sick that you can read every single tell of his emotions.
"I wouldn't want to burden you. I am unfamiliar with feelings such as these. I don't think I am fit to be your partner."
"Nobody is perfect," you remind him gently, reaching out to wipe the wetness from the rain off his cheeks. "Do you think I'm perfect?"
"Undoubtedly."
His quickness makes you snort with laughter, hand withdrawing from his space to take the umbrella.
"Wrong. Very wrong. I eavesdropped on you today, you know?"
"I know," he mutters, cheeks flaming with colour again as he remembers how flustered you seemed with the door swinging open. "How much of it did you hear?"
You hum, a soft smile spreading across your face. "Enough."
Neuvillette shrinks back in embarrassment. "And I suppose Wriothesley knew you were behind the door the entire time. Nothing escapes him."
"I'll have to thank him later," you giggle.
The Iudex stiffens. "You will?"
"Well... only if you say it again."
"That's—"
"Please?"
You watch the Adam's apple in his throat bob as he swallows, unable to regain composure.
"If I had feelings for you, would you accept them?"
You close the umbrella and shake it off, relishing in the sprinkle showering over you.
"A million and one times, I would."
He smiles, taking the umbrella from you. His hand lingers over yours for a moment, as always.
forced proximity + "oh no, the power went out, however will we stay warm?!" (/s)
synopsis. itoshi sae doesn't like how mushy you make him feel, but the warmth is nice. kinda.
wc. ~600
— for @saetoshi / @yoisagi my love 💗 | event masterlist ✉️
you didn't think it was possible, but somehow itoshi sae gets infinitely more irritable when he's cold.
he scowls more, hands permanently stuffed into his pockets, and sulks like there's no tomorrow. and he shivers, too. an embarrassing amount. (his pride is always severely injured when you ask him if he wants your help to warm up).
your grouchy roommate always found something to complain about when the weather dipped. whether it be the fact that his heater was always running, or that he has to scrape the ice off his windshield every morning, sae has never been able to see the beauty of winter.
"beauty?" he scoffed when you pointed that fact out one day. you were at the kitchen table and he was on the couch waking up from his midday nap—a typical sunday afternoon that he had long since added to his routine. "yeah, i'd rather admire it from inside. thanks."
"come on, don't be so pessimistic," you scolded, sauntering over to him to shove a pillow into his face. he knocked it away with a frown.
"i'm not pessimistic. just realistic. being cold sucks."
and that should have been the end of it. after that, you had stopped bothering him and purposefully trying to tease him with snide little comments about his disdain for the cold.
well. the universe has always had a funny way of fucking with him.
it's the coldest night of the season thus far. the snow storm raging outside has knocked out the power for the entire building and now the two of you are stuck pressed together under the warmth of your combined blankets.
"quit squirming around or i'll kick you out of my bed."
you make an undignified noise. "you wouldn't."
"i will if you don't stop that and go to sleep. i have to be up early tomorrow."
"this was your idea in the first place!"
sae had been the one to text you, after all. he hadn't even asked nicely, only sending you the word HELP in all capital letters as if he were going into cardiac arrest. you had rushed in to see what was wrong only to get dragged into his bed.
his greed for warmth was nothing new to you, of course, but he was careful to be gentle with you. to make sure he wasn't crushing you or making you uncomfortable. it was his way of being nice and somewhat apologetic that you were being treated as some sort of personal heater.
"i hate you," you tell him when he unceremoniously throws his leg over your entire body to keep you still.
"yeah, whatever. sleep before i kick you out."
"you're the one who asked me to share our blankets," you remind him again.
there's a long silence that follows that statement. it's so quiet that you assume he just ignored you and went to sleep without replying. but then he rolls over until his back is to you and he utters out, strained: "we don't speak of this, ever."
you raise a brow, shifting to face his back. "oh? are you embarrassed that i had to keep you warm?"
"i'm not embarrassed," he quickly corrects, even with the waver of his normally dead voice.
you reach around him, back of your hand resting on his cheek. you feel him tense up beside you in bed and you can't help but burst out laughing.
"your whole face is warm."
he groans, pulling the blankets closer to his side and up over his head so you can't observe him any closer. he's worried that if you did, you might have noticed how incredibly red he was growing. something so out of character would absolutely garner a new game for you and he would never hear the end of it.
for someone with an attitude problem about everything, he was surprisingly easy to shut down. maybe it was just you who had that talent, though.
itoshi sae doesn't like how mushy you make him feel, but the warmth is nice—
"i know you're trying to hide from me! if you just wanted to be held i'd be happy to help."
synopsis. there was a time before you when aki found it hard to sleep. call it sleep debt or whatever, but he's going to squeeze every ounce of rest he can get from his body now.
wc. ~1.2k
— for @naosaki 🫶 i love you | event masterlist ✉️
He used to have nightmares.
They started when he was young and naive, back when he felt like the world could fit into the palm of his hand and the grief he sheltered could flatten armies of enemies.
Sleep did not come easily to Hayakawa Aki.
He was a dead man walking. A corpse with tar black lungs and nothing left to lose. As much as he willingly sacrificed, and as much as he tried to put on a brave face, death petrified him. He spent most nights tossing and turning, eluded by rest leaving him in worsening condition by the day.
There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more than to close his eyes and have the world be still. To sleep without jolting awake at even the tiniest creaks of the floorboards. To be able to be at peace without the sound of a gunshot seared into his memory.
Aki had given up on such a dream many, many years ago.
Then you came along, declared that you were bunking with him while he blankly stared at his single bed in his single room in his apartment that was eerily quiet considering his horribly rowdy roommates, then promptly crawled under the blanket and fell asleep.
He had three choices that day. One, kick you out and risk being reprimanded by Makima herself, which, honestly, sounded the most appealing at the time. Two, sleep on the hardwood floor and develop back pains that would make him devil food by the end of the day. Or three, his least favourite but most logically sound option: sleep in the bed, pressed up against the wall and putting as much distance between your bodies as possible.
And, well. The rest is history.
He discovered a different type of devil wandering the earth. It had warm skin and a cute smile and fit into his arms as if it were shaped from the same clay of which he emerged.
It had no ill intent and sought not the smell of human fear, but the scent of cigarettes and black coffee.
You were a certain kind of evil he couldn't fight, no matter how much he wanted to try. His time was running thin—sand trickling through an hourglass with no signs of stopping.
Aki was hurtling toward his death at a record pace.
He thought he had made peace with that—with the fact that he would never be able to sleep like a little boy again, safe and sound. He was aware that his life was a race against the contracts he had forged years ago, back when he thought devil hunting was the only salvation in the sick world he lived in.
If he could take them all back, he would.
There was nothing he could do now but close his eyes and pretend the days weren't whirring by. He had heard as a child that time flies with the one you love, and he scoffed at such a notion once upon a time.
He would give it all up. Heart, soul, his own flesh if he could stop time just to spend this moment with you for an eternity.
Your eyes flutter open at the sound of your alarm. Aki has long since awoken, groggy but well-rested.
He was always the first one awake. While his mind has been blissfully quieter recently, his body had an awful tendency to jerk into consciousness anyways. He watches your rousing expression carefully, attempting to freeze time itself in the form of a memory.
Warm sunlight pools against your body, swimming in his navy blue sheets. Skin to skin, smile to smile, you kiss him slow and sure—a gesture he has grown familiar with over the past year since you showed up.
"Morning," you yawn, arm draping over his body and a hand slowly trailing from his chest to his neck then finally settling on his cheek.
"You have morning breath." He tells you bluntly, flustered as always.
You snort softly, feigning offense rather poorly. "As if your breath smells like roses right now?"
"Better than yours," he refutes. His fingers deftly squeeze yours until you release his face. You huff dramatically, snatching the blankets with you as you forcefully roll over in bed.
"Fine then. Guess I'll get on with my day without bothering you with my morning breath."
His hand shoots out to capture your wrist as you shuffle out of your side of the bed. Yanking you back, he smothers you under his weight to prevent you from escaping.
"Don't go. Not yet."
"Aki," you laugh while trying to wriggle away to no avail. "I have to go to work."
"Stay home today," he complains, burying his face into your hair so you can't see how absolutely red he's gotten.
"I can't!" You giggle. You start squirming again so he can release you. He does this time, towering over you with some sort of narrowed expression.
"Just stay a little longer," he murmurs, swooping back down to press his lips to your forehead. "Stay."
It's starting to sound more like a demand than a request, so you surrender. Your arms open wide again and he collapses back onto you with a thump.
"You're crushing me," you wheeze from beneath. He shakes his head.
"Deal with it."
"You're seriously going to go back to sleep like this?!"
"Not my fault you make it so easy to fall asleep."
"Didn't know I bored you to death like that," you tease, purposefully dodging the real meaning behind his words because, well, he's equally talented at flustering you.
There was a time before you when Aki found it hard to sleep, tormented by the visions of his entire childhood vanishing in a fraction of a second. It was those nights that were especially unbearable, never relieving him from his painful existence and forcing him to listen to the explosion of guns in his ears over and over again.
Call it sleep debt or whatever, but he's going to squeeze every ounce of rest he can get from his body now.
"You're heavy," you whine one last time for good measure. He doesn't do anything but smile against your skin, savouring every second of your body under his.
Despite your complaining, your hands tangle into his hair almost instantly and you tug him just a bit closer, heart to heart.
Sleep washes over him. You really must have been a devil in disguise, offering up the most despicable evil of all: love.
He knew his time was short. He knew that love would only make it hurt all the more.
But your fingers are combing through his hair and he can feel the gentle rumble of your voice in your chest as you tell him your plans for the day just as his eyes start to feel heavy.
There's a weakness you expose in him, a gap leftover from his lonely childhood yearning for companionship. You fill in all the missing pieces—complete him in a way that revenge and hatred could not.
So he figures, maybe it would be okay to be selfish and just close his eyes right now. Be loved. Sleep and dream of nothing but a future he could never have with you.
works will be added here in no particular order as they get (probably slowly) completed ^ ^ due to similar submissions, some requests have been combined into one. subject to change !!
BLUE LOCK
wherever you are, wherever you may be — i. rin
soulmates + "i'm done waiting."
itoshi rin meets you under a sky full of fireworks. he spends the next 6 years of his life trying to convince himself that he doesn't love you. you spend the next 6 years giving him every reason why he should.
another sunny day — i. rin
handcuffed together + matchmaking gone wrong
rin doesn't get how his "friends" can come up with such insane ideas. like, seriously.
to the ends of our world — i. rin
academic rivals to lovers + "i could kiss you right now!" + "we fell asleep by accident and woke up as a mess of tangled limbs."
all he said was that he would help you with calculus. he didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.
always watching over you — i. rin
enemies to lovers + drunk confession
if rin hates you then why is he calling you up at two in the morning?
the voice in my heart — i. sae
forced proximity + "oh no, the power went out, however will we stay warm?!" (/s)
itoshi sae doesn't like how mushy you make him feel, but the warmth is nice. kinda.
those words you spoke to me — i. sae
"i think i'm in love with you." + "don't look at me that way." + unrequited love (damn are you ok)
you were always staring at itoshi sae's back. he was forever chasing something greater, not once turning around to see that look in your eyes.
the love that binds us — i. yoichi
mutual pining + "i could kiss you right now!"
isagi yoichi already has you wrapped around his finger. now all he has to do is be brave about it. or, you know. impulsive.
GENSHIN IMPACT
across the violet sky — lyney
"you look beautiful in the moonlight."
all that fretting was over nothing, because he's looking at you now and the only thing he can think of saying is...
ink to paper — k. ayato
mutual & oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."
yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.
a simple mission — neuvillette
accidental confession + "say it again. please."
oh. oh no. you were most certainly not supposed to overhear this conversation between the iudex and the duke, but now you don't even know how to act right.
HAIKYUU
a place to call home — k. shinsuke
one bed + childhood rivals to lovers
"be kind, shinsuke." that's what yumie always told her grandson. and he would live by those words, even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.
strangeling — u. wakatoshi
"we're fighting. i'll take the couch tonight." ➡️ (bonus) "we were fighting???"
it's not fair. how are you supposed to stay mad at him if he's going to choose you over the comfort of his bed?
JUJUTSU KAISEN
what it means to love — f. megumi
accidental confession + "do you want my jacket?"
turns out that being raised by gojo means sometimes accidentally throwing all inhibition into the wind.
letters from heaven — g. satoru
"i think i'm in love with you." + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining
love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.
CHAINSAW MAN
adamantine dreams — h. aki
one bed + "wait, don't pull away... not yet."
there was a time before you when aki found it hard to sleep. call it sleep debt or whatever, but he's going to squeeze every ounce of rest he can get from his body now.
Can you do a Wriothesley one where we take care of him when he's like sick or injured 👉👈 gotta treat my husband ykyk😞
a/n: hii i'm sorry this is kind of late! got busy with life stuff so i died a bit. anyways please take this sickfic <3
you've been spoiling him to no end.
if his sinuses weren't painfully congested and his throat didn't feel like he just swallowed glass, he would probably be smiling.
right now, he just feels miserable.
wriothesley has always prided himself on being the picture of health. to your utter jealousy, there was absolutely nothing in the world that could get him sick. even in the deepest winters with the chill of the sea sweeping over fontaine, he would walk around with only his jacket dangling off his shoulders.
you'd like to think that this is karma for all the times he rubbed in your face how he would never get sick.
"you didn't have to dive into the water like that," you scold him.
"i did have to," he replies stubbornly, lip jutting out like a child. you smear your finger across his pout to effectively wipe it off his face, laughing when his head falls forward against your shoulder in response.
"it’s just a necklace."
"it’s your favourite necklace." he quickly corrects, as if that would justify the extremity of leaping into the sea and not surfacing for three whole minutes.
"oh, sweetest..." you coo, holding his head against you and laughing again (much to his dismay) when he sniffles in a weak attempt to clear his sinuses. "you didn't have to do that."
you can feel him physically deflating in your hold so you stammer out: "but i really do appreciate you getting it back for me!"
the man just pulls away with a scowl, looking like a mixture of a kicked puppy and a cranky old dog. "you owe me for that."
"owe you?" you repeat in disbelief. "and what would you like, hm?"
"feed me."
"..."
his face lights up again with amusement as you freeze, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water trying to process what's just been requested of you.
if it were anyone else, you would have thought it was a joke. but you've known wriothesley long enough to know the telling pull of his smirk, the lazy yet smug expression screaming that he's being dead serious.
and, well, he did leap off a bridge 30 feet in the air after your charm slipped off your neck. and he did manage to recover it, returning to you like a matted wet animal all pouty and shivering from the cold.
the cherry on top of it all was that he insisted on clipping it back around your neck, prolonging his state of being drenched in freezing sea water and guaranteeing his sickness.
so... you suppose you do owe him this at the very least.
that's how ten minutes later you end up straddling his lap, warm bowl of porridge in one hand and a spoon in the other.
"open." you demand, spoon already squeezing past his lips. he chuckles, allowing you to feed him even in such a compromising position.
you look completely flustered, too. he can feel the tremble of the spoon in his mouth as he swallows his meal. maybe it's the iron grip he has on your hips. maybe it's the fact that your bulky, brooding, monster of a husband is acting like he can't feed himself.
either way, your embarrassment doesn't go unnoticed and you're sure he's enjoying every second of it.
"i should get sick more often," he muses.
you groan, realizing that you'd rather take his endless gloating over this.
annaxmalina
2087
izzy806