nell

she/her - 23 2d character enthusiast i reblog fic recs i guess(?) 🍉

[p1stach-io]

sugar talking: two

summary: dean will do anything to win you back, but winning you over proves harder than why he bargained for. (5.9k)

pairing: dean di laurentis x reader

content warning: relationship dysfunction, dean di laurentis is a mess, yearning, jealousy, language, alcohol, hurt/comfort.

authors note: this is for everyone who wanted to see how taking him back would play out. this may be the longest piece i’ve wrote on record but i couldn’t let this man get off so easily…

part one.

the tail-lights of suni's honda civic bled into the darkness of the gravel driveway, leaving nothing behind but the exhaust fumes and a hollow, ringing silence.

dean stood frozen under the dim glow of the porch light, his hand still half-raised in the air as if he could somehow catch the car and pull it back.

the cold night air slapped against his face, a brutal contrast to the suffocating heat of the house behind him, but he couldn't feel it.

his mouth was slightly open and his throat was completely dry.

i am officially withdrawing my terms.

the words repeated in his head, sharp and clinical, cutting right through the lingering buzz of the alcohol in his system.

dean di laurentis didn't get left hanging on driveways.

dean di laurentis didn't get tongue-tied.

he was the guy who always had the perfect pivot, the effortless laugh, the smooth reassurance that smoothed over any wrinkle.

but as he stared at the empty space where you had just been standing, a sickening wave of realization crashed over him.

he hadn't been playing a game.

you had just seen right through the defense mechanism he had been using his entire life.

the heavy front door thudded open behind him, letting out a brief burst of blaring music before closing again.

two sets of footsteps crunched on the gravel.

"hey, man."

a heavy hand came down on his shoulder.

dean flinched, snapping his head around to see tucker standing there, his face tight with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

right next to him was beau maxwell. his arms crossed over his chest and his usual laid-back energy completely gone, replaced by a rare, dead-serious frown.

"i told you, dean," tucker said quietly, looking down the empty road. "i warned you that she doesn't do the whole half-in, half-out thing."

"i wasn't half-in," dean snapped, his voice suddenly raw, a dangerous edge cracking through his usual easy-going demeanor.

he ripped his shoulder away from tucker's grip, running a frantic hand through his blonde hair. "i was going to tell her tonight. i was waiting for the house to clear out so i could ask her to stay. permanently."

beau let out a low, heavy sigh, shaking his head. "then why didn't you say it in front of everyone? why did you let her watch you flirt with some sophomore if she's the one you wanted? you can't treat a girl like a secret and then expect her to treat you like a priority."

tucker nodded in agreement. "beau's right. you let her think she was just another hookup that half the campus has already been with. you can't blame her for cutting you off."

dean quickly opened his mouth to defend himself.

he wanted to explain that the girl by the keg meant absolutely nothing, that it was just muscle memory.

it just the casual persona he put on so nobody looked too closely at how much he actually cared.

but the words died in his throat.

i know when someone is just trying to win over a crowd.

you had called it.

every single bit of it.

he had been so terrified of admitting, even to himself, that he had finally found the right girl. the one he had been passively waiting for his entire life.

but he had treated her like a secret and in doing so, he had completely destroyed the only real thing he had.

"i fucked up, guys," dean whispered, his voice dropping into a register they had never heard from him before.

it was entirely stripped of pride, heavy with a terrifying, sudden desperation. "i really, really fucked up."

beau looked at tucker, then back at dean, his expression softening into something deeply sympathetic. "yeah. you did. and if i know her? she's not the type to give you a second chance just for the sake of it. you're going to have to actually work for this one."

dean didn't go back inside the party.

he walked straight up the stairs to his room, locked the door, and sat on the edge of his bed in the dark.

the scent of your coconut shampoo still lingered faintly on his pillow.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the hum of the tires against the asphalt was the only sound inside suni's car for the first three miles.

after the oppressive, vibrating bass from earlier, the silence inside the sedan felt less like an absence of noise and more like a physical weight, settling deep into your bones.

you blankly stared out the passenger window, watching the streetlamps bleed past in long, blurry streaks of amber.

"do you want me to say it?" suni asked quietly, her brown eyes fixed on the dark road ahead.

her hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel, still vibrating with that protective adrenaline.

"say what?" you murmured, your forehead resting against the cool glass.

"that you are an absolute fucking badass," she said, a small, fierce smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"i mean it. people don't just walk away from dean. girls usually dissolve into a puddle when he looks in their general direction, and you just destroyed him on his own driveway."

you let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, feeling the tight knot in your chest loosen just a fraction. "i don't feel like a badass. i feel hollow."

"that's just the detox," suni promised gently, reaching over to give your knee a supportive squeeze before putting both hands back on the wheel.

"it's the sugar crash after two months of eating nothing but empty calories. it'll pass."

she was right.

it was a crash.

but as you pulled up to your apartment building, the relief you expected to feel was shadowed by a lingering, dull ache.

you had drawn the line. you had won the argument.

so why did it feel like you were the one recovering from a blow?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

four days passed in a tense, quiet limbo. you stayed away from the standard student hangouts.

you kept your head down, and entirely avoided the athletic side of campus.

which was much easier said than done.

it was actually hannah wells who broke the radio silence when you bumped into each other at work.

you two weren't particularly close outside of your shifts, but you had always been good coworkers, and she gave you a sympathetic look the second she saw you.

she admitted right off the bat that garrett had practically begged her to feel you out and see if you would be willing to hear dean's side of things.

but hannah made it clear she wasn't actually pushing his agenda.

you let her know, gently but firmly, that you just didn't want to hear him out right now.

she nodded immediately, completely understanding.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you were halfway through your shift at malone's when the bell over the front door chimed and beau maxwell walked in from the cold.

the dinner rush hadn't started yet, leaving the restaurant washed in a warm, lazy quiet.

soft music drifted through the speakers. behind the bar, hannah was busy polishing glasses, while allie was sitting in one of the booths near the window. she was seemingly looking over her homework but clearly tuned into the room.

you looked up from the hostess stand and immediately narrowed your eyes.

beau rarely came here unless dean dragged him.

and judging by the guilty, deeply uncomfortable look on his face, this definitely wasn't a social visit.

"it's that bad, huh?" you asked dryly before he could even open his mouth to speak.

beau blinked. "what?"

"you drew the short straw." you crossed your arms. "dean sent you to talk to me."

hannah stopped wiping her glass, an amused smirk spreading across her face. the fact that beau's expression instantly gave him away nearly made you laugh.

"oh my god," you said, an incredulous smile finally breaking across your face. "he did."

"to be fair," beau said carefully, raising his hands in surrender, "i volunteered. mostly because i couldn't take another night of him pacing the living room floor like a caged animal."

allie leaned out of her booth slightly. "wait. dean di laurentis is sending representatives now?"

hannah leaned her elbows on the bar, looking entirely entertained. "please tell me he at least prepared a speech."

beau groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "you people are evil."

"no," you corrected lightly, grabbing a stack of menus from the counter beside you, "he's pure evil."

that earned you a reluctant laugh from beau. he shoved his hands into his pockets, looking both amused and slightly helpless.

"okay," he admitted. "maybe this does look a little pathetic."

"a little?" allie echoed from her booth, shaking her head. "beau, i don't know why you're doing this for him."

hannah pointed a bar towel at you. "his approval ratings are in the toilet."

you pressed your lips together, fighting another smile.

it was ridiculous.

dean was apparently moping around because you stopped answering his texts.

a month ago, the idea would've satisfied you.

now it mostly just felt surreal.

beau's expression softened as your smile faded slightly. "i've known dean a long time," he said quietly. "and i've honestly never seen him like this before."

you focused on straightening the menus in your hands even though they were already perfectly aligned. "beau—"

"no, seriously." he leaned against the hostess stand, dropping his voice. "the guy is a disaster. garrett says he's playing like crap at practice because he's distracted all the time. coach yelled at him so hard yesterday his face literally turned purple.”

“and logan threatened to throw dean's phone into a lake because he keeps checking if you texted him back every thirty seconds. he doesn't sleep. he just... he stares at his phone."

a reluctant laugh slipped out before you could stop it, but it died quickly.

"this is insane," you muttered, covering your face briefly with your hand. "he's literally running a pr campaign."

"that's actually exactly what tucker called it," beau admitted.

the amusement faded entirely after a second, though, something heavier settling back into your chest. because underneath all the ridiculousness... there was still hurt.

a deep, aching bruise left by a boy who thought everything in life came easy.

you slowly lowered your hand. "did he send you because he thinks if enough people tell me he's miserable, i'll magically forget why i left?"

the teasing atmosphere immediately evaporated. beau straightened slightly, his voice turning serious.

"no." he shook his head.

"i came because he knows he hurt you. and because for once in his life, he's too scared to make it worse. he's terrified that if he pushes you, you'll completely erase him."

that caught you off guard.

even hannah went quiet behind the bar, returning to her glasses. you looked down at the menus in your hands, tracing your thumb absentmindedly along the edges.

beau hesitated before continuing. "he's not trying to charm his way out of this anymore," he said carefully. "honestly? i think that's freaking him out the most. he doesn't know how to exist without his armor."

before you could respond, the front door opened again and a group of customers entered, breaking the moment apart. hannah immediately pushed off the bar, professional mode clicking back in. "right, back to it before della catches us."

allie slid back into her booth to give the customers room. beau stepped away from the hostess stand, giving you one last careful look. "i'm not saying you should forgive him," he said gently. "that's your call. but i do think losing you finally forced him to become a person instead of just a personality."

and annoyingly enough, that line stayed with you long after he left.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

by the end of the week, the hurt had hardened into a reckless, heavy spike of anger.

suni practically forced you out the door to the pre-game mixer at the phi kappa house. "you need to show up, look stunning which isn't hard for you, and prove you aren't hiding in your room crying over a some hockey player," she insisted.

the house was a sensory overload—a wall of thumping bass, sticky floors, and sweat-fogged windows.

it took exactly five minutes for the room to feel subtly dialed into your arrival. across the crowded living room, the hockey team was gathered near the back patio.

and right in the center was dean.

he looked exhausted, his gaze drifting aimlessly until logan nudged him, pointing in your direction. the moment dean's blue eyes locked onto yours, his entire posture changed.

his chest rose sharply, and he took an instinctive step forward, completely abandoning his conversation.

his eyes flared with a sudden, desperate hope.

you felt the invisible weight of the room watching, waiting for the classic fallout. a dark, defiant spark ignited in your chest.

dean had spent months keeping your relationship a secret, acting like a casual observer while he entertained a crowd.

two can play that game.

you deliberately tore your eyes away from him, turning your gaze toward liam. liam was a handsome football player who had been hovering in your orbit since the start of the academic year.

he was tall, built, and more than happy to have your sudden, undivided attention.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw dean freeze. the hope on his face shattered.

you leaned in close to liam, letting your laughter trail off into something softer, low and intimate.

you stepped directly into his space, your hand sliding deliberately up his arm to rest against his shoulder, your fingers brushing the nape of his neck.

liam's eyes darkened instantly with surprise and heat. his hand came up, wrapping firmly around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

across the room, dean looked like he had been physically struck.

you could see his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek, his knuckles turning stark white as his grip tightened around his red cup.

garrett muttered something in his ear, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder, but dean brushed him off as his eyes burned into you with a raw, bleeding agony.

you didn't look back at him. instead, you leaned up on your toes, your eyes dropping to liam's lips.

"you're incredibly beautiful tonight," liam murmured, his voice thick, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your top, tracing the bare skin of your hip.

"thank you," you breathed out, tilting your head up slightly. "liam?"

"mhm?"

"kiss me."

he didn't hesitate. liam leaned down, slanting his mouth over yours.

he didn't hold back at all. his lips were warm and demanding, his hand pressing firmly into the small of your back to hold you tight against his chest.

you let your eyes close and leaned into the weight of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss into something slow, deliberate, and deeply sensual.

you made sure it lingered, playing your part perfectly for the crowd.

and for the specific boy breaking apart by the doors.

a low ripple of whispers washed through the immediate room. the kiss was thick with heat, but it didn't ignite that familiar, electric ache you only ever felt with a certain stupid idiot.

when you finally pulled back, liam was breathing heavily, a dazed, smug smile tugging at his lips.

you offered him a quiet, heavy-lidded smile before finally looking past his shoulder.

the satisfaction immediately turned to ash in your throat.

dean looked physically ill. the fierce, possessive anger had completely drained out of him, leaving behind a hollow, entirely defeated devastation.

his face was completely pale, his eyes wide as he stared at you. it was like he was looking at the end of his life.

watching you give someone else that kind of intimacy had entirely undone him.

dean's fingers slacked. his cup slipped from his hand, clattering against the floor and splashing beer across his shoes, but he didn't even notice.

he turned on his heel and blindly pushed through the crowd, fleeing out the back doors into the freezing night air.

beau shot you a heavy, disappointed look before turning to follow him out.

you stood frozen beside liam, the adrenaline completely evaporating, leaving behind a bitter, hollow ache in your chest. you had hurt dean exactly the way he hurt you.

so why did you feel like throwing up?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

dean didn't find you until two weeks later. it took him two full weeks after that party to gather the courage to approach you again. when he finally did, it wasn't at a party, or in his bedroom, or under dim lights where he could press his mouth against yours and make you forget.

it was the middle of the afternoon in the campus library.

you were sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs near the back windows, a stack of annotated articles spread across the table beside you.

for a long minute, he just stood at the end of the aisle.

god, he looked awful. the sharp jawline you used to trace was covered in a rough, uneven stubble. his signature silver-tongued confidence was entirely absent.

you sensed him before he even spoke. your eyes lifted slowly from your laptop. no warmth or softening. just... nothing.

dean flinched. "hey," he said, his voice raw and stripped of its usual smooth cadence.

you looked back down at your laptop screen, your voice flat. "dean."

he swallowed hard, stepping closer, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to keep himself from reaching out. "can we talk for maybe a second? please. just... two minutes. i'll leave right after, i swear."

"i'm really busy right now, dean."

"i know. i know you are." his voice cracked. he hesitated, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp spike of residual pain from the party. he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, but his voice shook. "are you... are you seeing him? liam?"

you didn't even look up from your screen. "that's really none of your business."

"none of my—" dean let out a bitter, breathy laugh, his eyes swimming. he leaned slightly over the table, his voice dropping to a harsh, desperate whisper. "that was low, you know. even for you. putting on a show like that in front of everyone just to rub my face in it?"

you finally shut your laptop softly, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms.

you scoffed at him, a cold, mocking sound that cut right through his defense.

"low?" you repeated, your voice slicing through him. "you should worry less about who i'm kissing, dean, and worry a lot more about yourself. you don't get to lecture me about public displays when you practically pioneered them."

the reality of your words hit him like a physical punch to his ribs. he actually took a half-step back, his chest heaving as the hypocrisy collapsed on him.

he was desperate to know if you were talking to liam. he was paralyzed by the thought that you had moved on, but he knew he had no right to ask.

"i'm sorry," he whispered, the defensive edge completely evaporating, leaving him entirely exposed. "you're right. i have no right. i just... i think i genuinely don't know how to handle this."

"i think you genuinely don't understand why you hurt me in the first place," you countered calmly, the honesty of it cutting deeper than your anger ever could.

"you understand that i left. you understand that your bed is empty and your ego is bruised. but i don't think you actually understood what it felt like to stand next to you and constantly feel temporary. to feel like a placeholder until someone better, or flashier, caught your eye."

dean went completely still.

"i liked you so much, dean," you admitted quietly. it made you almost sick to say it. the words tasted bitter and heavy as they left your tongue, but unfortunately it was true.

"it was enough to make excuses for things i normally wouldn't tolerate. i let myself believe you actually cared, and you made me feel stupid for it. you treated my feelings like they were disposable. i'm not doing it anymore. i'm done."

"please," he whispered, his voice dropping to a raw, desperate plea. "don't say it's over. just give me something to fix. tell me what to do."

"there's nothing to do," you said, your heart aching behind the wall you had built, but you forced your voice to remain steady. "i just need you to leave."

he stood there for a long, agonizing beat, looking at you like a man watching his life sentence being handed down.

finally, he closed his eyes, took a shaky, ragged breath, and nodded.

"okay," he sighed, his shoulders hunched in complete defeat. "okay. i'm sorry."

he turned around and walked away, his heavy footsteps fading down the library aisle, leaving you alone with a crushing, heavy silence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

two more weeks passed. then three.

if dean's initial reaction to the "breakup" was a loud, messy public moping tour, his reaction to the library confrontation was a total blackout.

the campus gossip machine slowed down because dean stopped giving them material.

he wasn't partying.

he wasn't hovering at the edges of your vision.

but he hadn't given up instead he had just changed his tactics.

the loud gestures were replaced by quiet, undeniable consistency.

every tuesday and thursday morning—the days you had an 10.00 am seminar on the opposite side of campus—there was a large vanilla latte waiting for you at the barista counter, already paid for.

no note.

just your exact, complicated order.

when you tried to refuse it, the barista just shrugged. "he said if you don't take it, i have to throw it out. every day."

you left it on the counter the first three times.

by the fourth time, the cold winter air bit too hard, and you took it.

it tasted like an apology.

then came the hockey games. suni dragged you to the friday night game against yale.

you sat twelve rows up, determined to look indifferent.

but the moment the team skated onto the ice, it was clear dean wasn't playing for the scouts or the crowd anymore.

he played with a brutal, self-punishing intensity. and when he scored the game-winning goal in the third period, the stadium erupted.

normally, dean would skate a lap, flashing his devastating smile to the student section, soaking in the god-like adoration.

instead, he skated straight to the center line, stopped, and looked directly up into the stands. right at you.

he didn't smile. he just held your gaze for three agonizing seconds, chest heaving, before skating back to the bench.

"okay," suni muttered beside you, watching him go. "that was... actually kind of miserable. he didn't even wink at the girls."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the next afternoon, you were heading out of the science building when a shadow fell over you.

you braced yourself, expecting to see blue eyes and a desperate expression, but when you looked up, it was tucker.

he stepped right into your pace, unceremoniously slinging his heavy arm over your shoulders, pulling you briefly into his side to shield you from a sudden blast of freezing wind.

"hey," tucker said quietly, giving your shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze before letting his arm drop back to his side. "you got a minute? i'm not here on his orders, i swear. he doesn't even know i'm talking to you."

you didn't walk away, but you still kept your guard up. "tucker, if this is about dean—"

"it is," he interrupted gently. he gestured toward a quiet bench under a bare oak tree.

once you both sat down, he leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at you with complete sincerity.

"i'm not here to tell you he's miserable, because you already know that, and honestly, he deserves to be. but he's always been the guy who keeps one foot out the door because he thinks if he doesn't fully commit, nothing can actually hurt him."

you let out a bitter, breathy sigh, looking down at your boots. "so i'm just supposed to wait around while he plays psychologist with himself?"

"no," tucker said firmly, catching your eye.

"absolutely not. you did the right thing by walking away. you forced him to look in a mirror, and he hated what he saw. but what i'm trying to tell you, as your friend he's not trying to trick you back. he's genuinely terrified because he realized his own cowardice cost him the only real thing he's ever wanted."

tucker leaned back slightly against the bench. "i've never seen dean look at a girl the way he looks at you. he's not trying to smooth things over anymore, he's just trying to figure out how to be a man you could actually trust. i'm not asking you to take him back. i'm just asking you not to completely write him off before you let him speak."

you sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of tucker's words sinking deep into your chest.

tucker wasn't an enabler. he was your friend, and he was the moral compass of that friend group.

if he was defending the sincerity of dean's change, it had to mean something.

"thank you, tuck," you murmured softly.

he gave you a brief, supportive nod, standing up from the bench. "just think about it, okay? see you around."

you watched him walk away, your mind a chaotic blur.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a few days later, you were sitting on the couch in your apartment, staring blankly at a textbook, when suni dropped a mug of tea onto the coffee table in front of you.

"you're thinking about him," she said flatly, crossing her arms as she leaned against the back of the chair.

you let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples. "i don't want to be. but it's been a month, suni. he's not stopping. every time i turn around, there's a coffee, or he's clearing out of a room the second i walk into it so i don't feel uncomfortable. and his friends are trying to reason with me. it's infuriating."

"why is it infuriating?"

"because it's working," you admitted, your voice cracking. "it's making me remember why i fell for him before he started acting like a coward. but i'm terrified. if i let him back in, what happens when he gets bored of making amends? what happens when the crowd calls his name again?"

suni searched your face, seeing the deep, defensive armor you had built. she slid onto the couch next to you, pulling your hand into hers.

"then you make him earn the right to even ask that question," suni said softly, squeezing your fingers.

"you don't fold just because he's acting like a human being now. that's the baseline expectation, not a reward. if you want to talk to him, talk to him. but don't let him off the hook until you are 100% sure he knows he's lucky to breathe the same air as you."

just promise me you walk away if he slips back into his old habits." she sighed holding onto your hands.

"i promise," you whispered, a sudden wave of clarity washing over you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you didn't go to the rink to find him.

it was close to midnight when you found yourself walking toward the athletic center to drop off a borrowed, heavily annotated textbook for hannah.

but as you stepped into the corridor, the muffled, echoing thwack of a puck against boards drew you toward the main arena doors.

armed with suni and tucker's advice echoing in your head and a tug in your chest you couldn't ignore anymore, you pulled open the heavy side doors of the rink.

the stadium was dark, except for the bright, stark floodlights illuminating the pristine white sheet of ice.

dean was alone.

he was stripped down to his practice jersey and skates. there was no crowd to impress, no scouts watching, no teammates to joke with.

it was just him, a puck, and a net.

he was doing suicide drills—skating full sprint to the blue line, stopping hard enough to spray a cascade of ice shavings, skating back, and doing it again.

he was panting, his blonde hair soaked with sweat, his movements driven by a furious, desperate energy.

he was trying to skate away from his own head.

you stood by the player's bench, your arms crossed, watching him coolly.

"you're slacking on your defense di laurentis," you called out. your voice echoed sharply in the cavernous, empty arena.

dean froze.

his skates dug into the ice with a harsh screech, breaking the silence.

he snapped his head around, his chest heaving as he stared at you.

for a second, he looked entirely paralyzed, as if he thought he was hallucinating.

"you're here," he breathed, slowly skating toward the boards. he stopped a few feet away, looking up from the ice.

"i'm here," you said softly, your tone steady, giving him absolutely nothing to work with. no smile or softness. you unlatched the heavy wooden door of the player's bench. "i think you've done enough pacing around campus, dean. come here."

before he could answer, you took a tentative step out onto the ice. you were wearing regular winter boots, completely unequipped for a freshly zambonied sheet of ice.

"wait, wait, hold on—" dean warned, his eyes widening in alarm.

naturally, you didn't listen. your heel hit a patch of smooth ice, and your balance instantly vanished. your arms flailed as you slipped backward, a short gasp escaping your throat.

but you didn't hit the ice.

dean moved with the terrifying speed of a professional athlete. in a fraction of a second, he closed the distance, his strong gloved hands catching you right around the waist. he hauled you against his chest, his skates digging hard into the ice to anchor both of your weights.

you gasped, your hands automatically flying up to grip his broad shoulders. you were pressed flush against him, the cool scent of the ice and his familiar cologne enveloping you completely.

"gotcha," dean whispered, his breath puffing white in the cold air.

he didn't let go.

his hands stayed firmly clamped around your waist, pulling you so close that you could feel the rapid, thumping beat of his heart against your chest.

he was looking down at you like you were the only thing left in the entire world, his eyes intense, wide, and bright with unshed tears.

no armor. just dean.

but even wrapped in his arms, you kept your gaze sharp.

you didn't melt….. just yet.

"you're a fucking idiot," you murmured, your voice level and direct. "you really messed up, dean."

"i know," he whispered, his voice cracking as a tear finally slipped down his cheek, cutting through the sweat on his face. he didn't even try to brush it away.

"i'm the biggest idiot. i ruined everything. the night you left... i sat in my room and i realized i've spent my whole life making sure nobody could ever reject me by making sure i never fully committed to anything.” he continued.

“and then i met you. and i was so terrified of how much power you had over me that i tried to make you small so i could feel big."

he took a shaky breath, his grip tightening around your waist as if you might vanish if he let go.

"seeing you with liam? it nearly killed me. but the worst part wasn't jealousy. the worst part was realizing i was the one who drove you into his arms. i am so sorry. i am so, so sorry for making you feel like a secret. i swear to god, i love you. i don't want anyone else. i just want you."

you stood steady in his hold, letting the weight of his words hang in the freezing air.

your heart was pounding, but you kept your hands firm against his shoulders, maintaining your boundary.

"words are easy for you, dean," you said quietly.

"you've always been good with a crowd. you've always known exactly what to say to smooth things over. i don't want a public spectacle. i care about what this is."

"this isn't a performance," he choked out, his shoulders hunching in complete defeat, entirely exposed to you. "tell me what to do. anything. i don't care how long it takes."

you looked at him for a long moment, watching the genuine, stripped-back desperation in his eyes. only then did you let a very small, guarded smile touch your lips. it wasn't a total surrender, but it was a crack in the ice.

"i'm not ready to give you a second chance," you told him firmly, your voice unwavering.

"and i'm definitely not ready to forget how you treated me. but i am willing to stop running so if you want to try and earn my trust back, you can start by taking me on a real date. next friday. and if you slip back into your old habits even once? i'm gone. do you understand me?"

a breathless, stunned laugh escaped dean's lips. it wasn't his usual confident chuckle.

it was a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, heavy with the realization of just how close he had come to losing you.

"yes," he whispered fiercely, his eyes shining as he looked down at you. "yes, absolutely. whatever you want. however long it takes. i'll be exactly who you need me to be."

you let your eyes drop to his lips, then back to his eyes, finally allowing yourself to relax against his chest. "show me."

dean didn't hesitate.

he leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, desperate, passionate kiss.

it wasn't the smooth, practiced kiss of a guy trying to charm his way into a girl's room.

it was heavy with weeks of longing, raw with the terror of almost losing you, and overflowing with a profound, aching relief.

he poured everything he couldn't put into words into the press of his mouth against yours, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as if he could bind your paths together right then and there.

when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. both of you were breathing heavily, the white puffs of your breath mingling together in the cold air.

dean let out a soft, shaky laugh, a brilliant, breathtaking smile finally spreading across his handsome face—the first real smile he had had in weeks.

"so," dean murmured, his thumb gently tracing your jawline, though his eyes still held that cautious, vulnerable edge. "does this mean my approval ratings are finally going up?"

you let out a genuine laugh, but you didn't let him entirely off the hook. "don't push your luck, di laurentis. you are still on probation."

"i'll take it," he whispered, before leaning right back down to kiss you again, your laughter echoing beautifully in the empty arena.

taglist: @strangegirl26sff @soleilgrec @tinkerbelltxt @maybankslover @junipermarche @cloudyzip @smilezzz-artzs @itmekelpy @dedicatedfangirl2001 @otraweasley99 @user2345 @shatteredinkpot @historygeekqueen @brianna28483 @bisexual-and-intellectual @nattieot7 @moonlitastra

[sanchooinc]

CUTEE

[garrettgrahamswhore]

🏒𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 [𝟒]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dean di laurentis x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — after a weekend that changed everything, you and dean try to pretend nothing has shifted between you. but hurt feelings, mixed signals, and one overheard conversation make pretending impossible.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — angst, hurt feelings, miscommunication, emotional confrontation, overheard conversation, no smut.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 6,097.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — part four is here ♡ this one is definitely a little heavier, and dean is trying… but let’s be honest, y/n isn’t exactly making it easy for him either. i hope you like it, and thank you so much for reading and supporting this series <3

sneak peek | part one | part two | part three

(𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓) | (𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓)

The bathroom mirror didn’t help.

Which was rude, honestly, because you’d gone in there fully intending to pull yourself together.

That was the whole point of hiding in a bathroom after a morning like that: splash water on your face, stare at yourself until you couldn’t stand it anymore, and eventually walk back out pretending you were the kind of person who could sleep with Dean Di Laurentis and not immediately spiral about it.

Unfortunately, the mirror showed you exactly what you already knew: you looked like hell — not enough for someone to immediately ask if you needed water or an exorcism, probably, but enough that you could see it. Your hair was a little messy, your lips were still swollen from last night, and there was a faint mark low on your neck that you had no memory of getting; apparently, your brain had remembered exactly how everything felt and almost none of how it actually happened.

But it was your eyes that gave you away.

You looked like someone who’d let last night get under her skin, then woken up wondering if she was the only one who’d made it mean something.

You knew you were being dramatic, but you were still thinking it.

Because Dean hadn’t been cruel, that was the problem.

Cruel would’ve given you something sharp to hold on to. You could’ve snapped back, gotten dressed, and spent the whole drive home turning it over in your head until hating him felt easier than wanting him.

But Dean hadn’t been cruel.

He’d sounded nervous, of all things — too light, too quick, too Dean — and somehow, that hurt more, because Dean always joked when things got too real. You knew him well enough by now to recognize the instinct for what it was, his way of putting words between himself and anything that got too close.

Last night, though, you’d seen what happened when he didn’t.

He’d been careful with you, warm in a way you hadn’t expected, patient enough to make your chest ache; he’d said your name in the dark as he meant it, and his hand had hesitated before settling on your waist, like he was still waiting for permission to hold you after everything else.

Then morning came, and Dean gave you both a way out: the wine, because blaming that was easier than admitting what had actually happened, easier than looking too closely at what you were leaving behind.

“So,” Dean had murmured, his voice rough from sleep, his arm still warm around your waist. “We’re blaming the wine, right?”

He hadn’t sounded cruel when he said it.

That was the worst part.

You turned on the sink and let the water run longer than you needed.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Waste water. That’ll help.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and you went still with your hand still under the running water.

“Hey,” Dean said, quiet enough that it made your fingers tighten around the edge of the sink.

Not smug, not teasing, not that lazy morning voice he’d used yesterday before brunch, back when complicated had still felt fun instead of whatever this was, sitting heavy in your chest.

“You okay?”

You closed your eyes for a second. There it was again — that carefulness, that softness he kept offering even after he’d been the reason it hurt.

“I’m fine,” you managed.

For a second, there was only the sound of the water running between you, and then Dean’s voice came softly through the door.

“That was a terrible lie.”

Your throat tightened, which was annoying, because crying over Dean in a hotel bathroom seemed like the kind of thing you should be legally immune to.

“I’m getting ready,” you called back.

“You locked yourself in the bathroom.”

“I’m in the bathroom,” you corrected, because apparently that distinction mattered.

“You’ve been in there for ten minutes.”

“I’m having a moment.”

Dean huffed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Can you open the door?”

You looked at the lock.

Your hand didn’t move.

“No.”

There was another pause, and somehow, this one was worse.

Dean was good at filling the silence. He usually treated quiet like a personal challenge, something he could flirt or joke or annoy his way through until everyone around him forgot what they’d almost said.

But this time, he didn’t.

“Okay,” he said.

Just that.

No push. No laugh. No dramatic sigh through the door about how mean you were being to him before breakfast. He just accepted it, and somehow that made you want to open the door more than if he’d kept asking.

You didn’t.

You listened to him move away instead, his footsteps soft against the carpet, and only when you were sure he wasn’t right outside anymore did you let yourself breathe.

The worst part was that you still believed him a little.

Not completely. Not enough to make it stop hurting. But a little.

Because Dean hadn’t looked like someone who regretted last night.

Not when he’d asked if you were okay with that serious look in his eyes. Not when he’d come back from the bathroom with a damp towel and cleaned you up gently, his hand resting against your thigh as he needed you to know he was still there. Not when he’d stood beside the bed afterward, waiting for you to lift the blanket before he got back in, as if he hadn’t already had you in every other way but still didn’t want to assume he could hold you.

You remembered lifting the blanket.

You remembered how quickly he slid in behind you.

You remembered thinking, stupidly, that you could survive the sex but not that.

And then he’d woken up and made a joke.

You washed your face twice, brushed your teeth, covered the mark on your neck with more concentration than the task deserved, and stared at yourself until your reflection started to look annoyed with you.

By the time you finally opened the bathroom door, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, his phone loose in one hand. His head lifted the second you stepped out, and the relief that crossed his face disappeared so quickly you could almost pretend it hadn’t been there.

Almost.

“You took forever,” he said.

There it was—the attempt.

You appreciated it, somehow, even as it hurt.

You crossed the room to your suitcase and grabbed the first shirt you saw. “I told you. I was having a moment.”

His mouth twitched, but it didn’t last. “Yeah.”

The room went quiet again.

You hated that room now. Last night, it had felt too small because Dean kept standing too close and looking at you like the rules were suggestions. Now it felt too small because everything unsaid was sitting with you in it.

Dean stood.

“About what I said earlier—”

“You don’t have to.”

He stopped.

You didn’t look at him. You folded the shirt badly and shoved it into your bag as it had personally wronged you.

“I kind of think I do,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

That made you look up.

Dean stood a few feet away, hands at his sides, jaw tight. He looked frustrated, but not with you. With himself, maybe. With the fact that he couldn’t charm his way back three minutes and steal the sentence out of the air before it hurt you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

You forced a small smile. “Like what?”

His eyes searched your face, careful and too direct.

“Like I regretted it.”

There it was.

The word you’d been trying not to touch.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your suitcase. “Dean.”

“I don’t.”

He said it too fast. Too seriously.

For one awful second, you believed him.

Then your chest caught up, reminding you that believing Dean was becoming a very dangerous habit.

“You don’t have to make it better,” you said.

His face changed. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

You swallowed.

Dean took one step closer, then seemed to think better of it and stopped himself. That carefulness again. That was the worst thing about him now, the fact that even when he hurt you, he was still trying so hard not to hurt you more.

“I panicked,” he said, quieter now. “That’s what the wine thing was. I woke up, and you were right there, and I didn’t know what you wanted me to say.”

Your throat tightened. “So you picked that?”

He winced. “Yeah.”

“Great choice.”

“Yeah, I’m picking up on that.”

The sarcasm should’ve helped.

It didn’t.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair, making it worse. “I’m trying to tell you I fucked up.”

“I know.”

“No, you keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting as if you agree fast enough, the conversation ends.”

Your mouth closed.

That was annoyingly accurate.

Dean looked at you, and there was something almost pleading in his face now; not obvious, not dramatic, but there. “Can we not do that?”

You wanted to say yes.

You wanted to let him explain. You wanted to be the kind of person who could sit on the edge of the bed and calmly ask Dean Di Laurentis what last night meant to him, as if the answer wouldn’t either fix you or ruin you.

But his phone rang before you could say anything.

Both of you looked at the screen.

His mother.

Dean stared at it like the phone had personally betrayed him.

You let out a laugh that sounded nothing like you. “You should get that.”

He didn’t move.

“Dean.”

His jaw worked once before he answered. “Morning, Mom.”

You turned back to your suitcase, grateful for the interruption and hating yourself for being grateful.

“Yes, we’re almost ready,” Dean said behind you, his voice shifting into that warmer tone he used with his mother. “No, I didn’t forget breakfast. Yes, I know what time it is.”

There was a pause.

His eyes flicked toward you.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s ready.”

You were not ready.

You were barely a person.

But you zipped your bag anyway.

Breakfast was worse.

There was something uniquely cruel about sitting across from Dean’s parents after breaking rule three with their son the night before. His mother looked far too happy to see you, which made you feel guilty in a way you hadn’t prepared for. His father was already at the table with a coffee and the kind of calm expression that made it impossible to tell whether he noticed everything or enjoyed making people wonder if he did.

Dean held your chair out for you.

The gesture was automatic.

So was the way you hesitated before sitting.

He noticed. His face didn’t change much, but his hand paused for half a second on the back of the chair before he let go.

You hated that you saw it.

“You two sleep well?” his mother asked, pouring cream into her coffee.

You reached for your orange juice and missed it by an inch.

Dean’s hand moved like he meant to steady the glass for you, then stopped. “Fine.”

Fine.

The word sat between you like an inside joke no one wanted to be part of.

His mother smiled, but her eyes moved from him to you. “Just fine?”

Dean looked at his plate. “It was a long weekend.”

“That it was,” his father said, setting his coffee down. “These things always feel longer when you’re performing.”

You froze.

Dean’s head lifted.

His father didn’t look at either of you when he said it. He reached for the sugar with complete ease, as if he hadn’t just dropped a sentence directly into the center of your fake relationship and walked away from the explosion.

Dean’s mother gave him a look.

“What?” his father asked mildly.

“Nothing,” she said, though it didn’t sound like nothing.

Dean’s jaw tightened.

You took a sip of orange juice so you wouldn’t be required to speak.

The rest of breakfast passed with the particular discomfort of people being kind to you when you felt like a fraud. Dean’s mother asked about your classes. His father asked if you’d enjoyed the gala. Dean answered when you didn’t move fast enough, but not in a way that made you feel dismissed; more like he was trying to cover for you because he could tell you were one wrong question away from becoming emotionally unsupervised.

At some point, you looked at the fruit platter for half a second.

Dean reached for it immediately and passed it to you.

You took it without thinking.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

His eyes met yours.

For one stupid second, everything softened.

Then you remembered his arm around you that morning, his voice saying wine, the way his hand had fallen from your waist when you sat up, and you looked away.

Dean did too.

His mother saw that.

When breakfast ended, she pulled you into a hug in the lobby while Dean spoke quietly with his father near the doors.

“You were wonderful this weekend,” she said.

Your chest tightened. “Thank you for having me.”

“I mean it.” She pulled back, hands still lightly on your arms, and looked at you with a warmth that made you want to hide. “You fit here more easily than most people do.”

You swallowed.

Across the lobby, Dean’s eyes found you.

You looked away first.

“I had a lot of help,” you said lightly.

His mother’s smile softened. “From Dean?”

“That is, unfortunately, who I meant.”

She laughed, and for a second, you understood exactly where he got some of it from: the warmth, the charm, the ability to make something feel like it belonged even when it didn’t.

Or maybe you were just being sentimental because you were sad.

That seemed more likely.

She hugged Dean next, telling him to call when he got back, which he promised to do with the face of a man who had every intention of forgetting. His father shook his hand, then pulled him into a brief hug. Dean accepted it with the stiff awkwardness of someone who liked affection more than he wanted anyone to know.

Then his parents were gone.

Just like that.

No more audience. No more reason to hold hands, stand too close, or pretend you belonged beside him.

Dean turned to you slowly.

The lobby felt too quiet.

“Can we talk before we leave?” he asked.

Your fingers tightened around your suitcase handle.

You wanted to say yes.

The word was right there. Small. Easy. Maybe not safe, but possible.

Instead, you heard yourself say, “We have a long drive.”

Dean’s expression fell just enough to hurt. “That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” you said, pulling your bag closer. “But it’s what I can do right now.”

The drive back to Briar felt longer than the entire weekend.

Dean was quiet for the first twenty minutes, which should’ve been a relief. Instead, it made every inch of the car feel crowded. His hands stayed on the wheel, his jaw tight, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He kept glancing at you like he wanted to say something and then deciding against it, which made the silence feel less like peace and more like an argument that hadn’t started yet.

You stared out the window and pretended the trees were interesting.

They were not.

Your phone buzzed in your lap.

Allie.

allie: are you alive?

allie: and by alive i mean emotionally

allie: because hannah said dean looked weird at breakfast

allie: which means you also looked weird at breakfast

allie: answer me before i create a theory

You turned your phone face down.

Dean noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You almost laughed. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Realized that after I asked.”

Silence again.

Then he exhaled. “Please don’t say there’s nothing to talk about.”

You kept your eyes on the road ahead. “I wasn’t going to.”

“That’s new.”

“I was going to say I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean’s mouth twitched, but it faded quickly. “Less new.”

You finally looked at him.

He was still watching the road, but his face looked tired in a way that made something inside you ache. Not sleepy tired. Dean looked like someone who’d spent the last few hours trying to hold a door open while you kept standing on the other side of it.

“I’m not trying to be unfair,” you said.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His fingers tightened around the wheel. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then Dean said, “I don’t regret it.”

Your throat went tight.

“I know you think I do,” he continued, voice low. “Or that I’m trying to make it less than it was. I’m not.”

The worst part was that he sounded honest.

Dean was many things, but he wasn’t lying right then. You could hear it; you could feel it in the careful way he said the words, like he knew he only had one chance to make them land right.

So why didn’t it make you feel better?

Maybe because not regretting something wasn’t the same as wanting it after.

You looked back out the window. “Then why did you need an excuse?”

Dean didn’t answer fast enough.

That was answer enough.

Your lips pressed together.

“No,” he said quickly. “That’s not—”

“It’s fine.”

“Stop saying that.” His voice sharpened, then softened immediately. “Please.”

You blinked hard, refusing to cry in his car. That felt like an intimacy you couldn’t afford.

Dean took a breath, slower this time.

“I needed an excuse because I panicked. Because I woke up next to you, and for about five seconds, it felt normal.”

Your chest ached.

He glanced at you, then back at the road. “And then I remembered it wasn’t supposed to be.”

You wanted to ask what that meant. You wanted to ask if it scared him because it felt normal or because he wished it could stay that way. You wanted him to say it without you dragging the words out of him first.

He didn’t.

Instead, his mouth pressed into a line, and he swallowed whatever came next.

You nodded once, mostly to yourself.

“There it is,” you said softly.

His eyes cut to you. “What?”

“You keep getting close to saying something real, and then you stop.”

Dean flinched.

You turned back toward the window before you could let that affect you.

“That’s not fair,” he said.

“No,” you agreed. “Probably not.”

His grip tightened on the wheel. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Your voice cracked just slightly. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Dean went quiet.

The radio played low in the background, a song neither of you was listening to. The whole car felt too full of almosts.

Almost honest.

Almost enough.

Almost real.

“Please don’t make me feel stupid for wanting you,” you said.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Dean inhaled sharply.

You stared out the window, horrified by yourself.

For several seconds, he didn’t say anything.

Then, quietly, “You’re not stupid.”

That was not enough.

You hated that it wasn’t enough.

“I can’t do this in the car,” you said, because your voice was too close to breaking.

“Okay.”

“And I can’t do it if you’re going to keep giving me almost-answers.”

Dean was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “Okay.”

That was all.

And because he didn’t push, because he let the line stay where you’d put it, the rest of the drive passed in silence.

Back at Briar, everything looked painfully normal.

That was offensive, somehow. The campus didn’t look like anything had happened. The buildings were the same. The sidewalks were the same. Students moved around with coffees and backpacks like you hadn’t spent the weekend pretending to be Dean Di Laurentis’s girlfriend and come back with the very real problem of knowing what he looked like when he was careful with you.

Dean carried your suitcase to your apartment.

You told him he didn’t have to.

He ignored you.

“You know,” you said as you unlocked the building door, “I’m fully capable of dragging a suitcase.”

“I’m sure.”

“That was patronizing.”

“That was supportive.”

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

“I’m counting on it.”

For half a second, the banter felt easy.

Then you reached your door, and the ease disappeared.

Dean set your suitcase beside you and stepped back. Not far, but enough. Enough to show you he knew there was no fake-dating reason to follow you inside. Enough to make the line between you visible.

You searched for your keys and fumbled them twice.

Dean’s hand lifted like he meant to help.

You stilled.

His hand dropped.

That small movement hurt more than it had any right to.

You got the door open and turned back. Dean stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t want to leave and didn’t know how to stay.

“Can I call you later?” he asked.

Your chest tightened.

“You can,” you said.

Hope crossed his face before you could stop it.

Then you added, “But I don’t know if I’ll answer.”

It disappeared.

You almost apologized.

You didn’t.

Dean nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“It doesn’t feel fair.”

“No.” His mouth curved faintly, without humor. “But it probably is.”

You looked down at your shoes.

Dean said your name softly.

You hated how quickly you looked up.

“I meant it,” he said.

You didn’t ask which part.

You were too afraid he meant the wrong one.

So you nodded, stepped inside, and closed the door.

For the next two days, you became very good at being busy.

Not okay. Busy.

There was a difference, and you clung to it with the desperation of someone who had no other personality traits left. You went to class. You answered emails. You reorganized the same drawer twice. You bought groceries you didn’t need and then stood in your kitchen, staring at a bag of spinach, which had personally asked you to define your relationship with Dean.

Allie called you on Sunday night.

You ignored it.

She texted.

allie: coward

You ignored that too.

allie: i say that with love

You almost smiled.

Almost.

On Monday, she showed up at your apartment with coffee and Hannah, which felt like a violation of several privacy laws.

You opened the door and immediately said, “No.”

Allie lifted the coffee. “You don’t even know what this is.”

“It’s an intervention.”

Hannah smiled too sweetly. “It’s a visit.”

“You both have intervention faces.”

Allie looked at Hannah. “Do we?”

Hannah nodded. “A little.”

“Work on that,” you said.

Allie pushed the coffee into your hands and walked past you like she paid rent there. “We’re coming in.”

“Apparently.”

Hannah hugged you first.

You hated that it made your throat tighten.

Allie waited until you were all sitting on your bed before she asked, “Did he hurt you?”

You looked down at the coffee lid.

The question should’ve been easy.

No, because Dean had been careful.

Yes, because you still felt bruised somewhere he hadn’t touched.

“Not on purpose,” you said.

Allie’s expression shifted immediately.

Hannah’s face softened.

You hated both of them a little for knowing exactly how bad that was.

“What happened?” Hannah asked gently.

You traced your thumb over the rim of the coffee cup.

“We broke the rule.”

Allie blinked. “The sex rule?”

“No, the tax fraud rule.”

“Okay,” Allie said. “You still have jokes. That’s something.”

You laughed once, but it didn’t last.

Hannah reached for your hand. “Was it bad?”

Your face warmed.

Allie inhaled. “Oh.”

“Don’t oh me.”

“It was good,” Allie said.

“It was very good,” you admitted, miserable.

Hannah made a sympathetic sound that somehow made it worse.

“And then?” Allie asked.

“And then he made a joke about blaming the wine.”

Allie’s face went flat. “I’ll kill him.”

“He said he panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

“Do you believe him?”

You didn’t answer.

Hannah squeezed your hand. “Do you want to?”

That was the worst question.

Because yes.

Yes, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe every careful look, every shaky breath, every time he’d said he didn’t regret it. You wanted to believe the joke had been fear and not regret. You wanted to believe Dean was just bad at being vulnerable, not at wanting you.

“I don’t know what he wants,” you said.

Allie’s expression softened in a way that made you look away.

“And I don’t want to be something he figures out by accident,” you added.

Hannah’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “That’s fair.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Allie said immediately. “Annoyingly mature, actually.”

“I hate that.”

“I know.”

Dean texted that night.

dean: can we talk?

You stared at it until the screen dimmed.

Then it lit again.

dean: not tonight if you don’t want

dean: just when you’re ready

You typed three different answers.

Deleted all of them.

Then you put your phone face down and went to bed.

You did not sleep much.

By Wednesday, avoidance stopped being peaceful and started becoming embarrassing.

The problem with having mutual friends was that disappearing from Dean also meant disappearing from everyone else, and by the third declined invitation, even Tucker had texted you, which was how you knew things had gotten serious.

tucker: you good? no pressure. just checking.

That one made you feel guilty enough to agree when Hannah asked you to come by the hockey house for movie night.

You told yourself Dean might not be there.

That was stupid.

Dean was always there.

He was in the kitchen when you arrived, leaning against the counter with Garrett and Logan, laughing at something that clearly wasn’t that funny because the laugh stopped the second he saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Dean was too good at hiding things for dramatic.

But his face changed, just enough.

His eyes moved over you like he was checking if you were okay from across the room, like he knew he wasn’t allowed to ask yet and hated it.

Garrett noticed.

Logan noticed.

You pretended not to notice anyone noticing.

“Hey,” Logan said, too brightly. “The prodigal fake girlfriend returns.”

You pointed at him. “Don’t call me that.”

He held up both hands. “Regular girlfriend?”

Dean went very still.

Logan’s eyes widened.

Garrett closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.

You smiled tightly. “Try friend.”

Logan nodded slowly. “Friend. Great. Love friends. Big fan of friendship.”

Allie elbowed him hard on her way past.

“Ow,” Logan muttered. “That felt personal.”

“It was,” Allie said.

Dean hadn’t said anything yet.

You looked at him because not looking was worse.

“Hi,” you said.

His mouth curved faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hi.”

That was it.

Two words.

And somehow, the room felt full of them.

Movie night was terrible.

Not because of the movie. You couldn’t even remember what they put on. Something with explosions, probably, because Logan and Garrett had strong opinions and no taste. You sat between Hannah and Allie on the couch while Dean stayed in the armchair across the room, which was so unlike him that it felt deliberate.

He didn’t come closer.

Didn’t sit beside you.

Didn’t brush his knee against yours or lean over to make some terrible comment near your ear.

There was no act anymore, no family watching, no fake-girlfriend label giving him an excuse to touch you.

And apparently, Dean, without an excuse, did nothing.

You told yourself that was proof.

Then you caught him looking at you, as if staying away was physically difficult, and that was proof of something else entirely.

Halfway through the movie, you got up for water, because if you sat there for another second feeling Dean look at you, you were going to either cry or throw a pillow at him.

The kitchen was quieter.

You liked that.

You filled a glass at the sink and took one sip before the floor creaked behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

“Hey,” Dean said.

You looked down at the glass. “You said that already.”

“I know.” A pause. “I was hoping it would go better this time.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched.

Dean saw it, because of course he did.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“It was small, but I’m counting it.”

“You’re desperate.”

“Yeah.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

You turned around.

Dean stood just inside the kitchen, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense. He looked tired. Not messy. Not pathetic. Just tired in a way that made you think he hadn’t been sleeping well either, which you hated because it made you want to soften.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you said.

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“And then you keep saying them.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the floor for half a second, then back at you. “I missed you.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Dean.”

“I know,” he said, before you could say anything else. “I know that’s not fair. I know I don’t get to say that and then give you nothing solid. I know.”

“Then why say it?”

“Because it’s true.”

That was the problem with Dean when he stopped joking.

He was dangerous.

You gripped the glass with both hands. “I can’t do this if you’re going to keep giving me pieces.”

He swallowed.

“I can’t be the girl you want when you’re in the room and regret when you wake up,” you said, voice quieter now. “And I can’t be practice for whatever emotional thing you don’t know how to handle.”

Dean’s face changed.

“No,” he said immediately. “That’s not what you are.”

“Then what am I?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Dean went silent.

The house noise drifted in from the living room: Logan complaining, Tucker laughing, someone telling them both to shut up. Everything continued around you while Dean stared at you like the answer was there and still impossible to say.

Your heart dropped slowly.

“Right,” you said.

“No.” He took a step forward. “Wait.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do.”

“Then say it.”

Dean’s mouth opened.

Garrett’s voice came from the hallway.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes closed briefly.

You laughed once, humorless. “Perfect timing.”

Garrett appeared in the doorway and immediately stopped, eyes moving between you and Dean. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean said, sharper than necessary.

Garrett’s eyebrows lifted.

Dean dragged a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you said.

Dean looked at you.

The words tasted awful.

You set the glass on the counter. “I should go.”

“Don’t.”

It came out fast. Too fast.

Garrett’s expression sharpened.

You looked at Dean for one second too long, then walked past both of them into the hallway. You meant to go back to the living room, tell Allie you needed air, maybe make some excuse about a headache, and leave with whatever dignity you still had.

Instead, you stopped near the stairs when Garrett’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on?”

You froze.

You shouldn’t have stayed.

You knew that.

After everything, after the weekend, after every misunderstanding built on bad timing and half-finished sentences, you should’ve walked away before you heard something you couldn’t unhear.

But then Dean spoke.

“Nothing.”

Garrett scoffed. “That was convincing.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“The captain thing.”

“The captain thing?”

“The thing where you act as if you stare at someone long enough, they’ll confess all their emotional damage.”

Garrett was quiet for a second. “Is it working?”

Dean let out a humorless laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Your fingers curled around the railing.

Garrett’s voice lowered. “Did you hurt her?”

Dean didn’t answer immediately.

The silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.

Then, quietly, “Yeah.”

Your breath caught.

Garrett said, “Dean.”

“Not how you mean.” Dean’s voice was rough now. “Not on purpose. I just—fuck.”

You should’ve left.

You stayed.

“What happened?” Garrett asked.

Dean exhaled hard. “I made a joke.”

Garrett was silent.

“Great start, right?” Dean said bitterly. “Classic me.”

“What kind of joke?”

“The kind you make when you wake up next to someone and realize you’re completely fucked because it felt too normal.”

Your throat tightened.

Dean kept going before Garrett could respond.

“I said we should blame the wine.”

Garrett made a sound that was half disbelief, half disappointment. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Really? Because I was starting to feel good about it.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Dean’s voice cracked around the edge of the words; anger turned inward. “That’s the problem. I woke up, and she was there, and I wanted to keep her there. Then I realized I didn’t know if she wanted that too, and instead of asking like a normal person, I opened my mouth and made it sound like I wanted an excuse.”

You closed your eyes.

The hallway blurred for a second.

Garrett’s voice softened, just slightly. “So tell her that.”

“I tried.”

“Try better.”

Dean laughed once. “Thanks, coach.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” There was movement in the kitchen, maybe Dean pacing, maybe him dragging both hands through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated enough to stop caring what he looked like. “Every time I get close, she looks at me like she’s already decided I’m going to make her regret believing me.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then tell her.”

Dean was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “It’s not real. We had a deal.”

Everything inside you went still.

The house noise faded.

The words settled cleanly, brutally, exactly where the fear had been sitting since that morning.

It’s not real.

We had a deal.

For a second, you couldn’t move.

You felt strangely calm, actually. Not fine. Not even close. But calm in the way people probably felt right before something broke entirely. Because there it was. No hotel room, no morning panic, no wine joke. No family watching. No act to keep standing.

Just Dean, saying it when he thought you weren’t there.

Garrett said something after that.

You didn’t hear it.

Dean answered.

You didn’t hear that either.

Your pulse was too loud. Your chest hurt too much. The hallway felt too narrow, the house too warm, the air impossible to swallow.

You stepped back quietly.

Then again.

The side door was closer than the living room, so you took it. No one saw you leave. Or maybe someone did, but no one stopped you fast enough.

Outside, the air hit your face cold and sharp.

You walked until the house was behind you.

Your phone started buzzing before you reached the corner.

Allie.

You declined it.

Then Hannah.

You declined that too.

Then Dean.

You stopped walking.

His name filled the screen.

For one stupid, humiliating second, your thumb hovered over the answer button.

Then the call ended.

A text appeared almost immediately.

dean: where did you go?

Another came before you could breathe.

dean: please tell me you didn’t hear that

You stared at the message.

A laugh slipped out of you, small and awful.

Please tell me you didn’t hear that.

Not, please let me explain.

Not, I didn’t mean it.

Just proof that there had been something to hear.

Another message appeared.

dean: I need to talk to you

You locked your phone.

By the time you got back to your apartment, your hands were shaking. You shut the door behind you, leaned against it, and stood there in the dark, still wearing your jacket, still holding your phone like it might do something worse if you let go.

It buzzed again.

You looked down before you could stop yourself.

dean: it’s not what you think

Your vision blurred.

That was the thing, though.

You had heard him.

Clearly.

You’d spent days wondering if you were being unfair, if you’d misunderstood, if Dean had only panicked because wanting you had scared him as much as it scared you.

Maybe all of that was true.

Maybe there was another sentence after the one you heard.

Maybe there was a whole explanation sitting in the part of the conversation you didn’t stay for.

But you’d heard enough.

It’s not real.

We had a deal.

For once, you decided to believe him.

💌 lmk if you want to be added to my taglists

𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑵 𝑫𝑰 𝑳𝑨𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑺’𝑺 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻:

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𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[sanchooinc]

amazing

[wildflowerxwords]

Begin Again ~ John Logan x Fem!Reader - (Part Two)

Synopsis: After a painful breakup leaves you struggling to trust anyone again, an unexpected friendship with Briar hockey star John Logan becomes the brightest part of your week. But when a misunderstanding convinces you he's never felt the same way, you'll have to decide whether risking your heart one more time is worth the chance at something real.

Part One: read here.

My other Logan fics here: read here.

A/N: The finale - hope you enjoyed this one! :)

Taglist: @cosmosnkaz @parker-barnes-af @thecraziestcrayon @asterizee @nihoshi17 @ch3ska0 @wilmonyibo7 @hrollingcookie @solstice-333 @steadybelieverbanana

PART TWO

The following Wednesday arrived carrying one of those strange early spring afternoons where it was just starting to warm up.

The morning had been cold enough to justify a jacket, but by lunchtime, students were scattered across the quad in short sleeves, convinced that winter was finally over.

As you crossed campus toward the coffee shop, the weather now was accompanied by a small breeze that lifted strands of hair across your face every few steps.

A few months ago, Wednesdays had been ordinary. They were just another forgettable day that was buried beneath classes, assignments, and the exhausting process of trying to put yourself back together after someone had broken your trust.

Now, somehow, Wednesdays belonged to Logan. Or, at least, they felt that way.

You found yourself looking forward to them long before they arrived. They had become important.

As the coffee shop came into view, you automatically glanced toward the windows, searching for a familiar dark head of hair. You didn’t see him.

The disappointment arrived so quickly that it almost annoyed you. He was probably running late, or practice ran over.

Your thoughts stopped. A few feet away from the entrance on the opposite side, Logan stood near the outdoor tables. He wasn’t alone.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. People talked to him constantly. He was one of the most recognizable people on campus, thanks to being a star hockey player. It wasn’t unusual to see someone stop him between classes.

Then the girl turned slightly. It was the same girl from the coffee shop, the one who had stopped by your table a couple of weeks ago. The one who had greeted Logan with the kind of easy familiarity that had bothered you far more than you’d been willing to admit.

For a moment, you remained exactly where you were. You were far enough away that neither of them noticed you, but close enough to see the conversation unfolding. The girl laughed at something Logan said, like she’d heard him make a hundred jokes before.

Logan smiled back at her. The sight shouldn’t have affected you, he smiled at everyone. You told yourself to keep walking, that you were being ridiculous. Then, the girl stepped forward and Logan wrapped his arms around her. It was the kind of high exchanged between people who knew each other well. It was nothing that should have shattered the fragile confidence you’d spent months rebuilding.

Yet somehow, standing there on the sidewalk watching something that was probably completely innocent, you felt the ground shift beneath your feet. Suddenly every fear you’d been keeping at bay surged forward all at once.

It was the fear about yourself and that you’d done it again; you’d mistaken kindness for affection. That you’d taken a collection of small moments and transformed them into something bigger than they were. The coffee order he’d remember. The texts after games. The way his face seemed to brighten when he saw you.

You’d let yourself believe that those things meant something. Not because Logan had promised they did, but because you’d wanted them to. Maybe that had been the mistake. Maybe you had spent so much time enjoying the way he made you feel that you’d forgotten to ask whether he felt anything at all.

The hug ended, and the girl said something that made Logan laugh again. A second later, he reached for the coffee shop door. Panic swept through you so quickly that thinking became impossible. If he looked up now, he’d see you. He’d smile, maybe wave and ask why you were standing there.

You suddenly didn’t trust yourself to act normal. You didn’t trust yourself not to reveal every stupid feeling you’d spent weeks to hide.

Before he could turn in your direction, you pivoted and started walking. Fast. Not running, but just walking quickly enough that the coffee shop disappeared behind the next building before you could change your mind.

The entire trip back to your dorm had felt unreal. It was like your body was on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled several steps behind.

The first text arrived twenty minutes later.

Logan: where are you?

You were sitting on the edge of your bed when your phone lit up, still wearing your coat. Your bag was abandoned somewhere near your desk where you’d dropped it the second you walked through the door.

For a moment, you only stared at the message. It made your chest ache, because you could picture him too clearly. You could imagine him sitting at your usual table, coffee cooling beside his laptop, glancing at the door every few minutes with that slight furrow between his eyebrows he got whenever he was trying to figure something out. He’d probably waited at first, and then checked the time.

You hated that you knew him well enough to imagine all of that. You hated that the thought of disappointing him mattered.

What were you supposed to say?

Sorry, I saw you hug a girl and realized that I’m in love with you so I panicked and fled?

Nope. Absolutely not. A second message arrived quickly.

Logan: Did something happen?

It wasn’t annoyed, or casual. He was concerned. You pressed your palms against your eyes and took a breath that didn’t do much to steady you. The mature thing would be to answer. The reasonable thing would be to tell him that you were fine, that something had come up, and that you’d see him soon. Anything would have been better than silence.

But all reason had gone out of the window the moment you saw his arms around someone else. So, you did nothing.

By the next morning, he texted twice again. Nothing dramatic, or that made him seem angry.

Logan: Hey, just checking in

Logan: are you okay?

You read both, standing in the middle of your dorm with your toothbrush still in your hand, and the guilt that washed over you was heavy.

Logan didn’t deserve this, that was the worst part. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t promised you he was interested, he didn’t ask for you to wait for him. He hadn’t even known you were outside of the coffee shop, watching one ordinary moment crack open every single insecurity you’d been trying so hard to bury.

This wasn’t his fault; it was yours. Your feelings. Your assumptions. Your stupid, fragile hope.

Still, you couldn’t make yourself respond. For the rest of the week, you became an expert in avoidance.

You stopped going to the coffee shop, because the idea of walking past your table and finding it empty made your chest feel tight. You took longer routes between classes, keeping your head down whenever you passed by the athletic center. You stopped checking the hockey scores. You turned your phone over whenever it buzzed because part of you wanted it to be Logan, and the other part of you was terrified it would be.

By Saturday afternoon, the routine you’d built with him had been replaced by a routine of avoiding him. You were in the library when your phone vibrated against the table.

Logan: okay, now I’m officially worried

Logan: if I did something, please just tell me what it is

You stared at the words for so long that they started to blur together. That was finally what made the shame settle in. He was somewhere thinking he’d done something to upset you, and you were letting him believe it because admitting the truth felt far too humiliating.

You had just unlocked your phone, though you had no idea what you had planned to type, when a shadow fell across the table. Every muscle in your body went still. You didn’t need to look up, somehow, you knew exactly who it was.

Logan stood on the other side of the table, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder and his hair slightly damp, like he’d come straight from practice. He looked tired, but more than that, he looked relieved in a way that made your chest ache before he even said a word.

“There you are,” he said quietly.

Your fingers tightened around your phone.

“Hi.”

It was a terrible thing to say.

Logan stared at you for a moment, as if he were waiting for you to offer literally anything else. When you didn’t, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down.

He had the quiet determination of someone who had decided he wasn’t leaving until he understood what had gone wrong.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Your entire body felt locked in place. This conversation had existed in your imagination for days, but every version you’d imagined ended with you escaping it.

His gaze never left your face. The concern on it made everything worse. He looked worried.

“You haven’t answered a single text,” he said. His voice remained calm, but there was frustration underneath now.

“You stopped showing up. Then I saw you leave one of your classes yesterday the second you spotted me,” he said. He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying you.

Heat flooded your face.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” His words weren’t really a question.

You looked down at the table.

“Maybe.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped him, “Maybe?”

You winced. Okay, that hadn’t sounded great. When you looked up at him again, he was still watching you with that same stubborn patience that had somehow become one of your favorite things about him.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly.

He genuinely didn’t know, which meant if you told him the truth, you’d have to admit just how deeply you’d misread everything.

“Nothing happened.”

The second the words left your mouth, you knew they were useless. Logan knew it too. His eyebrows lifted.

“Seriously?”

You looked away, “Okay, something happened.”

“That’s progress.”

Despite everything, the corner of your mouth almost twitched. Almost. Logan noticed anyway.

“Just tell me.”

You wished it were that easy. If this conversation were only about the girl, maybe it would have been. But, it wasn’t. The girl had simply exposed a problem that had already existed; the problem was sitting across from him. It was somewhere between coffee shop Wednesdays and late-night texts about his roommates, that you’d fallen in love with him.

Every word felt dangerous. You took a slow breath, and finally spoke.

“I saw you,” you said.

Confusion flickered across his face. “You saw me?” “Last Wednesday. Outside of the coffee shop.”

The confusion across his face remained for exactly two seconds. Then, understanding began to dawn. Not complete understanding, but just enough that he was following the timeline.

“I was talking to someone.”

You nodded. A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled between you. Then, somehow, Logan looked even more confused.

“You mean Emily?”

Logan sat forward slightly, “Wait.”

His eyes narrowed, and a second later, something clicked. You saw the exact moment his brain connected all of the pieces.

“You thought Emily was my girlfriend?”

The horror that immediately flooded your body was so intense you considered climbing under the table.

“Please don’t say it like that,” you said.

“Oh my God.”

You covered your face with both hands. He stared at you, and then let out a short, stunned laugh.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

The laugh disappeared instantly, and suddenly Logan wasn’t looking amused anymore. He was looking at you carefully, like he was realizing there was more than a misunderstanding.

And unfortunately, there was. A lot more.

“Hey,” his voice softened.

You lowered your hands slightly from your face.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

You nodded, “I figured that out.”

“No, I don’t think you did.”

The gentleness in his voice made your throat tighten. He wasn’t correcting a misunderstanding anymore, he was trying to understand why it had hurt. That was dangerous.

He leaned forward, forearms resting against the table.

“Emily’s my cousin.”

You closed your eyes. Of course she was. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Logan sighed.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter than before.

“That isn’t the whole reason, though,” he said.

Your heart immediately dropped, because somehow, you knew that he already knew.

“People don’t disappear for a week because of a misunderstanding.”

The words landed gently.

“You were hurt,” he stated.

“Logan—”

“You were.”

His gaze held yours.

All of a sudden, the exhaustion of the last few months came rushing back. All of the heartbreak, and fear, and the constant feeling that trusting someone again was like standing on the edge of a cliff.

You looked down at your hands.

When you finally spoke, your voice came out much smaller than you intended.

“I felt stupid,” you said.

The confession hung between you as Logan listened.

“I saw you with her and,” you laughed softly, though there was no humor in it, “I don’t know. I just realized how much I’d let myself believe.”

Silence.

“Believe what?” he asked.

You closed your eyes briefly. This is was thing you’d avoided saying, but there was no way out except for telling the truth.

“I thought maybe all of this meant something,” you whispered.

Judging by the look on Logan’s face, the words landed exactly where you were afraid they would.

Logan didn’t say anything, he just looked at you for a moment. The silence stretched long enough that embarrassment began creeping up your neck again. You immediately regretted saying it.

You dropped your gaze to the table.

“Forget it,” you said.

His response came immediately, “No.”

Your eyes lifted. He was still watching you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“No, we’re definitely not doing that.”

“Doing what?” you asked.

“That thing where you say something important and then immediately try to take it back. You’re not getting out of this one,” he said.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you said.

“The truth would be a good start.”

You stared out of the library window before looking back at him.

“The truth is that I liked spending time with you.”

“Okay,” he said.

“The truth is that Wednesdays became my favorite day of the week.”

Something unreadable flickered across his face. You pressed on before you could lose your nerve.

“The truth is that every time you text me, it makes my day better. I started going to hockey games. I started saving stories to tell you. I started…” you swallowed, “I started caring.”

The last two words barely made it out. Logan slowly leaned back in his chair, looking completely stunned. This wasn’t the reaction you’d expected.

“Wow.”

You immediately reached for your bag.

“Okay, this was a mistake,” you said, tears stinging the corner of your eyes.

“What?”

You stood so quickly that your chair nearly tipped backwards.

“This was a terrible idea,” you reiterated.

Before you could gather your things, Logan reached across the table and caught your wrist. Not hard, but just enough to make you pause.

“Would you stop trying to run away for five seconds?” he asked, the frustration in his voice startling you.

You slowly sank back into your chair. Logan dragged a hand through his hair and looked toward the ceiling.

For a moment, he actually laughed.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said.

Your stomach twisted.

“That’s not usually the response people hope for.”

His eyes snapped to yours, “No, that’s not—”

He stopped, exhaled, and started again.

“What exactly did you think was happening here?” he asked.

You blinked, “What?”

“Seriously. What did you think all of this was?”

He leaned forward again. You stared at him.

“Friendship?” you said.

Logan just looked at you, and then laughed again, “Friendship.”

The way he repeated the word made heat immediately rush to your face.

“You thought I spent months finding excuses to see you every week because I wanted friendship?”

Your pulse began hammering.

“Logan…”

“I’m genuinely asking, " His eyes never left yours, “I want to know.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again.

Logan let out another breath. Then, quieter this time, he said, “You think I memorized your coffee order because I wanted to be friendly?”

You could literally hear your own heartbeat.

“You think I texted you after every away game because I wanted to be friendly?”

Your chest tightened.

“You think I spent half of the season looking for you in the stands at my games because I wanted to be friendly?”

The words hit one after another, each one landing directly in the center of your chest. Logan’s expression had softened completely now, and in its place was something infinitely more dangerous: affection.

“You really, really, thought I was doing all of this because I wanted to be friends?”

“I didn’t know what to think.”

Logan held your gaze for a few seconds, and then a smile appeared.

“I was trying to take you on a date.”

“What?” you asked.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to take you on a date for two months.”

You stared at him. There’s no way you heard him correctly.

“You… you like me?”

His expression turned almost incredulous.

“Of course I like you.”

His words were immediate and so certain. For months, you’d prepared yourself for rejection and disappointment. You had never once prepared yourself for this. For Logan to look at you like the answer should have been obvious all along.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice kept insisting that you’d misunderstood. That in another moment, he would laugh and explain himself. This outcome had never been one of the possibilities that you’d allowed yourself to consider.

Logan’s expression softened.

“You don’t believe me,” he said.

You immediately shook your head, “No, that’s not—”

But you stopped, because lying felt pointless. You looked down at your hands.

“I want to. So badly,” you said.

When Logan finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

You knew the answer immediately, and you knew you had to tell him.

“I trusted someone before. I trusted him completely.”

You hated how vulnerable the words felt.

“You know what the worst part was? It wasn’t even finding out. It was realizing I’d missed it. I kept thinking back to every conversation, every excuse, every weird feeling I had ignored.”

Your chest felt tight.

You continued, “Afterward, it felt so obvious. Then, I started wondering what else I was wrong about.”

The silence that followed felt heavy. It wasn’t the cheating or the breakup that was the real wound. It was the doubt, the constant uncertainty, and the feeling that your own judgement couldn’t be trusted anymore.

When you looked back at Logan, his expression had changed. There was no pity in his eyes, or discomfort. Just understanding.

“You want to know what I thought when I saw you with her?” you asked.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“I didn’t think you were lying to me or doing anything wrong. I just thought I’d done it again. I thought I’d convinced myself something was there when it wasn’t.”

The admission finally settled into the open. Logan reached his hand across the table, gently enough to rest his hand over yours. The contact was warm.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“I think you’ve spent months waiting for something bad to happen. I think you’ve been trying really hard to not get hurt again.”

You blinked rapidly as his thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles. You looked away, because if you looked directly at him right now, you’d probably cry.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was gentle.

You looked at him.

“I’m not asking you to trust me immediately. I’m not asking you to forget what happened, and I’m definitely not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt.”

Logan’s fingers tightened around yours.

“But I’d like a chance.”

The words settled over you. For the first time since your breakup, the idea of trusting someone felt scary, but it didn’t feel impossible.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

“Can I finally take you on a date?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound echoed softly between the library shelves.

Saying yes didn’t feel so frightening. It felt right.

The walk out of the library felt strangely unreal. The afternoon sun hung low over campus as the two of you stepped outside, casting everything in shades of gold and amber.

You were too aware of the person walking beside you, and the fact that Logan’s shoulder occasionally brushed yours.

He liked you.

The realization still felt impossible.

By the time you reached the edge of the quad, neither of you seemed particularly interested in heading anywhere specific. You slowed down near a cluster of trees. The conversation between you had faded naturally, leaving something quieter behind.

Logan turned towards you, staring. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“There was something else I wanted to do today.”

“Oh?”

His smile widened, “Yeah.”

Your breath caught, and the look in his eyes made it impossible to misunderstand where this was heading.

Standing in the fading afternoon sunlight, all you felt was a nervous excitement that seemed to stretch from your chest all the way to your fingertips.

Logan took a small step closer to you. His gaze flicked briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

When he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you didn’t pull away, you leaned into it.

The smile that appeared on his face was almost impossibly tender.

Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t rushed. It felt like relief, like coming home after a very long time. His hand remained lightly against your cheek as your eyes drifted closed.

The kiss was soft, careful, and patient. As though he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind. You didn’t.

A grin slowly spread across his face, and you kissed him again.

--

Three weeks later, Wednesday still belonged to the two of you.

Some things hadn’t changed. The coffee shop was still crowded, your table was still tucked beside the window. Logan still showed up carrying far too much caffeine.

The difference was that now, when you looked up from your laptop, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head before taking his seat.

Across the table, he reached for your hand without even thinking about it. Like, it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was.

For the first time in a very long time, you weren’t thinking about what had happened before. You weren’t replaying old hurts. You weren’t waiting for something to go wrong.

You were simply here, with him, happy.

Maybe starting over wasn’t about forgetting the past.

Maybe it was finding someone who made you believe the future could be better. As Logan smiled at you from across the table that afternoon, it was impossible not to think that maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what had happened.

On a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again.

[sanchooinc]

ok this is cute

[formallery]

mike realized his parents didn't love each other when he was very young, and he rationalized this as all couples don't love each other. that's until he sees the way steve treats you.

c.w. none, a little angsty in the beginning but not really sad, mostly fluff, canon divergent bc i'm pretending the byers never moved to california and max is still hanging out with the party

a/n: wrote this instead of studying for finals, do not bring ship wars into the reblogs. this is me psychoanalyzing a sad teenage boy and writing self-indulgent domestic fluff

───────── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─────────

Mike Wheeler's parents do not love each other. Maybe they have some semblance of love between them, but they are not engaged in the act of love. He isn't quite sure at what age, or even exactly when, he realized this. He can't point to one exact day of his life but rather a blur of the hundreds of evenings he's spent the same way.

Sitting at the dinner table with his parents and two sisters while his mother puts out emotional fires and his father picks at his chicken then tells his mom it's over salted. Nancy has a teeth-cleaning on Saturday so she needs to move her date with Jonathan. Also how is her chemistry grade? Mrs. Sinclair recommended a great tutor. Holly's daycare closes early tomorrow so someone needs to pick her up. Does one of Mike's friends want to earn some cash babysitting? Oh and is Mike still going out with his friends after school tomorrow?

Somewhere in the middle of his mother's rambles his father will stand up muttering a "thank you," not to be polite but because it's expected, and walks over to the couch to watch TV without putting his dish in the sink. He'll watch whatever sports game is on and crack a beer while his mother cleans the kitchen.

There is no animosity or arguing between Ted and Karen, only tolerance and mutual existence.

Eventually, the idea of love becomes near repulsive to him. The idea of his parents engaging in any sort of affection makes him nauseous. It's not the childish disgust Lucas has seeing his father kiss his mother but a deep-seated discomfort. A part of him (smaller or bigger than he'd like, he's not quite sure) believes love doesn't exist. It's simply a pleasant lie society feeds one another, because the idea of being alone is terrifying.

That's until he finds himself half-asleep on Steve Harrington's living room floor.

He's been having a lot of sleepovers with his friends since the Starcourt Mall incident. None of them want to be the person who says it but they're all terrified of being alone. He's woken up quite a few times in a cold sweat with gory images in his mind, and he doubts he's the only one. Steve's parents are hardly ever in town so his house becomes the designated place for sleepovers.

The credits are rolling for whatever movie they watched, Mike can't remember because he fell asleep half-way through. His memory is hazy of what time they started but if he had to guess it's probably close to one in the morning.

Dustin is fast asleep next to him on the floor and Will's knocked out on the couch above them. They had been designing their characters for a new DND campaign, Mike's pretty sure there's pen on his cheek from falling asleep while writing the character details.

One of the other side of the couch Max is squished between El and Lucas, and he sincerely doubts she'll mind come morning. She'll probably be grateful considering she's been having some of the worst nightmares.

His eyes make his way over to the loveseat where you had been sitting with Steve. What once started as a respectable distance to avoid incurring any teasing has disappeared. You're leaning on Steve, curled into his side and he has an arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulders. You're trying to focus on the credits, dangerously close to dozing off while Steve stares down at you with something in his eyes Mike can't quite understand.

What he does understand is that his parents have never held each other like that.

"You sleepin' over there baby?" Steve's voice is a soft murmur, smiling as he looks down at you.

"Mmmm…" you let out a sleepy hum, barely acknowledging his words before burrowing deeper into his side.

Steve's smile widens in response and all of a sudden Mike's stomach twists. It's not disgust or repulsion but… embarrassment. He's intruding on something special, he should just close his eyes and go back to sleep. That's what he should do, but he can't bring himself to.

"Mmm…. need to put… the kids,” you mumble just barely comprehensible in your sleepy stupor.

“What about the kids sweetheart?” Steve whispers brushing hair out of your face.

“Put em to bed….” you’re practically in Steve’s lap despite the fact the loveseat was made for two. “Mike and Dustin are on the floor… and clean up…..”

“I’ll do it,” Steve murmurs gently and kisses your forehead, “but first I'm putting you to bed.”

“No…..” your brow furrows in your half conscious state.

“Yes,” Steve smooths out the crease with his thumb and kisses your cheek. Then in one smooth movement he’s standing up and hoisting you into his arms, all while making sure the blanket is still tucked around you. You let out a quiet giggle when he picks you up and he notices.

"Having fun over there?" he teases quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It's almost a knee-jerk reaction, he can't keep his lips off you.

"I feel special," you whisper as if you're sharing a secret and Steve's face softens even more. Mike didn't know it was possible for someone to look at another person like that.

"You are special," Steve whispers in that same secretive tone and kisses your forehead. "C'mon pretty, let's get you to bed."

Your words fade into quiet indecipherable whispers and giggles as Steve carries you to and up the staircase and Mike finds himself staring at the empty loveseat. A million thoughts swirling in his head and none at the same time. He's about to sit up when he hears Steve coming down the staircase and immediately closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't know why, he could just pretend he woke up now. He doesn't have to give Steve any indication that he witnessed their intimate moment, but for some reason a part of him believe that waking up now would ruin something. Something he can't quite put words to.

The older teen shuffles around a little, turning off the TV, before coming over to where Mike and Dustin are laying on the floor. Then before Mike knows it Steve is lifting him up and placing him on the couch. He feels like a little kid being carried to bed after falling asleep on the car ride home. Though that only happened once or twice at his mother's insistence, usually his father woke him up to walk inside.

He hears some more shuffling and then the couch dips presumably with Dustin's weight. He hears the sounds of Steve cleaning up trash and crafts, carefully organizing their DND papers as to not be scolded later. Just when he thinks Steve is about to head upstairs a blanket is gently tucked around his shoulders and a damp cloth is pressed to his cheek to wipe the pen marks off.

"Wheeler?" Steve whispers gently, and his body tenses but his eyes don't open.

Noticing the tension in his body, Mike hears Steve let out a huff indicating he's smiling. He tucks the blanket a little tighter and ruffles Mike's hair.

"Go to bed kid."

Steve tucks a blanket around Dustin before flicking off all the lights and setting the heater to a comfortable temperature. Then he quietly creeps upstairs and Mike can hear the soft murmurs of you two speaking. He doesn't need to be in the room to have an idea of what's being said.

He sleeps better than he has in months.

[sanchooinc]

cute

[tomsparkyr]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄)

you turned into your worst fears and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years!

summary: steve harrington used to be the person you'd go to for anything but after the events of 86', the invisible string between you has been severed beyond repair. after vecna cursed you and max, perhaps luck was on your side as she lay still in hawkins hospital; but was it really luck if you're stuck between dustin and steve at each others throats in the upside down, voicing opinions you thought you could repress for the rest of your life?

warnings: set in s5 but briefly covers previous seasons, angst, loneliness, cursing, mentions of death, steve's a little mean but we cover why in the next part, generally sad reader, angsty-ish ending (for now!), slight change in plot, we love nancy wheeler in this house, 1K word intro / exposure whaaaattt

(this is pure angst i'm sorry (not really) but there will be a part two! ...and maybe part three idk i'm improvising / also i'm pro-yapper so everything is super extended it's becoming an issue lol)

word count: 4.7K

part two,, part three,, part four

steve harrington x fem!reader

(STRANGER THINGS S5 VOLUME 2 SPOILERS)

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 'good times' simply solidify the ideology that they’re never coming back. What was once the life you lived freely, unaware of the sheer jealousy your future self would feel, was now only a memory, something you wished you could live vicariously through.

But who could blame a girl for wanting the days where she wasn’t tormented by another being that she had failed, let down everyone she loved and the mere existence of her was at the expense of someone else, someone more innocent and had life behind her eyes. 

You’d prefer to say that Hawkins was like living in hell than go down the wormhole of suppressed feelings. And the fact that you couldn’t leave this mess of a town due to the military quarantining you and everyone you wished to avoid, validates your statement that Hawkins had it out for you.

Everyone suffered in the spring of 1986, the group was severed and discovered that everything they thought they knew about the Upside Down was wrong; everything they had already fought was just the beginning.

Over time, everyone moved on. Distanced themselves from the reality they lived out 18 months ago and focused on the now, how they could save Hawkins after Vecna had fulfilled his promise.

But it’s harder to move on when it should’ve been you lying in Hawkins Hospital, heart monitor steady and face pale, your body still as the doctor insisted you were in a coma. You should’ve been sick of the stench of the hospital, annoying everyone that came to visit you as you showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. 

It should’ve been your walkman resting on the bedside table, headphones draped loosely around your neck after everyone got fed up of hearing the same song on repeat, binning out the boombox and preferring to have the music reserved for your ears only.

But it wasn’t you. In some twisted reality you called normality, Max Mayfield was the one who suffered the fate that was designed for you.

You visited her often, not only because you babysitted her throughout her childhood and made it known to everyone that she was your favourite of the group, but because your endless guilt forced you to sit in the chair beside her bed, staring at the reminder that you had failed; and everyone around you was too nice to say it to your face.

In the time that you had held Max’s hand with your own clammy palm, you had grown accustomed to seeing Lucas almost every day and muttering the same mantra to his hopeless face: “I’m sorry. I did everything I could.”

And Lucas would interrupt you every time, “Don’t ever be sorry. I’m glad you’re here.”

At least someone could put a soft smile on your face as Hawkins crumbles around you.

You wished you could confide in him but he was still a kid battling with his own issues, high school still relevant as he tried to keep the town from falling apart, the love of his life was unconscious and his best friend had changed severely within the 18 months, much like the rest of you.

One name rang around your mind as you searched for an output, someone you wished you could let in and not feel so alone. But whatever friendship or connection you had with Steve Harrington was in the past, and it seemed adamant to stay there.

Oh, Steve Harrington. The man you would go to for anything, whether that was fighting inter-dimensional creatures or dragging someone along to the movie you had been dying to watch and knew you could convince him with the promise of paying for him; although he would never let you, he preferred to enjoy your company.

You remembered the way he refused to let go of your hand as you ventured below Starcourt Mall and how he promised he would keep you safe as you sat back to back, mind running a million thoughts as you dreaded what the Russians would do to you.

How could you forget when you sat on the bathroom floor, sandwiched in the stalls between Steve and Robin as their words were prompted by the ‘truth serum’. And how Steve admitted that he had fallen in love with someone else after Nancy Wheeler.

Of course, his admission was cut short by Dustin barging into the bathrooms, his posture reeking of stress and urgency, enough to get the three of you on your feet and any further words trapped behind the burning walls of Starcourt Mall.

Then as Vecna forced his way into your lives and targeted you and Max, you felt your sanity snatched out from under your feet and Steve’s hands to support you as you convinced yourself you were losing your mind.

He used to have your walkman and favourite song tucked into the backpack Dustin carried everywhere, refusing to let you leave the house or out of his sight without it in touching distance. You’d tell him that it was manifesting a bad outcome, but he’d scoff and say, “I don’t care. As long as you’re safe.”

To say you were fond of Steve Harrington was an understatement. You had been harbouring a crush on him for a while now, but who didn’t? 

How could you not fall for Steve “The Hair” Harrington?

Steve with his perfect hair and handsome face, with a laugh you could recognise anywhere. Perhaps it was the way he looked at you that made it easy to become enamoured with him, how his eyes would soften whenever you spoke up and how even in the darkest times, he would cup your face and make sure the only thing you saw was him.

You could feel the ghost of his hand brush against the small of your back whenever you stood alone in the group as they discussed the crawls, reminding you of the man that now stood on the opposite side of the room to you and how he used to be your anchor back to reality.

You were told good things never last, but you never put Steve Harrington into the category of things you could lose.

You found yourself pushing him away the second Max closed her eyes and they never reopened. The last words Steve spoke directly to you were reassurances whispered into your hair, his arms wrapped around your frame as your body shook from hearing the final chime of the clock, confirming your fears that Max had been cursed one final time.

You shut yourself out from everyone. It was expected, but no one made the effort to drag your past self back to the surface, leaving her drowning in the sorrow that the spring of 86’ provided.

You understood that it shouldn’t be you standing here listening to the group relay ideas for the crawl, it should’ve been a redhead tucked under Lucas’ arm who mocked any stupid ideas that Mike would throw out.

To remove yourself from the equation was easier than accepting that the past cannot be changed.

If your lack of inclusion in the group was the closest you could reach to the fate that was written under your name, then it was what you would conform to. No matter how much it hurts to feel pitying eyes on your form.

"𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 really promising.” Steve sighed as his flashlight scaled the walls of the lab, falling behind Dustin’s hurried steps.

How you found yourself in the Upside Down’s version of Hawkins Lab with Steve, Nancy, Jonathan and Dustin and tensions high was a question you wished you could say was unanswered. But after driving Steve’s precious beamer into a wall and following Dustin’s throw-in-the-dark idea, your day had already decided to suck.

“We’re in the lobby.” Dustin huffed. If you thought you were outward with your uncomfortable situation with Steve, Dustin made sure he won that argument. 

You walked beside Nancy as she furrowed her brows at the surroundings, “And… where are we going exactly?” She tilted her head.

“Right. Like, what is it we’re looking for?” Jonathan asked as he looked at Dustin. “You’ve all seen Return of the Jedi?” Dustin said.

You stumbled to a stop as your heart clenched uncomfortably. You were the one who introduced the franchise to Steve. When he secured his job at Family Video beside you and Robin, you made sure he knew some recent films and found yourselves brushing shoulders on movie nights and watching his brows screw up as he tried to understand the plot.

You felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of your face. “The one with the teddy bears?” Steve mumbled.

“Ewoks.” You and Dustin said in unison, “Yeah, it’s the best one.” Steve responded.

Nancy raised her eyebrows, “Is it?” Dustin scoffed, “No, but every child loves it, so tracks.” You pressed your lips together to prevent a small smile from appearing on your face. Nancy’s eyes flickered to you and noticed, her eyes softening as she watched a glimpse of your past self slip out.

“In the film, if you recall,” Dustin stepped forwards, “the rebels need to destroy a second Death Star, but it’s surrounded by a protective energy shield, which is created by a shield generator.”

“Yeah, cool. Thanks for the summary of a movie we’ve all seen.” Steve’s voice echoed around the lifeless lobby. Of course he remembered the film, despite watching it to satisfy you only, he understood the context to some extent.

“It could be relevant, Steve.” You cleared your throat, eyes glancing his way as he turned around to face you, his expression unreadable.

Dustin nodded in your direction, “Thank you!” He gestured to you before continuing his analogy, “Look, I think this circular flesh wall is Vecna’s version of an energy shield, except it’s not sci-fi.”

“It’s supernatural, created by Vecna’s dark magic. And this dark magic shield is what’s preventing us from reaching him and saving Holly.” You crossed your arms over your chest as the group huddled around Dustin. “But if my math is correct, the generator for the shield has to be in this lab.” He finished.

Jonathan stood between you and Steve, “So if we find this dark magic shield generator…” Even hearing the words come out of someone else’s mouth felt strange, you couldn’t believe you had been roped into this again.

Dustin nodded, “We destroy the wall.” You fiddled with your flashlight, “Find Vecna.”

“Save Holly.” Nancy finished your sentence, her sister being at the forefront of her mind.

“Medals for all.” You offered Dustin a tight smile as his sarcastic enthusiasm had you wanting to find this shield generator as soon as possible, needing to breathe after being suffocated in the uncomfortable tension.

Steve placed his hands on his hips, “And it looks like what?”

“How would you expect me to know that?” Dustin rolled his eyes and turned his back on the group. You let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed your face with your hands, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping that when they reopen, it’ll all be some sick illusion.

Steve scoffed as he watched the tension build in your shoulders, “If you’re gonna complain then you should just leave now. This wasn’t exactly our ideal location.” 

You lifted your head and realised Steve’s annoyance was directed at you. Your face screwed up with confusion and your eyes darted between Nancy and Jonathan, “I’m not complaining. Where’d you get that from?”

Steve opened his mouth to retort but Nancy took a step forward to follow in Dustin’s trail, “We don’t have time for this.” She ordered and nodded for you to follow, not seeing her shoot Steve a disappointed gaze.

Jonathan cleared his throat to diffuse the tension, leaving Steve behind the pack and eyes trained on the back of the person he used to call his best friend. 

Dustin shouldered the door open and you suppressed a groan when you made eye contact with two flights of stairs. “Up or down?” You asked.

“I say both. Search in two teams. Cover more ground.” Nancy concluded, keeping a tight grip on her bag thrown over her shoulder.

Steve nodded beside you, ignoring the way your shoulders touched in the tight space, “Yeah, that’s cool with me, but can we just switch the teams up?”

Your jaw clenched as you remembered all the times everyone would assume you and Steve were paired together in these situations. You suspected that he would want distance from you but to hear it out loud and under unfortunate circumstances made you want to bash your head into the wall.

“Nance, you and me to go up?” Nancy’s head snapped towards the brunette, her eyes wide, “Oh, I mean…” She shook her head.

“Are you serious?” Jonathan scoffed. You almost laughed at being situated in the middle of Steve and Jonathan as they battled it out for who could be more ‘macho’, as you and Nancy liked to call it.

“Us three,” Steve gestured at you and Dustin, “We need some space.”

Jonathan shrugged, “Fine. How about me and you? Then her and Nance?” You raised your brows, suddenly on board with the pairing options.

“I think we need some space too.” Steve shut down your ideal groups rather quickly.

“So everyone but Nancy. That’s just… It’s convenient.” Jonathan’s voice dropped as he glanced over at you staring at the floor, “I don’t get it. What are you trying to prove to her?” He jutted his thumb out in your direction.

You widened your eyes, “Me?” Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, “This has nothing to do with her.”

“How about this?” You raised your voice, hand rubbing your temple as their bickering started to give you a headache, “I’ll go alone. Three groups will be more beneficial.” 

You lifted your flashlight and went to take a step in the other direction, but Nancy’s hand tugging you on the back of your shirt sent you stumbling back and crashing into Steve’s chest.

“You’re not going alone.” Nancy said firmly, refusing to let you out of anyone's sight. 

You readjusted your footing and brushed your clothing as you leaned out of Steve’s touch, “Of course you wanted to go alone.” You heard him mutter under his breath.

Before you could respond, Nancy cut you off. “Hey, we don’t have time for this. Let’s just keep it simple, stick to the usual teams.” She shot you an apologetic look.

“Nance, please--” You groaned as Steve and Dustin offered her the same pleas, “I can’t--”

“End of discussion.” She raised her voice, her feet taking her up the stairs and avoiding the three frustrated looks directed at her. Jonathan patted you on the shoulder and whispered an apology under his breath as he brushed past you and followed Nancy, leaving Steve and Dustin to sigh in the wake.

Steve sighed and looked over at Dustin, “Awesome.” He said sarcastically. Dustin raised his brows and dragged his feet down the extensive amount of steps.

Steve turned to you and you looked up at him. You could recall the days when his eyes would soften when they met your own, a smile gracing his flushed face and hands raised to fix his hair, desperate to constantly look his best whenever you saw him.

Now those eyes felt like a void, you couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. “Just awesome.” He repeated and barged your shoulder slightly as he passed you.

You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, easing the tension and headache that was brewing. You reminded yourself that this was for the greater of Hawkins because if it was up to you, you would have sprinted out of the lab at the first chance than explore with your ex-best friend and the kid that hates his guts.

With each step you took, you felt the throbbing pain in your head get worse. It wasn’t unusual to get migraines with the stress you found yourself under constantly, but this one felt different. 

It felt familiar.

The pain caused you to feel lightheaded, tripping on the last step and forcing a hand out on the wall to catch your fall. You clenched your teeth together and pressed the heel of your hand against your temple.

Steve heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned around, the beam of his flashlight shining right in your face, “You alright?” He asked, voice teetering on edge of concern.

You nodded and stuck a hand out to block the light shining at you, “Yeah, I’m good.” You lied through your teeth, pushing through the ache to follow Dustin who led the pair of you.

Steve nodded slowly and retracted his flashlight, “Okay, that was too many stairs.” He joked weakly, trying to diffuse the worry that flooded his body.

Dustin, unaware of the torment you were experiencing behind him, quoted, “Treasures are always hidden in the deepest depths of the dungeon.”

“What is it, a treasure or a magic shield generator? Keep your metaphors straight, dude.” Steve said as he turned his back on you.

You sighed, “Analogy.” You whispered to yourself, correcting his statement but lacking the care to fight with him once again.

Steve and Dustin strode forward, pushing on the double doors to reveal a room designed for kids. Rainbows were painted on the floors and walls and games were scattered all over the floor.

“Did not expect to find a daycare in this hellhole.” Steve felt his heart rate pick up at the dystopian room, “That’s a perk.”

You entered the room and leaned your back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as it felt like someone was toying with your brain, prodding at it until you cracked. You didn’t even notice begin to leave the room until his frustration boiled over.

“While I search the rest of the basement, why don’t you stay here and play with your balls?” He chucked the object back at Steve, “Perfect, yeah.” Steve clenched his jaw.

The pair bickered back and forth before Dustin left with a scowl on his face. You leaned over to watch his figure retreating and turned to Steve who hoisted himself up to sit on one of the desks.

You interrupted the silence, “So I take it you two don’t get along anymore.” You crossed your arms over your chest and pushed yourself to stand upright.

Steve scoffed, “What would you know? You haven’t been here.”

Your movement halted, “I’ve been here.” You squinted at him as he rested his elbows on his knees.

“You’ve been here,” Steve gestured to your figure, “But here,” He tapped the side of his head, tongue wedged between his teeth in frustration, “You’re somewhere else. And you have been for the last 18 months.”

Your breathing shallowed, “That’s called grief, Steve. We all go through it.” 

“But what are you grieving? That’s what I don’t get.” He snapped, eyes meeting your own as you shrunk under his hard gaze.

“Max.” Her name felt wrong on the tip of her tongue. You refused to say it for months after she was admitted into hospital, the reminder of the redhead had you wanting to hurl on the floor of the lab.

Steve let out a loud laugh, “You’re grieving someone that’s not even dead! What are the chances that Max wakes up during all of this? Pretty damn high if you ask me.” He ran his hand through his hair and watched your face screw up in sheer disgust at his words.

Steve licked his lips, “You know, I think you secretly wanted this.”

You felt your heart stop in your chest, “What?” 

You watched the brunette nod, “I think you’ve been spiralling for a while now and used this whole Max and Vecna situation as an excuse. You were barely affected during the curse and now you’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem.” The difference is, you were affected. And Steve knew it.

Who was the one who held you as you recalled your first vision, hands shaking and kisses peppered along your hairline. The same man who basically told you that you had it easy that spring, that you’re living off the thrill of being cursed a handful of times.

You turned your back on him, “I’m not doing this right now.” You heard him shout as you pushed the double doors open, “Shutting me out once again!”

You hurried out the room, not baring to stand the sight of his face again. You feel a bile rise in the back of your throat, the noises of the dormant lab suffocate you, and the throbbing pain between your skull intensifies.

You hadn’t noticed anything was wrong until you saw a drop of red stain your sweater. Your head snapped down and tugged at the material to gain a closer look.

Your eyes widened and you lifted your hand to touch under your nose. Retracting your hand, you saw that the tips of your fingers were painted red.

“Shit.” You cursed and tugged the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, wiping the blood that streamed from your nose onto the material. 

You furrowed your brows as you racked your brain for the last time your nose decided to spontaneously bleed. It was so out of the ordinary that you couldn’t remember. 

A light behind a door caught your eye. It looked out of place, like whatever was behind it was not meant to be there. Your feet carried you towards it before your brain comprehend what was going on.

Just as you placed the palm of your hand against the door, inches away from pushing it open, you heard a loud crash from the room you were previously in.

Your mind running a million different worst case scenarios, you sprinted towards the noise. As you got closer, you heard familiar yells and curses, the sound of items cluttering to the floor made your heart pick up.

Skidding around the corner, you stumbled into the room panting. Your eyes locked onto Steve as he sat up, groaning in pain, “You know what, man? I’m done.” He slowly clambered to his feet, ignoring your worried gaze.

“I’m done!” He shouted and barged against your shoulder as you stood in the doorway, eyes flickering between a beaten Dustin on the floor and Steve who had a fresh bruise forming on his cheek.

Putting two and two together, you tugged Steve back by gripping onto his jacket, “What the fuck just happened?” You raised your voice, on the heels of Steve as he tried to shake off your hold.

“None of your business.” His voice broke as he refused to spare Dustin a second glance, hearing his voice echo down the hallways, “You dumb, fake asshole!”

You let out an exasperated sigh and swallowed your nerves, “I think it’s my business when you scare the shit out of me!” You yanked him to a stop and he looked past you, “Is that a bruise?”

Your fingers gently brushed the underside of Steve’s jaw before he slapped your hand away, “No--” “Did you get in a fight?” You furrowed your brows.

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, “Can you stop?” His eyes locked onto the blood staining the sleeve of your sweater, furrowing his brows as he wondered when you had gotten hurt.

Through your concern, you failed to hear him, “Tell me what the hell happened--” “God! You’re so ungrateful!” Steve yelled and you flinched slightly at the tone of voice, one he had never used on you before.

You squinted up at him, “Ungrateful?” You voiced your offence as your hands dropped from tending to his recent wounds, and his own dropped off your shoulders, finding home in gripping his jeans.

Steve bit down on his bottom lip as if what was spewing out of his mouth was the filtered half, “You’re standing here and breathing just fine by yourself! But guess who isn’t?”

Your breath hitched as your mind went to Max who lay still, hooked up to anything the hospital could find to classify her condition to be a coma, “Where are you going with this?” Your voice wavered.

“I’m saying that Max would’ve been grateful.” Steve’s response was enough to sever any chance of redeeming what you had. You could barely recognise the man standing in front of you, the one so overcome with anger that he wouldn’t understand the severity of his words until moments later.

You took a deep breath, “And I’m saying that you’re being a dick.”

“You got lucky that spring and you know it.” You took a step back from him, “You’re being mean, Steve.”

Steve looked down and huffed out a laugh, “And we’ve been telling you this whole time, ‘It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.’” You felt tears prickle at your eyes, “In my opinion, I think you could’ve done more--” “Shut up!” You shouted and shoved him in the chest. “And if you hadn't left Max alone that night…”

Tears blurred your vision, “Are you saying that it should’ve been me?”

The silence should’ve been your answer. You should’ve left the second Steve didn’t immediately shut down the ludicrous statement. But your heart yearned to know the truth, to know what he had really thought about you since that night; if everything between you was simply a wrinkle in time, something that was never meant to exist but would ultimately be crushed by the harsh reality.

“Your interpretation. Not mine.” Steve mumbled.

You felt like you had been doused with cold water. It turns out Steve Harrington was the same man he was all those years ago. And to confirm your worst fears, to admit that he’d been lying to you the entire time you thought you could be falling in love with him; this was definitely the worst moment in your entire life.

You nodded weakly, a forced smile etched across your face, “And I’m the one who’s changed, right?”

Your words hit Steve like a truck, and if you disappearing out of his sight with tears cascading down your cheeks didn’t hurt enough, then the realisation of his words did.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘, 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍, 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 and Dustin had all found each other after. They were hunched over the book Dustin had found before he could warn Nancy to not shoot whatever force they located in the sky.

Nancy chewed on the skin around her thumb, “No sign of her?” 

Dustin shook his head after peering around a corner, “I haven’t seen her since…” His voice trailed off as he remembered his fight with Steve, regret forming in the pit of his stomach as a bruise formed on his friend’s cheek.

Steve looked like he could throw up any second. His face was pale and his hair was matted. He hadn’t seen you since he had said the words he wished he could forget, the way he had spoken to you and the way your face crumbled.

He didn’t mean any of it. Not one word.

He wishes to never relive the feeling he felt when he watched you walk away from him, and how he rounded the corner to meet Nancy and Jonathan and you weren’t beside them.

You were alone in the lab. And it was all Steve’s fault.

His ever present guilt was cut off but a guttural scream outside the lab. Nancy rose to her feet immediately and gasped, “What was that?”

Jonathan copied her movement, “What was what?”

Silence fell over the group as they listened in, “Holly.” Nancy whispered and dropped the items in her hand, sprinting towards the door with Jonathan hot on her tail.

Dustin made a move to follow them but Steve grabbed him by the arm, “Holly. She’s out of Vecna’s reach.” His chest tightened.

Dustin furrowed his brows, “What do you mean?”

“There’s 12 kids. If Holly’s out…” Steve muttered and Dustin’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Who’s in?” Dustin’s voice wavered and watched Steve’s eyes dart around the room.

Steve knew who Vecna was targeting the second his suspicions were confirmed. He remembered the blood staining the sleeve of your sweater, the headaches that made you feel dizzy and the way you looked uncomfortable the second you found yourself in the Upside Down.

You were Vecna’s next target and Steve Harrington had no idea where you were.

LOL

taglisttttttt:

@alllnightz @urcutetozier @eridanuswave @sheisjoeschateau @bornindarkparadise @celeya @inlovewithchriss

let me know if u wanna be tagged for the next parts!💕💕💕

[sanchooinc]

LOVED THISSS cant wait for the next one

[starvales]

top ten questions science can't answer

narumi gen / gn!spouse!reader

content : crack, fluff, gender neutral reader, spouse!reader, going to sleep in the same bed, narumi should have his own warning, relatively short, can be read as a standalone.

a/n : will forever grieve the lost potential of my glorious bbg in the anime, if they don't fix him in season two you'll see me on international news, trust.

an extra to 'a cheers to our youth'

With each passing moment, your consciousness becomes weak to the inviting arms of peace. It beckons for you to rest and let the whisper of dreams carry you into the boundless expanse of both nothing and everything.

Documents for the week have all been completed a day early, the traffic home was lenient, and the bed sheets are fresh from the dryer.

Truly, an optimal day.

And there is absolutely nothing that can ruin this.

“Hey, you awake?”

Your tranquillity is shattered.

Choosing to ignore him, you pray that your husband does a flip while he dives off a-

“Would you still love me if I was poorly adapted in an anime?”

Sigh...

Manoeuvring yourself to face him, you hope he can see the utter displeasure he's inflicted upon you despite the only lighting being the dim backdrop of moonlight that seeps through the curtains.

“This isn’t some teenager’s fanfiction series, Stupid. Go to sleep. We both have an early start tomorrow.”

"I'm serious! Would you still love me if I was being hyped up so hard before my first appearance but the animators made me ugly?"

You slap a hand over his mouth. "Go. To. Sleep."

He licks the hand to gross you out enough to let go, but two decades of his shit has made you very well immune.

Seconds pass, and thinking that he’ll heed your words, you let him go and wipe his saliva on his pyjama top, unfazed.

Unfortunately, he opens his mouth. "Answer my question, and i'll leave you alone. Please?"

Surprised at the sincerity of his plea, you decide after a moment that perhaps indulging him once in a while wouldn't hurt.

Taking his hands from under the covers, you pull them up so that they lay just over your chests, your synced beating hearts. Loosely interlacing your fingers with his own, you savour and take comfort in the cooling chill from the touch of his ring.

Looking at him in the eyes and with as much sincerity in your voice, you whisper back...

"You're going to be ugly in every universe, whether you like it or not, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"..."

Your husband is finally silent, so you take this opportunity to peck him on the corner of his lips and burrow yourself into his warmth whilst wishing him sweet dreams, hands still intertwined.

Though, you fail to witness the way he's now withered away. With his mouth agape and a fractured heart, Narumi Gen does not sleep that night.

[sanchooinc]

HAHAHHAHA😭

[inzaynety]

investigation: start! ⤫

➢ summary: when visiting the third division, there’s never a shortage of questions and confusion about you. a few take it upon themselves to get to the bottom of it.

➢ content: hoshina x fem!reader, 2574 words, nosy officers, jealous hoshina, suggestive at the end, iharu has a crush on you, slight spoilers for the manga for certain instances to make the plans make sense but it’s vague

➢ notes: i was reading thru character profiles and it made writing this a little easier w the interactions 🫡 hope u enjoy

prequel - pt. 1 of slice & dice - pt. 2

The lives of the higher-ups were always a topic of discussion for the members of the defense force. If anything, it seemed to be entertainment and gossip to exchange and bond over between divisions. One of the hot topics includes Commander Ashiro’s childhood, courtesy of Kafka. 

The only person they couldn’t get anything on was their own Vice-Commander. He was already an enigma himself with that cheerful yet unsettling grin, and they were all witnesses to the receiving end of his narrowed stares during training. The most they could get out of him was a boisterous laugh that shared nothing. They were getting bored. 

But with boredom comes the urge to seek new things. And in this case, dirt on Vice-Commander Hoshina.

There wasn’t much they could see initially–until you came along. 

Now, you weren’t an uncommon sight for the Third Division officers. They would see you hanging around Okonogi or eyeing a few of the new officers during training with an intense gaze that they didn’t know if they should feel flattered or intimidated. Most of the time, however, you were in close proximity to Hoshina. During division meetings, the officers never saw a day without the two of you conversing in some way whether it be through words or standing right next to each other. There was no blatant physical contact but the distance between you two was a little odd to say the least. 

So some took it upon themselves to start a mission.

Kikoru would never voice her true intentions out loud but it was clear that she was as invested as her companions were if her constant questions about the matter said anything about it. She was influenced by her close peers and their enthusiasm definitely fed that.

Reno didn’t want anything to do with it… at first. He changed his mind after only an hour and he thinks it’s due to spending too much time with a certain someone who loved entertainment. Iharu sneezes in the distance. 

Kafka was simultaneously wanting to join the younger members in their antics, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk another week of pushups. While he would admit that his arms were tougher, those exercises reminded him of the embarrassment every time he miscalled his commander. But the thought of having some knowledge about Hoshina was interesting, to say the least. 

It seemed they were all bored overall. 

Ultimately, they all decided to make a plan and figure it out separately. Your division was visiting for a week and reconvening would wait until the weekend. It was time to investigate. 

Minase was the one to kick it off, prompting her fellow members to gain more confidence. It all started with an innocent encounter in the operations room when she, Kikoru, and Hakua passed by. 

There were voices inside but the most prominent ones were yours and Hoshina’s. The Vice-Commander was a little surprised to see them when they intercepted at the door but it is quickly masked when you step out, a hint of a smile on your face possibly due to the joke he told you only moments before.

“Now, what’re you three doin’ here?” The Vice-Commander asks, hands in his pockets while you stand slightly behind him with your head tilted. 

Minase always had a good ear being a great listener for her peers and was able to hear what he had said to you. It was a flirty quip, but not enough to not be told to a close friend. Upon seeing that she had caught both of your attention, she smiles.

“Good afternoon!” You greet her as well but a silence falls over you five. It’s a bit awkward–Kikoru side-eyes her friend to see what the whole stopping and rushing over here was for, but Minase had a plan already set. “We were actually looking for you, Commander,” she looks directly at you and you raise a brow at the implication of her tone.

“Oh?” You take a step forward. “What for?”

“Some training tips, is all. After the last session you gave us, it motivated us to work on our blade work even more!” Like Hoshina, your preferred way of fighting had nothing to do with the guns everyone else used. You hum in acknowledgement. 

The Third was full of promising new officers and it would be a waste to not help them hone their skills even more. But you were sure Hoshina was pushing them enough with his own swordsmanship. You even learned a lot from him yourself. 

Hakua stifles a choked sound when Minase elbows her gently, not expecting to be put on the spot just like that. And despite already being told of their group’s plan beforehand and having her outgoing personality, it was still a nerve-racking request. 

“Y-Yeah! You seem close to Commander Narumi so we thought you guys would have similar fighting styles.” In your head, you think they’re referring to how he’s the strongest and anyone would want to learn from the best of the best. Gen wasn’t the easiest to get a hold of and you felt flattered they would ask you directly, so of course you would help out.

On the side, Kikoru is tasked with watching the Vice-Commander. Not all reactions were verbal and she was the most observant of the three, but she couldn’t maintain her eyes on him the whole time lest he get suspicious. 

But now she thinks her eyes have deceived her. At the mention of Commander Narumi, Hoshina’s eyes peek open. She sees how they darken more as Hakua talks about your fighting styles but just like his initial surprise earlier, that expression left as quickly as it came. 

She tucks that away.

Vice-Commander Hoshina had his “Kaiju killing eyes” at the mention of Commander Narumi. Don’t know what that could mean. - Kikoru

That’s jealousy! - Minase

Now you see what I mean about his eyes?? - Kafka

Iharu was infatuated with you from the get-go, though you would say that his first inspiration was Commander Ashiro. Saving him that day was what began his journey into the Defense Force, but it was you who motivated him to alter his fighting style to keep up with Reno. 

Speaking of the latter, he was sitting beside him in the cafeteria as the two tried to think of a plan for their part. They caught wind that Kikoru’s group got a promising lead and it was up to the rest to solidify it. But they’ve been stuck for the past hour trying to come up with their own thing and asking for training would be a stolen idea.

Reno watches as more and more officers walk into the shared area and grab their meals from the line. They’re a mix of your division and the Third Division members conversing among themselves and he immediately sits up with his idea. Iharu turns his head in surprise to find Reno’s attention already turned to him.

“What? Got an idea?” Reno nods fervently and brings both of their heads down to speak more quietly. Iharu raises his brows at the proposal and his cheeks turn pink. He’s outspoken, yeah, and confident, sure, but this was you. 

His friend pleads with him. He relents.

It’s not too long before you step into the cafeteria with the goal of lunch like everyone else. Spending time with Okonogi was great and all but she fried your brain with data only she and your Operations Leader Sora could keep up with. This was grounds for a well-deserved meal before your joint training session as well. 

Iharu watches as you get in line and as he stands up to line up behind you, and like Reno predicted as you grab your tray, you see the officer. To his and Iharu’s surprise, you greet him first. 

“Officer Furuhashi, right?” You ask after grabbing your tray. There’s a bright look on your face at the excitement of seeing the man who impressed your previous Commander. He shakily nods and you smile in response. “Commander Ogata said a lot of things about you.”

Iharu lets out a polite chuckle. “All good things, I hope?” He gets a laugh out of you and you both fall into a comfortable conversation as you move down the line. Reno watches the door and he hopes the timing works out, or Plan B would have to be used. At least Iharu was having a good time. 

It’s when the two of you reach the end of the line and walk towards Reno’s table does Hoshina appear from the doorway. The red-haired officer doesn’t see him yet and your conversation is at the point when you have a hand on his arm as you’re gushing over his newfound ability with his Kaiju suit. He feels a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder and Iharu freezes, looking to his side to see his Vice-Commander. 

“Vice–”

“Afternoon, Officer Furuhashi. Whatcha two talkin’ about?” By then your hand still hasn’t left his arm and he feels Hoshina’s grip get tighter. Iharu places his tray down onto the nearest table and your hand drops to your side but you didn’t notice. 

“His new ability,” you answer, “we were talking about it earlier with the operations team, remember? I was just looking for you, Officer Furuhashi, I’m so glad I got to talk to you.” Your answer is so sincere and he feels like he could melt right then and there. But to the side of him, there was also a strange sensation in the air. 

It was akin to bloodlust. 

“The same here.” Iharu answers and bows, “Please, enjoy your lunchtime.” Before you can say anything more, he turns on his heel straight towards Reno with his head down. 

The two sit there in silence as you look on in confusion before Hoshina pulls you along with him for his lunch. They aren’t looking at the two of you but Reno already got what he needed.

Vice-Commander Hoshina almost broke Furuhashi’s shoulder. I saw he also had one of his blades behind him while they were all talking. - Reno

WHAT?? - Iharu

By the way, what was plan B? - Kikoru

Iharu asks her directly if she’s dating the Vice-Commander. - Reno

HELLO?? - Iharu

Hi. - Kafka

Kafka knew he was going to be the last of the bunch to get this done. The digital community board on their group chat was a smart idea by Minase and he was able to see what the younger officers were trying to do with this mission. 

Kikoru and her friends got the first response but it needed more. Reno and Iharu got the “more” and all-in-all needed one final piece to set the puzzle. Kafka was proud of them but was currently in a situation with absolutely no idea as to what he was going to do. He thought that was more than enough to assume there was a relationship between the two of you, but Kikoru kicked him for that, too.

Was there any way to get you to confess about it? He thought about asking you directly but even though you were younger than him, you still held a higher title. And he didn’t want to face the potential wrath you could unleash for asking such a question. Were you the type to dish out punishments like the Vice-Commander? Again, he didn’t want to risk it. 

He had to do it soon too, you and your division were leaving in the morning and it would be another month or so before you and Hoshina would be seen in the same vicinity. 

Kafka sighs and runs a hand through his hair. This was troublesome but they were counting on him. 

He looks around the library he’s doing his nightly study session and sees that the time is very close to midnight. He’s shocked and now there’s absolutely no way he’s going to catch you at this hour, not unless you were training anyway. His best bet was to find you early in the morning but even that was a bit of a gamble.

Deciding on his defeat, Kafka puts his books and pens away before heading out into the hallway back to his room. He gets a sense of deja vu when he sees the light of the training room still on and assumes it’s the Vice-Commander again, and it wouldn’t hurt to watch him in action, right?

He walks up to the slightly open door and stops in his tracks at the sight. Both you and Hoshina were holding blades. Your’s were slightly longer and his were the typical ones he used during outside missions. Needless to say, they were the real deal. 

In the blink of an eye, you’re lunging towards each other and Kafka thinks if he blinks even once, he’d miss about five slashes shared between you two. Following Hoshina alone was already too much but watching someone match his speed? It was out of this world. 

The match only lasts for about half a minute, ending with a knife to both of your throats from the other. A moment of heavy breathing follows before you groan and toss your head back in exasperation, both of you simultaneously lowering your weapons. 

“I still can’t get that last one right!” 

“It was close! And hey, ya got the blade to my neck.”

“I always get the blade to your neck.” You roll your eyes. Hoshina was the best swordsman there was and it was incomparable to your personal weapon, so of course he would be better than you at it. ‘Whatever, I’m heading to bed.” Hoshina lets out a laugh. You put away the practice weapons and as you head to the door, Hoshina pulls you back to him by your wrist. 

“Wait a second,” he says and leans his head down to yours. 

Kafka, in the meantime, ducked his head to avoid being seen at least a little longer knowing he was not running away to hide in time. There aren't any more words being exchanged and he thinks there’s something else going on in that small bit of silence. 

He pops his head up and makes eye contact with Hoshina’s open eye. 

Got pushups. - Kafka

Damn. Sorry old man. - Iharu

So you got caught? Amateur. - Kikoru

Leave me alone! I tried. - Kafka

So you really didn’t see anything? - Reno

Oh, yeah. They kissed. - Kafka

…

What? - Kikoru

I got caught by the Vice-Commander. Scared me. :(- Kafka

…

HUH?? - Kikoru

Bonus:

After Kafka leaves, his head hung low at the premonition of more punishment, your arms stay on Hoshina’s shoulders. 

“Did you have to do that?” You muse, playing with the shorter hairs near the nape of his neck. He shivers at the feeling but his eyes open slightly and they’re not looking at you so softly.

“Did ya have to talk about him before training?” He counters back. He knows what you’ve been doing. You scoff.

You also know what he’s been doing. The murderous intention at the mention of you and Gen, the physical warning during lunch at Iharu, and even a mark of possession to the poor older man who was just joining in the fun of his peers. 

“Of course,” you bring him down to you, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. You feel his hands tighten on your waist. 

“What are you gonna do about it?”

©inzaynety 2024

[cringe--is--dead]

A Work In Progress Pt. 9

AWIP Masterlist

a/n: sorry this was delayed, I was caught up on my writing then I wasn’t… also it feels rushed so sorry if it sucks!

You were being a coward.

You knew this; you had stopped trying to deny it. Narumi had been trying to go about the days as if everything were normal— popping into your office during his free time, also popping in during his not-so-free time. You were the one being weird. But how could you not be?

You got this position because you were qualified for it, you got this position because you're a good fit, you took this position, truly, because of the pay and the benefits, but also because it was something you enjoyed.

And now you slept with your boss.

God, what a cliche you are. Not only had you slept with him, more than once, but you were about eighty-five percent sure you had somehow entered a friends-with-benefits situation with him.

"If something makes me happy or keeps me entertained, they let me have it, so long as I'm killing kaiju and saving people."

That stupid sentence was haunting your every waking moment, and every time it echoed in your mind, you wanted to bang your head against a wall. Had you been reading into… whatever had been going on between the two of you? In your defense, it was hard not to. But it also made sense— his job was high-stakes, he was practically always on call, and, truly, it was one of the most dangerous jobs he could have. Of course he wouldn't want to be tied down.

"Ma'am?"

The soft word had you snapping back into the present, self-depricating thoughts disappearing as you looked into the face of the barista. She looked slightly concerned, and you realized she was holding the coffee you had ordered.

"Oh!" You felt your cheeks warm, realizing you had been so lost in thought that you had missed your order being called out, "Thank you, I'm so sorry."

She waved your apology away, sending you a small smile, "It's okay. Have a good rest of your day!"

You took your drink and found a seat outside— the breeze was cool and the air was crisp. It was a beautiful day, and you were thankful you'd managed to get it off. With how much extra work you'd been doing, you were ahead on almost all of your paperwork, and Hasegawa was at his wits' end, both trying to understand why you had thrown yourself into your work as you had, and to make you slow down.

The coffee you'd ordered was sweet and very caffeinated. One of the invisible handprints Narumi had left on you was increasing your caffeine addiction, as well as your taste for sugar.

The music in the cafe was calm, and the chatter was quiet. It was relaxing, and you found yourself calming down as you sipped your drink, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly. It was quiet outside, the quiet chatter of passersby mixing with the soft music playing from the cafe. Upon realizing your drink was empty, you stood, ready to bring it inside, debating on grabbing another one to go—

Everyone else around you froze, and for a moment, you could feel your heart stop in your chest. No one moved, and for a moment, no one spoke. Another tremble of the ground, and you watched almost in slow-motion as a drink was shaken off a nearby table, crashing to the ground. Everything picked up after that; alarms going off on every phone, sirens blaring about the streets.

Kaiju attack.

The panic was immediate; everyone was up and out of their seats, drinks and food being abandoned on tables as people ran. You'd gotten used to hearing these alarms in the safety of the first base, but now you were out on the streets, panic running through your veins as you joined in the crowds of people hurrying to the closest evacuation sites.

Rarely had you found yourself in crowds like this; people were shoving and bumping into each other, panicked screams, and children crying. A crash echoed nearby, and you and many others ducked your heads, debris flying as a smaller-looking kaiju crashed through a building. The panic doubled at the sight of the monster, and you could feel bruises forming as elbows were thrown left and right.

A yoju at least, was the only thing you could be thankful for. But a yoju was still dangerous, was still deadly. It wasn't alone either, it seemed, as similar-looking creatures rushed about, crashing into buildings and destroying cars alike. It was hard to make heads or tails at this rate, screams beginning to sound like the roar of the kaiju.

It took you a moment to realize you were pushed onto the ground, head ringing as people continued to trip over you. Despite the ringing you could hear in your ears, you pushed yourself up, arms trembling as you sat up, trying to right yourself. It was only self-preservation that got you out of the way, leaning against a wall to catch your breath as you watched the crowd of people. A loud cry caught your attention, and you turned to see a young boy lying on the ground, clutching his leg.

No one seemed to pay him any mind, and for a moment, you were worried you'd watch a kid as young as him lose his life to being trampled by a crowd of panicked people. Despite the stinging in your entire body, you pushed yourself forward, pushing through to reach him, scooping him up with trembling hands.

"H-Hey, it's okay!" You pat his head clumsily, trying to calm his sobs.

The sobbing didn't stop, and you struggled to shift his weight to run off with him. The sobs died down, and you felt a slight feeling of relief at the quietness, but you turned, realizing why he had gotten quiet.

A kaiju— no, a honju stood before you. It looked like every nightmare you'd had combined, sharp teeth dripping red; blood your mind supplied. Its eyes— why did it have so many eyes— were darting about, three focused on the two of you, the rest on the remaining people nearby. It almost resembled a spider, but its legs looked like lizard legs, scales and all. You could feel a scream catch in your throat as you stared it down, tucking the young kid closer to your chest.

Was your blood to be next? Dripping from its teeth as it tore through your bodies?

There wasn't anything you could do— you couldn't run, you couldn't fight. All you could do was close your eyes and brace yourself, arms tight as you curled around the small kid. There was a loud screech, and you knew its mouth was coming for you, and then—

Warm. You were… warm. And wet. One eye blinking open, you realized you were covered in black goo. Kaiju blood.

Kaiju blood?

The realization hit you, and your head snapped up. The first thing you noticed was the weapon— sharp, glinting in the sun, covered in the same black blood that covered you. The next thing you noticed was how hard he was breathing, and he turned, eyes wide and panicked as he stared at you.

Narumi.

This close, you could hear voices through his headpiece, muffled, but loud. There was kaiju blood splattered nearly everywhere; some of it had gotten on you, had gotten on him, and his suit. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so. You could see movement behind where Narumi stood, and you vaguely recognized other defense members rushing around, weapons drawn as they fought off some of the smaller kaiju.

Narumi didn't move, though. He was still standing in front of you, weapon drawn, blood running down the blade onto the concrete. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you knew yours was as well. He stepped forward after a second, shakily taking one step, then another until he was right in front of you.

"Are you," You watched as he fumbled with his mask, hand shaky as he took it off, eyes studying you— you could see the sign of kajiu number one on his irises, "Are you hurt?"

The tension and adrenaline were bleeding out of you, and the ache in your arms and legs began. You let your arms loosen around the kid you were holding, though his grip on you didn't lessen at all; if anything, his hold on you tightened.

You cleared your throat, voice weak as you responded, "Just… a few bruises. Nothing major."

Though it didn't seem like your answer placated him. You could hear someone yelling through the headset, and after a second, you realized that it was probably his team trying to get him to turn and go back onto the field. Before you could scold him or shoo him off, he took the earpiece out.

"You— when I had seen that you were here— and then you ran back and—"

You glanced down at the kid who was still trembling in your arms, face buried in your side, "He skinned his knee trying to run. I- I'm not a defense force member, but I wasn't going to just leave him."

Narumi seemed to be struggling to find what he wanted to say, eyes wide and wild in a way you'd never seen on him. Finally, he knelt down on one knee, one of his hands reaching out to gently pat the kid's hair, trying to pull his attention from hiding.

"Hey, kid, you're okay now. No need to worry."

You felt more than heard the kid sniffle a few times before turning his head to look at Narumi. You watched the fear slowly melt off, awe on his tear-tracked face as he came face to face with Captain Narumi. Slowly, he let you go, moving to stand next to you rather than plastered to your side. Another member came running up, and the look on Narumi's face hardened as he was called for.

"Help the kid find his parents," Narumi stood up, voice back to being Captain of the first base, "Now."

The member nodded, holstering their weapon as they came up to the little boy, taking his hand and helping lead him away from the debris. Narumi watched them walk off before turning back to you, eyes hard and lips thin.

"Don't you ever do something so stupid again."

You blanched at the demand, no, command. "I didn't—"

"No, there is no excuse I'll accept," He stepped forward, hands grabbing your biceps with a slight shake, "I wasn't going to say it in front of that kid, but if you are ever in a situation like this again, you fucking run. I don't care if a kid falls or an old lady gets stuck in her car, you run. You prioritize yourself, do you hear me?"

You could feel his hands trembling from where he held you, and truth be told, his grip was tight enough to bruise you, but it was grounding. "That doesn't sound like something Captain Narumi should be ordering."

"Damn it," Your joke clearly fell flat based on the aggressive way he said your name, "I'm not joking. I don't care if it's out of line for me to say, but you can't— you can't do something like this again. You can't risk your own damn life!"

"You risk yours every day!"

"I'm trained for it! You're not!" Your arms curled up in front of you, trying to create some space as he pulled you closer to him, "What you did was reckless and you could have died and," His words faltered, voice sounding choked, "And if I were a second too late, you would have died."

The realization hit you the same time it seemed to have hit him, and you could fear the fearful tears building back up, spilling over your cheeks.

"You could have died." He repeated it, quieter this time, "Do you understand that? You could have died, and then you'd have left me, and it would have been my fault."

He was looking down now, eyes unfocused, and you swallowed, "It would have been the kaiju's fault, really. Not yours."

Narumi chuckled after a second, but it didn't sound amused; he sounded almost defeated with the way his head hung, "I don't just mean now, I mean before. I did something, and you're mad at me, and I don't know what I did. And if you died here 'cause I wasn't quick enough, then you'd have died after I ruined our relationship and—"

He cut himself off as you reached your hands out, hands shaky as you cupped his jaw, tilting his head up to look at you. His eyes were glassy, and his nose looked red.

"Narumi!" The yell through the earpiece in his hand was loud enough to be clear now, and Narumi closed his eyes with a sigh, scrambling to put the piece back in his ear.

"What Hasegawa?"

He made no move to remove your hands; if anything, he leaned into your hold further, and you made no effort to let go. The look on his face told you he wanted to argue with whatever he was being told, and you knew it would take so much for him to be fired, but you didn't want to risk anything. You squeezed your hands, drawing his focus to you.

"It's okay," You smiled shakily, knowing you looked a mess as you tried to comfort him, "Go. I'll— I'll go see a medic and go back to the base."

"My room," Narumi sounded hoarse as he told you, clearing his throat, "Wait for me there. Please?"

You nodded, already feeling him step back, ready to rush back out to his time, "I promise."

[nullicaput]

wound me, oh dearest. XVII

Pairings: Soshiro Hoshina x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Romance, No Smut, Arranged Marriage, Unrequited Love, Requited Unrequited Love

Summary: Trapped in a marriage with a man who does not reciprocate your affection, you try to find meaning in your life despite your upbringing.

Word count: 2169

previous chapter.

It has been the third round of your first training session with the blonde girl, and she has yet to land a hit on you. 

"Shinomiya, make use of your other senses!" you told her. 

"I'm trying!" she replied, lacking that usually pompous tone.

She attempted to swing her fist. You redirected it. You then ducked and sent her a solid punch to the cheek. She recovered quickly and wiped the sweat that was beading on her shoulder. You spun once, kicking her side. Groaning, she lowered her upper body and braced herself for a hard knee. 

You admit that she really was a gifted fighter through and through. She was a well-rounder, and she has a refined form, which you would not expect a girl her age to have. However, even if she was excellent, there would be no use to her perfect attacks if they could not connect. 

You were like water. You could not be touched, yet you hit hard. You were fast—infuriatingly fast—that she could not even reach you. Her eyes could not follow your figure every time you create distance after she has just closed it. She could not hear you, if it were not for your voice giving her advice.

"You can do it," you motivated her. "Come on, try harder." 

Holding her by the back of her head, you kneed her stomach. Barely conscious, she stood up and retook a defensive stance. Your leg shot straight to her other cheek and grazed it. She stumbled, and before she knew it, you were already behind her.

The timer beeped, signaling that the round was over.

"One more round!" she shouted. 

"No," you replied sternly. "Let's rest."

"But—" 

"I said, no, didn't I?" 

You gestured for her to come over to you, and she did. You heard her panting, and you laughed softly. 

"Good job," you said as you opened the first-aid kit lent by the infirmary.

"I didn't beat you yet." 

You took your gloves off and poured some alcohol on your hands. You took out some cotton balls and dampened it with painless wound cleanser. You dabbed it on her cheek, which she motionlessly accepted. Once done with cleaning her cut cheek, you undid her twin-tails and used her towel to dry her hair of sweat.

"One of these days, you will."

She flushed, likely not used to being praised without the need to stroke her ego.

"You think so?" 

"I know so."

You were aware that the girl could learn through provocation, but you swore not to be like your mother. Your mother might have been that kind of woman—the kind of mentor who will tear someone apart instead of nurture them properly—but you were not your mother. You wanted to be a way for someone to learn without fearing authority figures, and you wanted to teach those who are in need of your help without dragging their self-esteem through the mud first. 

You have experienced how it was to live with the fear of failing even the simplest tasks; you will be damned first before you let that happen to someone under your wing. 

After drying her hair, you tied it into her signature hairstyle. Tightening it just enough to be secure, you patted her shoulder. 

"I would've loved to have you as my sister," you said. 

Her cheeks, as if not red already, has turned ever redder.

Your work phone pinged, and when you checked it, you saw a message from Vice Captain Hoshina.

"Work phone, really?" Shinomiya huffed. 

You laughed before tapping the message. 

"Oh, my mother has sent me a letter." 

"A letter? In this modern age?" 

"She's traditional like that." You shrugged. "I'm from a very old-fashioned clan. In all honesty, if it weren't for my father-in-law, I wouldn't have been here."

"Ah, so it's that kind of clan." 

"Mhm."

You arrived at the base without anything with you. 

Your ever-so-crude—kind, you mean—temporary captain, Captain Narumi, let you borrow one of the first division's car, but when you told him that you were not knowledgeable about driving—being a clan lady and all—he ordered one of his officer to act as chauffeur for you.

That officer was Platoon Leader Tachibana.

"I'm sorry for troubling you, sir."

"It's fine. It's the captain's orders, anyway." 

"I'll be taking a bit long," you said honestly.

He gave you an appreciative smile, which softened the serious expression he always has. 

"I'd just spend time here—I changed my mind." He took his phone out and started searching for a photo from his gallery. "Do you know where I could buy this thing?"

He showed you a photo of a popular eye cream. 

"My sister wanted one of her own after Shinonome handed hers down when this thing didn't fit her skin—or whatever that means."

"Oh, they have that in that mall we passed by," you said. "They have a branch located at the fourth floor near the elevator." 

"Sweet. Thanks, [Surname]."

You returned his smile and got out of the car. You went inside the building where offices were located and made a beeline to the vice captain's.

Knocking thrice, you said, "It's officer [Surname], sir."

"Come in."

You opened the door and stepped foot inside. 

Your eyes briefly roamed around, checking how the interior mostly did not change since the first and last time you have been there. In front of you was the vice captain whose eyes looked exhausted behind the pair of his reading glasses. He was leaning onto the edge of his desk with his tablet on hand, seeming as if he was one blow of wind away from falling to the ground and sleep. It was two in the afternoon, yes, but that sleepiness was no result of a simple afternoon slump.

"Good afternoon, Vice Captain." 

He leaned back and blindly reached for the compartment where he probably put the letter. 

He indeed was tired, because a full-sleep vice captain would have just walk around the desk to get it.

"Here," he said, giving you the letter. "Didn't touch it. Didn't even peek." 

You took it without letting your hand touch his. 

"I didn't expect that she'd send a letter right now," you muttered. "Normally, I'd receive it in person. This is the address I gave them if I happen not to take it at the expected date."

You sighed disappointedly regarding your miscalculation.

"I should've given them the address for the house my father gifted us."

He put his tablet down and pressed its power button. He looked at you—his stare lingered—but you tried your hardest not to acknowledge it. You even ignored that he was practically one feet apart from where you stood. 

Attempting to act as unbothered as possible, you opened the letter with no care, already aware of the contents—it was either your mother demanding you return to the Hoshina estate, your mother calling you a disgrace as a wife, or both. 

"Let's see," you muttered. 

Oh, this one was different. She wants you to bear your husband's children already.

"I apologize for forgetting to change the recipient name to my maiden's." You peeled your eyes from the letter. "The identification card I used for registering was the updated one. I could use my former—"

His hands cupped your jaw. 

"Vice Captain?"

Thirteen days. 

It has been thirteen days that you have been staying over and training at Ariake, and it has been thirteen days since he has seen you. You were not officially transfered there, yet your absence felt like it.

Captain Narumi has taken all of your attention and time, and he could not even fault him for it. It was a choice you made, and he had no right to stop you from achieving whatever it is you want in life, especially when he contributed little to nothing in it. 

However, it did not change the truth—the truth that he used to deny—of him missing you so badly. 

He missed the subtle glances he throws you at the cafeteria when he knew you were not looking. He missed hearing your voice guiding the juniors with their training, telling them not to be intimidated by his looming presence despite being intimidated yourself. He missed smelling that faint fragrance of lavender from your clothes as you sat close by while he trained back in the Hoshina residence. He missed seeing that rare smile you flash whenever he was able to purposefully sneak you cheap sweets under the guise of them simply being excess that he could not throw away. He missed that tune you softly sing when your mother was not around. He missed your—

No. 

He simply missed you.

He misses you, and he knows that it was his fault that he does. 

"You don't touch a lower-ranking officer like this, Vice Captain," you remind him. "It's against the work ethics."

Although you said that, you did not make any move to remove his hands settling along the sides of your face. 

"Don't change it."

You folded the letter and pocketed it. 

"My name or the address?"

"Both."

You tilted your head boldly and asked him, "Why?"

He did not give you a reply. 

It was perhaps due to him not having an answer, or maybe it was due to him being a little too focused on your eyes staring at him. 

"You can't keep asking me things and not provide reasons, sir. I'm tired of that treatment from my father, my relatives, my mother—from everyone."

Your hand hovered over his torso—not enough to touch him but enough to make his skin feel yours—and you patted his shoulder twice. 

"I don't want to receive that from you, too," you said. "Not again, at least."

He swallowed thickly.

"[Name]," he whispered. "I missed ya." 

He removed his glasses and radio. It was inactive to begin with, but he still ended up pressing the necessary button to shut it down properly. He held your hand over his shoulder and brought it close to his lips. 

"Let's not do something we'll regret, Vice Captain." You withdrew your hand. "I don't want you to do something you'll pretend hadn't happened the next the day."

"What if I don't pretend?" he dared, giving you that sardonic smile of his. "What if I promise that I ain't gonna pretend tomorrow? Will you let me then? Hm?"

Your calm demeanor, or what you desperately tried to exhibit, broke into a frown. 

"If you want me as an officer, I'll be an officer," you said, your voice lowering. "If you want me as a wife, I'll be one. But I will want a husband in return."

He closed the gap between your faces and let his breath mingle with yours. You, however, stepped back. 

You hissed, "Unless you could give me what I want, act as this division's vice captain with me."

"But ya ain't just my wife."

You froze. 

With your breath stuttering as they went out through your halfway closed lips, you averted your gaze. 

You were not just his wife, he declared. 

What a big thing to say to a woman who was raised to view herself as nothing but a man's wife.

"What kind of non—" 

"I can't choose because ya ain't either of the two."

You were both.

He need not say the three words; his eyes told you.

He could not choose a version of you, because you were both. To him, you were both his and your own self, and you did not know what to do with that kind of admittance. 

He pulled you in tenderly by the wirst, and he kissed your temple.

"That's not an answer," you mumbled, your breath ghosting his neck. "That's not the answer I want for my question." 

Although his eyes indeed told you what you wished to hear all this time, you desired to hear it from his very lips.

"Answer?" he groaned as he rested his forehead on your shoulder.

"Yes. A clear one."

His hand traveled from your arm to your back. He traced your spine with his middle and ring finger almost provocatively. 

"I want ya." 

He wanted you to be his again. He wanted you to return to him. He wanted you wholly. He wanted not just a part. He wanted everything that meant you. Most importantly, he wanted to be yours. 

He uttered, "That clear enough?"

You wanted to say no. You wanted to have more. You wanted to take more, and this is why you never liked being given something you want. You would become selfish and would not help yourself but ask and demand for more, because you did—do—want more.

He lifted his head, and he covered your eyes with his hand. Even without being able to see him, you knew that his face was inching to yours. His lips was merely a centimeter away from yours, and then—

—your phone rang loudly.

Cursing under his breath, he grunted, "Why'd someone call ya now of all times?"

next chapter.

Author's note: Writing romance as an aromantic-asexual myself is probably the funniest, funnest thing ever. Also, Soichiro is hot.

Tag section: @hanginginthevoid @perfectprofessorloverapricot @gyujaehyun @empress-ruby @96jnie @hana-patata @insomniacxin @night-shadowblood-writes2 @m3ldy @imafangirlofeverything @swivi @fufycse-blog @ssolariiss @idk-bro-gay @kumori-suwan @hheerrmmiitt @purplefluffycows @holaaaf @tatsuomii @tanchosanke @friendlyspacemartian @ventilmn @simpsimpshrimp @chuuberrysworld @fandomtrashpandasposts @mushy-mushroom04 @kewpiemeayo @littlepenguinheart @heichoucleanfreak @ayuqi @redtaytan @akaotv @chocomaltz @melodic-cats @kaminabbygirl

[sanchooinc]

lovedd this

[treasuringizu]

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐘𝗼𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐲?"

⤷ atsumu x reader | mutual pining | 0.9k words |

“Atsumu!” You call out his name, hitting your fist against the door. “Are you here?” 

It's a little late; the hallway is brightly lit, and you look up at the overhead lights, blinking and wondering if you shouldn’t have come here on such a whim. Thinking about it, you probably should have at least texted him you were coming — he might not even be here, but you were too much in a rush. 

Sighing, you raise your fist again, “Atsu-”

The door flies open and your hand cuts through air instead of the solid surface. Standing there in the doorway is Atsumu, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a loosely fitting black t-shirt to match. He’s holding onto the handle with one hand, the other resting against the side of the frame, his pink lips stretching into a sly smile. Your stomach flips a little bit. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You wring your hands together, “Um.” 

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue and chuckling when you don’t. He opens the door wider. “C’mon,” he says, motioning his head inside his room. You stare at his back as you follow him in, taking in his broad shoulders and admiring the way his muscles ripple inside his shirt before closing your eyes and shaking your head. He’s not yours to look at. 

Focusing instead on the room, you take note of how both sides are equally as dysfunctional. Not messy, just…crowded. “Where’s Osamu?” 

He settles onto his bed, unmade, legs spread, and pushes his laptop to the side. “With Rin.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

You rock on your heels as your gaze slides all around the room, purposely avoiding his. “So…” 

“So?” He tilts his head in that cute way he always does when he finally catches your eye, smiling teasingly. “I’m not complainin’ about ya bein’ here, but you look like you have something ya wanna say.” 

He’s right. A wave of fervor pours over you, and you nod your head in determination to do what you came here for, pushing the creeping feeling of dejection far from your mind. “I need some answers.”

“Uh, huh.” His mouth twists in confusion. “Ta what, exactly?” 

“To how long it’s going to be.” Your legs take you around the small space, pacing back and forth as you clench and unclench your fists.

“Right…” He trails off. “I’m a little lost here, sweetheart.” 

You think you might melt with the affectionate name, but you brush over it. He’s just like that. “How long it’s going to be until you ask out this person you like so much.” 

He suddenly tenses, back straightening and thick eyebrows furrowing. “Oh.” Brown eyes track your movement. “I’m not, uh, sure I can answer that?” 

You shake your head. You think back to the conversation you guys had a few days ago, where he told you all about this person that he’s interested in. You remember him using words like so pretty, so amazing. A flush on his cheeks as he told you about why he likes them so much. Refusing to tell you who the person was, so maybe you could try to understand why it wasn’t you. 

But it’s exactly that, it’s not you. But it hurts every single time you think about it. 

So that’s why you ended up here, late at night, a fire in your heart. If the person Atsumu likes isn’t you, you could at least push him to go out with them. You wouldn’t be left to hopelessly pine over him, and could instead get over it as you watched him with someone else, even if it would kill you. Save yourself before you get too invested, right? 

“Why not? The sooner the better. Aren’t you the one who told me that we have to go for the things we want?” 

Atsumu pushes himself off the bed, long legs striding to you and big hands holding your arms to stop you from moving around. He looks very confused now. “I was?” 

You ignore him. “Well then, it’s time to do something.” You make sure to look right into his eyes. “If you like them so much, there’s only one thing to do.” 

The grip on your arms tighten, and you shift your hands up to hold on to his elbows. His eyes widen, and you watch as different emotions pass through his face before an excited grin grows. He studies you, “How long have ya felt this way?”

“Since you told me.” You try to match his smile, despite the way your chest sinks. “Be brave, Atsumu. I know you are.”

“Yeah.” he nods, eagerly, bleached hair following the jerks of his head. “Yeah, okay.” 

Your gaze drops to the floor. “Great…” Great. 

At least one of you guys will get to be with who they want to. You just wish he wanted you.

You try to leave his hold, but his hands just squeeze your arms, your name falling from his lips in a soft breath. 

He gives you that smile, not the confident volleyball player one, but the one that you catch him with when he’s petting a puppy, or when he’s talking to his mother on the phone and he thinks no one is looking. The one that’s reserved for soft moments, and your heart constricts. But it’s not prepared for what comes out of his mouth next. 

“Will ya go out with me?”

[sanchooinc]

cute

[6okuto-moved-deactivated2025080]

(20 minutes earlier)

「8:57 p.m.」

“fuckin’ told you we’d get free dessert,” rin manages to say while putting another forkful of cake in his mouth. “and tears, and clapping.”

you scoff and shove his shoulder, “yeah, okay mr. too-good-to-be-true reddit post. sorry i never took you for a romantic.”

“really? even as we sit here and eat the best cake of your life?”

“we’re sitting on a curb in a parking lot, rin.”

“by choice, mind you.”

the amount of people who came over to congratulate the both of you had easily become overwhelming, especially when they started asking questions you couldn’t answer. “did you have your first date here?” “is it your anniversary?” “so when are you guys gonna get married?”

luckily, rin was able to ease his way out of the situation, explaining that the newly weds needed to go home to get some rest. he ended up driving a couple of blocks over to sit in an empty parking lot, the sunset near and the weather perfect. it was all a blur for you, really. if you didn’t think hard enough, you could say this really was a perfect way to end the day after an engagement.

“hey rin?” he hums in response and you continue, “was all of that stuff true? besides the romantic embellishments, i mean.”

“yeah,” he replies easily. “of course it was.”

when you look over at him, rin meets your gaze. his lips twitch as if he wanted smile before taking another bite of cake, “why are you looking at me like i said something unbelievable?”

“i don’t know! i just…you’ve never been very expressive about…anything like that.”

“mhm. that’s why i planned my script out. lies are easier with truths sprinkled in.”

“so me being in your best memories—”

“true.”

“having a hidden folder of us?”

“also true,” he replies. “and no you can’t see it,” he adds on with no hesitation. you pout but accept it, knowing that your own is still a secret for now. instead, you continue, “me being your best friend and you loving me?”

rin breathes out a laugh and rolls his eyes before responding, “despite what you might think, still very true.”

“uh huh,” you teasingly doubt. “then, wanting to be my fiance?”

you’re met with an unexpected beat of silence and you falter. rin’s smile disappears, but the soft look on his eyes doesn’t as he looks off at the parking lot. his voice is quiet when he finally answers, “true.”

“...what?”

at that, he barks out a laugh as he pushes his dessert aside to lean back on his hands, “i seriously just dragged you into an expensive, fancy ass restaurant under the guise of wanting a slice of free cake when we could have bought our favourite meals for less and you’re still shocked?”

he watches the expression on your face change as you flounder to find something to say. “you don’t have to feel pressured to like me back or anything. seriously, i just—” he takes a breath and smiles up at the clouds, a little in self-pity and not ready to look at you yet, “i needed to say it at some point so i thought i might as well go all in, y’know?”

a silence comes over the both of you. you think it should be awkward—you should want to curl into a ball and disappear. but you don’t. somehow, even now, rintarou manages to make you feel comfortable with everything going on, and the silence is just…understandable, almost comforting. rin is picking at the grass patch next to him when you look over, as if nothing had changed by his confession. but it didn’t sit right with you, and your gut twists at the thought of nothing changing in the way that mattered.

“well,” you say and wait for rin to look at you. he pauses and drops the grass in his fingers before tilting his head at you. “i think getting engaged skips a few steps but, um,” you clear your throat. rin’s heart is in his own throat as he watches you struggle a little to get up from your spot and onto one knee. “what are you—”

“i have my own folder of photos of us,” you blurt out. he blinks and your face is heating up but it’s too late to stop now. “i, uh, made it the first time we had to work on a project together, and we just ended up getting food and watching a new show. the first photo is you asleep with the weighted blanket.”

“and, i just, you—god i wish i had my own script,” you groan. rin snorts a little but stays quiet, knowing to let you take your time—there’d be time to tease you later anyway.

you bite your lip and try to figure out your words before continuing softly, “you mean a lot to me, rin. i seriously don’t know where i’d be if i didn’t know you and have you next to me for all these years. and i love you."

“so to my best friend,” you say, despite the heat you feel on your face and your heart pounding harder than ever before. “and the only person i’d let fake propose to me at a fancy ass restaurant just for a slice of cake”—you slide the ring off your own finger and hold it towards him—”will you be my boyfriend?”

the both of you stare and wonder if the other notices how the sunset has started—hues of pink, purple, and orange tinting the sky above you. and it’s only 20 minutes after you've become fiancés when rin shoots up with a grin, grabbing you closer to hold your face. you yelp as his hands cup your cheeks and his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. it’s 20 minutes after his own fake proposal that finally, finally, rintarou gets to kiss you for the first time. and it’s been 21 minutes, you guess, when he pulls back with a smile and answers, “i will.”

note from nia: hello. miau. suna lovers where r u. i don't think i need a part 3 for this so that's awesome. welcome to ur suna rintarou boyfriend/fiance arc!

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[sanchooinc]

SO DAMN CUTE

[earthtooz]

x : AUGUST 12TH :*+ﾟ

in which: reo sees his birthday marked down on your calender, and it fills him with the courage to win you back. or, he's hiding from the paparazzi... in your apartment, for whatever reason.

warnings: 2k wc, gn!reader, exes to lovers but they're very much in love, they kiss (eww), minor angst and minor embarrassment for reader but it's very cute, very much fluff and happy endings, professional soccer player reo, characters aged to be around 21+

a/n: I LOVE REO. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!

August 12th used to be one of the most important dates on your calender. Now it is one that brings forth bittersweet thoughts and memories whenever you think too hard on it, reminiscing a love that you had to let go long ago, despite how badly you wanted to keep him.

Mikage Reo’s name used to be stamped loud and proud beneath the date, with a heart that you hastily scribbled on due to the awkward angle of the page. His name is still on there, just without the heart, and merely in capitalised letters of your handwriting. 

You don’t know why you need to record it down because you remember it regardless, the set of numbers etched in the crevices of your mind. In fact, when August first hit and you were planning the month ahead, the act of recording down Reo’s birthday was a second-hand instinct, and when you did so without realising, a little pool of embarrassment and hurt developed in your chest. You didn’t even have the guts to cross it out either, despite it being almost seven months since you split.

Not a day has passed without you thinking about him, clearly.

But it was nothing to be embarrassed about because no one will ever think too much about it, especially not Reo, because he has no reason to ever step foot in your apartment ever again. If he ever saw it, you might just wither away.

So why on earth was he here now, sitting on one of your kitchen stools? The one that he used to always sit on when he came to see you when you were still dating with the reasoning that it ‘gave him a better view of you whilst you were scurrying around’.

Now you are ever aware of his gaze on you, entranced whilst fixing him a mere glass of water. 

Sliding it over to him on the marble countertop, he takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you for allowing me to hide here, and I'm sorry about bringing you into all of this.”

“No problem, you got lucky that i have nothing better to do today,” you sigh, trying to tune out the clamours of the paparazzi that were residing outside of your apartment complex. Wandering over to the balcony window, you see that the swarm hasn’t decreased from when you last checked. 

Your poor, clueless neighbours. None of them deserved to be dragged into this. You wonder when it can all settle down.

“Reo?” You murmur. He glances over at you immediately, attentive purple eyes bright and wide in their curiosity. “Why did you come here out of all places?”

“You’re…” he falters. “You’re the first person I thought of, and I just so happened to be nearby.”

“Nearby? There’s nothing to do around my neighbourhood. What could you possibly have to do here?”

He looks away, shamefully staring down at his glass of water. “Errands. Stuff.” 

“Okay,” you trail off, not wanting to prod further. “So how are you thinking of getting out of this situation?”

“Does your apartment have another way out?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Well unless you want me to jump from your window, then my only way out is to wait,” he says with a shrug and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The clamours of the crowd below can be heard even on your second-level home, and no matter how badly you wanted to return to your work, a certain ex of yours is only another reason for your headache. 

Since the breakup, you never thought Reo would ever be here again, however, fate seems to have pulled peculiar strings to bring him back to you- on his birthday too.

You won’t admit that this all feels a little set up. Perhaps it was the universe mocking you for not being able to stop loving him, despite it being you who forcibly let him go so he could fulfil his soccer ambitions in England.

The last time you saw him, he was crying at your doorstep, reluctant to go and to let you go. It is a sight that will always haunt you, especially when you then shut the door in his face and ultimately, ending your relationship.

Would you let him go again if you had the chance? No. Reo won’t ever know that, though.

You doubt he wants you back.

“Maybe you needed a better disguise if you wanted to escape the paparazzi,” you mutter.

Reo fiddles with his sunglasses. “Don’t scorn a man who just wanted to go out. I can’t even do anything normally nowadays anymore, not even in Japan.”

“Well, yeah, you’re kind of a big shot, Mr-Signed-With-Manshine-City,” you huff. "It's like high school and your fangirls all over again."

“You remember my team?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It's all anyone talks about, especially after the World Cup.” 

“And you listened?” 

“Of course I did,” you confess, no louder than a whisper. “I’m happy for you, Reo. You're really amazing.”

Something about your sentimental statement makes the purple-haired frown, looking away as an obligatory ‘thank you’ slips from his lips.

There’s a quip resting on the tip of your tongue about it being his birthday, but it slides back down your throat with the ease of paper, cutting you in the process. 

“Can I request something from you?” You question.

“Anything," the athlete looks over at you with hopeful eyes.

“Since you’re using my house to hide in, can I have your Netflix password so we can watch a movie or something?” You murmur, “something’s telling me that you’ll be here for a while.”

He laughs, bright and exuberant and boyish that it makes your yearning expand tenfold. “Sure, as long as I get to pick what we watch.”

Your heartstrings soften a little, “fine. I have popcorn somewhere so let me get that out.”

It only takes one movie for the clamour outside to disappear. You’re sure that your neighbours called the police at some point too given then flash of red and blue that illuminated onto your walls, but there was little conflict, and eventually, the quiet returned. You should be grateful for it, really, because your headache can calm and you can get back to doing your work, but it also means that this is the end of yours and Reo's paths. He’ll leave your apartment, and then Japan, and then your life will return to the seven month-long limbo that it was without him, with possibly no due date this time.

He stays around until the end of the movie, however, and when it’s over, he stands with a huff, hands on his knees to help push him up. If you weren't too focused on your dread, you'd have noticed the subtle reluctance clinging to him.

“I ‘ought to be going now, I’ve been in your hair long enough,” sighs the soccer player. “Thank you for allowing me over.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” you mutter. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise. you lo-” Reo’s eyes widen before he shuts his mouth, visibly shaking the sentence away as you’re filled with an invasive sense of curiosity. You want to pry his words out of his mouth, but you don’t think that’s appropriate for your current relationship. “I’ll see you sometime.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be here.”

He nods. During the time of your conversation, the two of you had made it to your kitchen and to your horror, Reo stops right before your calender. He glances at it and has to do a double-take, making sure that his eyes hadn’t failed him.

How will you recover from this one?

Reo turns to you, eyes and smile soft and so so warm. “You still have my birthday marked down.”

“Oh. You’re right!” You laugh awkwardly. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. I’m honoured you remember.”

“Oh my goodness, please shut up,” you hide your face with one hand and Reo laughs harder.

“Do you remember how old I’m turning as well?”

“We’re the same age! Of course I'd remember-”

“-do you have a present for me? You know I love presents.”

“Go buy your own damn presents, you multimillionaire.”

He laughs harder and you almost want to chase him out of your house. “But I like it when they’re from other people!” 

“I don’t have a gift for you, Reo, now can you please shut up?”

“If you don’t have a present then can I ask you for one thing?”

“What is it?”

“A date. Tomorrow, at your favourite place downtown.”

The light, cheery environment dims and you find your breath getting lodged in your throat. “Reo… I- we, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, “do you still love me?”

“I have your stupid birthday on my calender and no one else’s, not even mine, so yes I do still love you.” 

He grabs your hands and you feel weak in the knees, clasping onto the warmth you had grown so familiar with. “Then another chance, please, that’s all I ask for.” 

“I let you go for your sake, you shouldn’t have someone like me dragging you back whilst you’re in England. Didn't you see how successful you were without me?” You mutter, thinking back to the night that you let him go, recalling all the pain you felt. 

And how you might relive it again tonight.

“Dragging me back?” he parrots, voice slightly strained. “I thought about you the entire time I was abroad, every training session, every time I scored a goal, I thought about doing it all for you. It might have hurt me to not have you there with me, but it killed me to know that I didn’t have you at all.” 

Reo rests his forehead against yours and you close your eyes, basking in the intimacy that you never thought you could ever experience again with him. “And it killed me even more to know that you wouldn’t be waiting there for me when I came home. You know who was there instead? Stupid Zantetsu, and a few high school friends, but not you.”

“I love Zantetsu though, we get coffee together all the time,” you comment quietly. “He told me that he was going to pick you up.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t even think of going with him.”

“Exes don’t go to the airport to pick each other up.”

“So be my lover again,” pleads Reo. “Be mine again, be here for me every time I return to Japan.”

“Is it what you want?"

“A thousand times yes.”

You sigh through your nose, memorising the feeling of his forehead against yours one last time before parting from him. “Then pick me up tomorrow, at half past six, and we can go downtown.” 

His smile could rival that of a thousand suns, and just seeing it is enough to cure your heart.

“Okay,” he nods, a dreamy sort of look settling in the purple hues of Reo’s gaze. “Okay! I'll be here, without paparazzi this time, and no one will disrupt our date, I'll make sure of it.”

“One more thing before you leave. Stay here!” You command before scurrying through your house and into the study to retrieve a pen. Uncapping it, you then scribble a little heart on the calender, right next to Mikage Reo’s name.

You don’t miss the look of pure elation on his face.

“Call me. My number hasn’t changed.”

“Okay, I will, I will. Watch out for it.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

“Now I really don’t want to leave,” he whines, gently pressing you against the wall with his hands holding onto your shoulders. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to ask to stay the night, would it?”

“No, but, I think we’re beyond your awkward gentleman-liness.”

“Then, I have permission to do this, right?”

He presses his mouth to yours, hot and needy, you wonder if he’s trying to swallow you whole so you really can’t ever leave again. 

“Happy Birthday, Reo,” you murmur against him.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[kysoomi]

[ mikage reo ]

you sat across from the famous football player, staring at him blankly as he slurped the last few drop of his iced coffee obnoxiously, staring back at you almost as if he was trying to annoy you. after finally being done and letting out a loud annoying sigh, he blinked. “hi.”

you shut your eyes for a brief second, taking in a deep breath while trying not to come up with at least fifty ways to murder him as you attempted to fully register the situation. “nagi, it’s three in the morning.”

“mhm.”

“i haven’t spoken to you in years. why are you here?”

“i had a fight with reo.” he said bluntly, moving the straw around his cup. the ice moved inside loudly, only testing your patience further. he seemed as if he was done talking, but the sharp look you gave him made him pout and before he continued, finally stopping the noise. “we live together, i couldn’t stay with him.”

“and you decided that instead of staying with any of your friends, isagi, chigiri, barou, bachira— you decided to pack, somehow track me down and come over without notice?”

“i couldn’t stay at any of their homes,” he rolled his eyes as if you were the idiot. “let me explain this, [y/n]. when a kid has divorced parents and he fights with one of them, he goes to stay with the other.”

you needed a cigarette and you didn’t even fucking smoke.

“…did you just say that mikage and i are your divorced parents?” you asked, bewildered. he nodded casually, leaning his palm on one hand as he stared at you. you leaned back, massaging your temples in pure frustration. “are all football players this insane?”

“probably.” he shrugged. “i also forgot my phone and wallet, so you will have to pay for me until i decide to go back. oh, speaking off, can we order takeout? i’m really hungry.”

“nagi.”

“…yes?”

“get the fuck to bed.”

his eyes seemed to fill up with amusement despite the dramatic sigh he let out as he got up, staring at you expectantly. you gestured to the room at the end of the hallway and he nodded, poking his tongue out before he walked away.

you passed out at the kitchen table that day, wondering what the fuck to do with the man child in your guest room, and woke up the next morning by someone poking your cheek. “[y/n]. [y/n]. [y/n]. [y/n]. [y/—“

“say my name one more time and i am disowning you,” you muttered blankly, voice thick with sleep as you buried your face deeper into your arms. you heard him snort, but you ignored it, sighing. “what?”

“i ordered takeout because i can’t make breakfast and i didn’t want you to kill me if i woke you up to cook. where’s your wallet?”

you pushed yourself up with a light groan, looking around until your eyes fell on the backpack you usually took to your college. you gestured there vaguely and he immediately dragged himself towards it, pulling it open harshly before he grabbed your wallet, frowning. “this is an ugly wallet.”

“die.”

“you’re a very bad parent.” he hummed. you narrowed your eyes at him as he pulled the door open and paid, accepting two pizza boxes before he mumbled a ‘thank you’ and shut the door quietly, looking towards you after. “wanna join for breakfast?”

you sighed, pushing your aching body up. “why not?”

after you two silently ate while he intensely watched a full two-hour youtube video about all possible theories behind his favorite game, you finally turned to him. “i have three questions.”

he blinked. “only three? you’re a changed person. what are they?”

you rolled his eyes. “one, when are you planning to return?”

“you could at least pretend you’re happy to see your ex-boyfriend’s best friend after years.” he muttered, sulking, before sighing. “friday night, we have a match saturday morning.”

you nodded slowly, then paused. “how are you planning to piss mikage off if he doesn’t even know where you are?”

he blinked. “oh, i didn’t think about that. give me your phone, i’ll send him a photo of us together.”

“i don’t have his number.” you informed blankly. he raised his eyebrows, and you raised one in response. “what?”

“he still have your number saved in his favorites with, like, a million heart emojis. you’re cruel.” he muttered monotonously, snatching your phone either way. you watched closely as he opened instagram and logged into his private account before he leaned into you, poking his tongue out as he snapped a picture. you poked your tongue out as well just to humor him, both your faces blank, and you snorted when you saw his caption.

like parent like son.

“last question.” you hummed. he groaned loudly, and you raised an eyebrow. “just one and i’ll let you stay over without complaining for the next few days.”

“shoot.”

“what was the fight about?”

he paused for a second, two, three, then, “i don’t want to talk about it.”

you stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed, glancing at your watch. “okay. i have to get ready for college, so make yourself at home, i guess.”

he seemed surprised that you let go of it, but you didn’t overthink it, getting up and going to your room. god, you needed a hot, long shower. after getting everything ready and so, you walked back out into the living room, where nagi was watching another game analysis video on your TV. yet, he seemed to be sulking a little more, and you sighed at your own words in advance.

“hey, nagi, wanna sneak into my college and attend classes with me?”

“sounds like a hassle.” he deadpanned, glancing up. you hummed, turning around, before a thud echoed as he rolled off the couch, followed by a groan. “hold on, i’m in.”

you snorted.

before you realized, it was friday morning, and as much as you hated to admit, you were going to miss nagi. you two had gotten close when you were dating reo and tended to pull a lot of all nighters together playing nagi’s favorite games, which got you really close. however, after the breakup, reo had really pulled back and cut off all contact, which you guessed had included nagi as well when the taller player stopped talking to you.

“morning,” nagi yawned tiredly as he walked into the kitchen, where you sat on your phone, greeting him with a hum. “oh, did you pack your bags already?”

you blinked, pausing, before you looked up. “what?”

he blinked back. “did i forgot to tell you? you’re coming with me.”

“what?” you hissed, eyes wide. “what do you— i’m not going with you.”

“i already have your ticket, don’t let me get a refund!” he whined, slumping across of you. “i got it when i booked mine.”

“and you are just telling me now?”

“i forgot.” he deadpanned. “now go pack.”

“i have college.”

“you told me you have a week-long break. go pack.”

“i’m not staying with you.”

“i’ll book a suite for you in the most expensive hotel, just please go pack!”

“…i fucking hate you.” you muttered, pushing yourself up before placing a plate in front of him. he took a huge bite as you walked away, and you could hear him hum at the taste before talking.

“love you too!” he yelled back.

that night, after you two got on the plane, he decided to inform you that he had also got you a vip ticket for the game the next day, and he was so lucky you couldn’t murder him with that much witnesses around.

you had the same feeling as you watched the players walk into the field on saturday night, sipping on your drink while waiting trying to calm your nerves. it had been years since you saw reo, and you were definitely not ready to see him again. you would be lying if you said you didn’t put effort into your appearance for the night, but who wouldn’t?

before you could completely prepare yourself, your eyes fell on an annoyingly familiar mop of purple hair, angrily whispering something to nagi. nagi gave him one of his famous blank looks before he turned around and met your eyes, and you immediately glared at him.

‘do not!’ you mouthed clearly, well aware that he could see it, and his lips only twitched up before he nonchalantly pointed in your direction, and you glared at him.

that fucking traitor.

reo turned around in an alarming speed, eyes wide as he did so, searching the crowd almost desperately before his eyes fell on you. you had managed to compose yourself enough to go back to looking bored, offering him a lazy wave when your eyes met, and he only turned back quickly towards nagi, waving around vaguely as he said something that caused his team members to all look at him, eyes wide.

chigiri asked something and nagi pointed back at you, and you swore you could cut his damn finger off if you could as almost the entire team turned to you in sync, eyes wide, and you offered a peace sign this time, face blank as you poked your tongue out.

the only one who saw the humor in this was nagi, who snorted and immediately got smacked by reo, who was sharply avoiding looking in your direction. they all offered bewildered waves and you turned back to sipping on your drink, waiting for the stupid match to end so you can get back to your hotel.

they won, fucking of course, and you immediately slipped out, shooting nagi a text once you made it back to the hotel congratulating him. you got a simple ‘:x’ back and snorted, decided to take a relaxing bath before going to grab a coffee for yourself.

and so, hours later, you were finally ready, dressed nicely and humming quietly as you grabbed your phone and wallet, pausing once a familiar voice echoed in the hallway. you walked towards the door, quietly pressing your ear against it, and heard someone suck in a sharp breath. “you can do it, you can do it. this will go okay, you can totally fucking do this, you can—“

you shut your eyes and breathed in deeply as an attempt to calm yourself down before opening the door, eyes immediately meeting widening purple ones as reo stilled. it was silent for a few seconds until reo took a step back, forcing on a practiced smile that you easily knew was fake.

“hi,” he spoke, voice smoother than you had remembered, and held a bouquet of white roses. you arched an eyebrow, face still blank as you accepted it, and he laughed awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “apology on nagi’s behalf.”

“it’s okay.” you responded calmly, carefully setting them aside. “couldn’t leave my child, after all.”

he cracked an awkward smile, but remained silent until you glanced back at him, and he gestured to your outfit. “going, uh, somewhere?”

“coffee.” you replied bluntly, and then internally grimaced, sighing before you spoke again, already regretting your words. “…would you like to tag along?”

“yes.” he agreed eagerly, then paused, skin tinting just the slightest. “i mean, uh, if you would like me to. i don’t mean i don’t want to, i do, but only if you—“

you would be a huge liar if you deny how you enjoyed being one of the very few people who can get reo to break his collected, charming rich boy filter. “reo?”

he immediately shut up, blinking, and you couldn’t help but think about how he resembled a lost puppy. “yeah?”

“let’s go.”

(you, later that night, shot nagi a reluctant ‘thank you’ text, one he responded with a ‘:p’ in reply for before casually informing you that there was no argument, just a small disagreement about reo being too much of a cowards to reach out and that he was just bored. you unsent your ‘thank you’, and he sent a ‘bad parenting :c’ back.)

[sanchooinc]

HAHAH NAGI BEST WINGMAN

[kysoomi]

[ sakusa kiyoomi ]

“i will murder you in cold blood if you even think about it.”

your boyfriend’s head snapped up, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and absolute confusion on what prompted you to blurt the threat out of nowhere as he followed you up behind the bus, until he saw the culprit.

one empty seat.

he immediately scowled, the action clear for you despite his mask. at that point in your relationship, you were sure you would know his reaction even if he had a brown bag over his face. with slightly furrowed eyebrows, he glared at you. “why would i have it?”

“i dragged you and miya out of practice at one in the morning. you have been there since nine, so you’re clearly exhausted while i am perfectly fine. it’s a thirty minute ride. so, sit.”

he opened his mouth to protest, scowl deepening, but you narrowed your eyes dangerously.

“sakusa,” you called his last name quietly, warningly. “sit down.”

you ignored the soft giggles of other passengers as your boyfriend finally slumped down, his hand immediately reaching out to hold yours while you used the other to hold the pole placed to keep you from stumbling around. even with his head down, you knew he was pouting. “you’re cruel. i am going to hate every second of this.”

you briefly moved your stabilizing hand to run your hand through his hair, forcing him to rest his head back. he shut his eyes softly, and you could see the old lady beside him beaming at you two as you pulled your hand away, feeling him squeeze the one he held tightly.

and before the bus could even moved, his eyes were shut, breath steady and body limp.

the ride home was almost an hour due to heavy traffic and unexpected construction and by the time it was your stop, you were equally exhausted. you quietly shoved sakusa awake, who blinked a few times sleepily before he realized where he was and pushed himself up with a yawn, his hand not once leaving yours as the two of you walked out, mumbling a joined ‘thank you’ for the driver.

your shared apartment was only a few minutes away, but each minute felt increasingly too long and you almost collapsed the second you finally stepped inside. you briefly mumbled a quiet ‘welcome home’ as you let go of sakusa, immediately walking towards the bathroom.

after a thorough shower, you curled up in bed, waiting for sakusa to be done with his own as you resisted the urge to pass out, blinking sleepily, but it was barely a matter of minutes before you fully drowned in your dreams.

you, however, awoke again when the bed shifted, your boyfriend’s warm body gently wrapping around yours. you could tell he was trying his hardest not to wake you up, so you resumed your state, eyes remaining shut as you breathed out a small hum of satisfaction.

it was silent for a few seconds, but before you could fully lose consciousness again, you heard him talk softly, voice merely a whisper.

“you’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me,” he started softly, voice thick with exhaustion. “i have no idea what i ever did to deserve you and i am not sure i could ever be enough for you, but i am so glad you’re mine. you deserve the world and i will make sure you know it, my love.”

you shifted again, attempting to control the urge to cup his cheeks and pull him into the best kiss of his life.

he sighed, head on your shoulder. “god, i love you so much, baby.”

[sanchooinc]

🥺❤️

[saerins]

─── 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 7.1k | content: fluff, making out, college!au, mentions of insecurity, only very brief angst !!, alcohol, slight jealousy

notes: this was supposed to be lengthier and in smau format but i suck at that so here it is in fic format :’) i know i know, i write sae way too much </3

summary: you have a crush on sae. for a long time now. and he’s always known that. he just wants to see how long you can hold out.

HIGH SCHOOL: 2ND YEAR

itoshi sae knows you like him.

you’re really obvious it’s pathetic, really. once during recess, he’d wanted to go back to the classroom to get some shut eye because soccer was way too draining lately, and guess who he saw slipping a little love note into his locker?

of course you. you and your little pink heart-shaped post-it that read i think you’re cute and i really really like you. because it was valentines and you were one of the many to send him little scribbles of confessions.

even now, when you sit just a couple of rows in front of him, he catches you looking behind at him, and sae purposely doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you know he knows you’re staring. he’s not really sure why. maybe he feels bad if he exposes you or something.

throughout the rest of your sophomore year in high school, he continues to observe as you so subtly (not really) try to be friends with him. you always try to get picked to be in the same group as him for projects (which never works out), you try to sit next to him in lecture halls (but his friends cockblock you always), and during phys ed classes you try so hard with soccer but you’re really quite bad at it.

maybe it’s sae not being able to continue observing your failures that he throws you a bone.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

“when the time comes, just say yes.”

[sanchooinc]

cuteee

[rishiguro]

ANAGAPESIS - K. SHINSUKE

warnings: break up. heartbreak. self-deprecating thoughts. hurt/no comfort. 3.2k words.

angstober event

kita sighed as he closed the door behind him, the day’s fatigue springing onto him as soon as he took his shoes off, neatly placing them away and putting his slippers on.

it wasn’t particularly often that he had bad days, but he couldn’t exactly hide from them forever.

sure, he had a job he loved, putting all of his passion in it, but nothing really seemed to go right today. he found security and sense in his routines and yet somehow everything was misplaced or even missing today, throwing off his entire schedule.

but he was so glad to be home.

he couldn’t wait to fall into your arms and feel the weight on his shoulders disappear, letting himself be comforted by your warmth.

usually he’d come home and be greeted by you. you’d have some dinner together, either some leftovers or something one of you made (sometimes you prepared dinner together), and calmly let the day pass.

your shared apartment was more that just a few walls and furniture — it was his home, his safe place.

however, today he found you sitting in the living room, dressed in some jeans instead of the usual sweatpants. he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“hey, love,” he greeted you with a warm smile, stepping closer to you, “you going out?”

oddly enough, you didn’t greet him cheerfully like you often did, instead only throwing a weak smile in his direction before looking down to your hands. “can we talk?” you immediately asked him with an almost timid voice.

“sure” kita sat down beside you, his entire body aching as he did so. he could only barely stop himself from letting out a relieved moan as he finally sat down again. grabbing your hand, he turned his entire attention to you. you were fidgeting, toes wiggling on the floor, as if you were anxious. “is everything okay? you seem distressed”

you took a deep breath before absentmindedly chewing on your thumb’s nail. as soon as you noticed however, you immediately brought your hand down, clenching it in your lap. your actions however only confirmed kita’s suspicion. you chewed on your lower lip for a moment before you decided to speak up. “it’s not. i- i need to tell you something,” you felt your heart race in your chest as you spoke, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. you quickly glanced over to kita, noticing the deep frown on his face and his tired, sunken eyes.

it was obvious that he had a hard day and here you were, only making it worse. could you really do that to him?

for a second you paused, before mentally shaking your head. no. you didn’t really have a choice, did you? you couldn’t just continue lying to him.

he deserved better.

“and i feel terrible for bringing it up now, but i don’t think this can wait any longer”

kita nodded slowly, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand slowly. “okay”

he patiently waited for you to begin, yet your mouth went completely dry.

just how were you going to say this to him? could you even do it?

you knew you had to – you didn’t have a choice.

but how could you hurt someone who never did anything to hurt you?

“hey, take a deep breath,” he mumbled to you, “whatever it is, it’ll be alright, i promise”

you clenched your jaw, turning your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut.

just why did he have to be so damn understanding? why did he have to be so loving and caring?

why was he everything you ever wanted in somebody?

and why were you planning on breaking him?

“love? talk to me,” he spoke softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze after bringing it up to his lips and pressing a small kiss on it. “whatever it is, together we can work this out”

don’t do this. don’t be like this. just this one time.

you quickly shook your head, still not looking at him, when you felt your eyes getting teary.

“i don’t think we can work this out, shin,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break.

before he could even reply, you turned to him, looking at him with teary eyes. “i think we should break up”

kita could only look at you, completely shocked.

was this supposed to be a joke?

no, you would never joke about things like that.

then why?

after way too many moments of silence, kita could still only bring himself to mutter one word. “why?”

you hated to see him like this. his eyes were wide in horror, if not even shock, as he looked at you completely confused. his hand, the same one that held yours so securely just a few minutes ago, was loose around yours, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be touching you. his eyes, albeit wide open, looked more like he was staring right through you, not focusing on a single thing.

you hated this look on his face.

meanwhile kita felt like he couldn’t breathe, his thoughts running wild, filling his head with way too many concerns at once, before he managed to sort them, the next words spilling over his lips.

“did i do something wrong? did i hurt you?”

he looked so sad, so full of sorrow and guilt.

he couldn’t do anything to hurt you.

pressing his lips into a thin line he looked at your still intertwined hands, giving you a short, weak squeeze. he swallowed down a lump in his throat, looking down in shame before meeting your gaze again. “love, i’m so sorry”

how could he be sorry for something he never did?

“just tell me what it is and i promise i’ll do everything i can to fix it” he sounded so sure, like it was a fact that he was the one that did something wrong, that he had to make up for something, that he was the one at fault.

you were used to kita speaking with a matter-of-factly-tone, no matter what the actual subject matter was. but how could he be so convinced that he did something wrong? he— the one that always thought about the things he did, the one that always thought about what he said, the one that was always sure of what he did and always made sure to care for you, to love you.

and to never hurt you. and he never did.

but you had to hurt him.

you looked down on your intertwined hands, torn between the urge to give his hand a squeeze or pulling yours away. but could you really let him go? “no, shin, listen-,” you tried, only to have him jump in immediately, like he didn’t really hear you in the first place.

“and if you still want to do this, i’ll respect it, i promise. just please, let me do this,” he asked, no, begged, with a sad smile on his face.

it was safe to say that kita felt like you had just pulled the rug away under his feet. he felt lost, confused and most of all guilty. he had always tried to be the best version of himself for you, be the best partner he could possibly be— and even more than that.

did he slack off recently? did he forget an important date? did he neglect you?

“shin”

mentally he ran through the past days, weeks, months, the whole last years, analyzing pretty much everything he could remember. every time you fought, every dumb argument and heated discussion, every time his tone was a little off, every time he didn’t really understand just what you wanted from him and every small thing he might have forgotten. the days he forgot to ask you how your day was, the times he could only give you a short kiss before rushing out the door, the number of times he came home and simply wanted to go to bed, not having the energy to spend a lot of time with you after an excruciatingly hard day working.

was it all too much for you?

he rushed out the door one too many times, his tone was too sharp one too many times, he forgot to kiss you properly one too many times.

he couldn’t really blame you.

but was it really that? was it all of that? was it something else?

were you going to leave him hanging like this?

pressing his lips to a thin line, he forced himself to focus back to you. “at least tell me what i did wrong, please,” kita asked before lowering his head again, taking a deep breath to distract himself from his racing heart, blinking rapidly to get rid of the few stray tears in his eyes. “don’t just leave me like this”

you closed your eyes in shame, not wanting to look at kita so broken.

while he kept asking himself what he had done to you and why you never felt safe enough to talk to him about this, you asked yourself how you could do this to him.

a sad smile on your lips, you shook your head, still not daring to take your hand away from his, desperate to feel his warmth for as long as he would allow you to. “you didn’t do anything wrong, shin,” you whispered through the lump in your throat, your voice all hoarse, “nothing”

nothing?

his head shot up, looking at you with wide and teary eyes. “then why?”

and despite that he looked so calm and even resigned, like he wasn’t even going to protest as soon as you provided him with your reason.

now it was you who looked away, biting your lip as you stared on the floor. “i just,” you stopped, not even wanting to actually say it out loud and make it real. you didn’t want to believe it, much less say it. you still hoped that this was just a weird, long dream, one that you would wake up from and everything would be the way it was before.

you would wake up next to him and he would already be awake, greeting you with his deep morning voice, with a small and loving smile. you would simply mumble some greeting, still half asleep, and move over, putting your head on his chest. his hands would find their way on your back and your heart would skip a beat, your entire body filling with love.

but you haven’t woken up for multiple weeks by now. and you didn’t wake up now.

“i just fell out of love with you”

just like that, kita felt his heart stop in his chest, shattering into a million pieces.

you fell out of love with him.

he nodded slowly, spacing out.

so there was nothing he could do anymore, huh?

did he do too little for you? did he get too used to having you by his side? should he have been more attentive, take you out more, give you more flowers, more compliments and little gifts. he should’ve held you more, kissed you more, loved you more.

he should’ve been more.

maybe then you wouldn’t have fallen out of love with him.

“for how long have you been feeling like this?” he asked slowly, sounding almost shy, like he didn’t want to actually know.

and he truly didn’t.

for how long had he made you feel like this, for long did you feel like you had to stay in a relationship you didn’t want to be in solely because of him?

“i don’t know. for too long”

you knew exactly what thoughts were running in his head. you knew how he must be blaming himself, how he was trying to find any kind of fault in himself.

and there was nothing you could to to relieve him from this, even though none of this was his fault.

you doubted there was anybody at fault — and if there was, you were sure that it would be you.

you were the one that was breaking up with him, you were the one breaking his heart, you were the one that wasn’t perfect, unlike him.

he was always perfect. and that’s what hurt you so much.

he was the ideal partner — he was caring, loving, attentive. honest, loyal, open and always communicating. he was firm, but not strict or mean, never making you feel belittled. and if he did fuck up and do something wrong, he was quick to realize his mistake and apologize, willing to do everything to make up for it and change his behavior.

he was everything anybody could ever want.

and you were throwing him away just like so.

“okay,“ he whispered, nodding to himself before pulling his hand away, clasping his other one with it and putting them in his lap, taking his warmth away from you.

your fingers itched to reach out to him again, try to comfort him, protect him from the same pain that you inflicted on him. you clenched your jaw, clenching your hands into fists instead and digging your nails into your palm. “shinsuke, i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry”

“it’s okay,“ he breathed out, the corners of his mouth reflexively turning up for a second.

you shook your head, swallowing repeatedly. how was this okay or fair? and how could he even thing about comforting you when he was feeling like you were effectively ripping his heart out? “no”

“it is,” he replied immediately, a sad smile on his lips as he looked at you for a short moment. “you can’t choose how you feel, can you?”

you knew he was right — and yet that didn’t give you any comfort. instead, it only made your chest constrict in pain as you clenched your fist even more, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

“i never wanted to hurt you,“ you breathed out, voice so weak that you felt like you couldn’t speak up without starting to cry.

why were you the one crying?

“i know” kita smiled sadly at you, looking down at his feet.

silence settled over the two of you, both of you occupied with your thoughts, before you decided to speak again.

“i packed a few things and i’ll stay over at a friend’s house,” you started slowly, getting up from the couch and stepping away from him. “and, uh, look for a place”

kita didn’t look up at you (probably for the better, you didn’t think you could handle his teary face), instead only nodding slightly, playing with the fingers in his lap. “okay”

you left him sitting there, rushing into your once shared bedroom to pack some essentials into a bag.

as you grabbed some clothes, you tried to ignore your blurring vision and the heavy feeling in your chest.

you didn’t want to leave him behind like that as you were gathering your things to leave what has been your shared home for so long.

and yet you had to, you knew it was the best thing to do.

because staying with him would hurt him even more.

when you returned, kita was still sitting in the same spot, looking like he hadn’t moved an inch.

and truly, he didn’t — he felt paralyzed.

was he not good enough? where did he go wrong?

what could he have done to make you fall out of love with him?

he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, clenching his eyes shut, like that would stop the tears from welling up in his eyes.

you shook your head at the sight.

how he could just sit there and let you break his heart, just like that?

“why aren’t you mad at me? you should be yelling at me, cursing at me, anything!” you bursted out, your bag falling on the floor next to you. kita jumped as he heard your voice, turning his head to look at you. he expected you to look angry, irritated, anything but seeing you with tears running over your cheeks. “why are you just letting me break your heart?”

he swallowed thickly before giving you another comforting smile, like the tears on his face weren’t even there.

“it’s not your fault. you can’t choose who you love” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly at his words. “and also not who you fall out of love with”

you looked over at him, looking him up and down before speaking again, your voice slightly agitated. “so? how can you just take it like that?” you asked, gesturing in the air.

how could he just sit there and do nothing?

“nothing i’ll say will change this, won’t it?” he simply stated, sounding resigned. he looked over at you, noticing how you stayed silent, proving his point. “that’s why”

contrary to how that might look, kita wanted nothing more than to fight this. he didn’t want to let you or this relationship go.

he didn’t want to let go of the lazy mornings or late evenings, the trips to the farmers market or the dates at bakeries or cafés, the warm cuddles or cooking dates.

but did he really have a choice?

“i don’t want this, i still love you. i can’t look at you leave, knowing that there’s nothing i can do,” he confessed, twiddling his thumbs as he spoke. “but i will respect your choice and i will not fight to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me anymore”

a pained, but warm smile appeared on his face again when he noticed the tears rolling over your cheeks. “it’s okay. i’m not going to yell at you and i’m not going to call you names or hurt you in any way for something you can’t control”

you swallowed, grabbing your own thigh and digging your nails into the fabric of your pants. you couldn’t even look at him.

you were such a coward.

“why do you have to be so understanding, even in this moment?”

he sighed softly. “you know why,” he whispered, feeling the tears in his how eyes again, “i cannot bring myself to be mad at you and i don’t think i’m able to give you what you want right now. i’m sorry”

he was too good for you. and you were everything he wanted.

“don’t be” you shook your head, trying to blink away the tears as you wiped over your cheeks. “it was dumb to even try to bring you to yell at me. even dumber to ask you to do this to make this easier on me” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at yourself. “especially since i’m the one breaking up with you”

you scoffed at yourself before picking up your bag and finally walking towards the door, opening it with shaky hands.

and even though you had thought about this for weeks, way longer than you’d ever like to admit, you weren’t ready for a life without him.

“i’m sorry, shinsuke,” you croaked, still standing in the doorway with your back to him, “i really am”

“i know“ was all you heard before shutting the door behind you and walking away from your home, your relationship, him.

kita always strived for perfection and nothing less of perfection, not just finding comfort in it, but also believing that everybody deserved nothing but the best of him. and that belief has never failed him.

until now.

until he failed you.

reblog and comment to support your fanfic writers

[sanchooinc]

painnn😭

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — YUUJI ITADORI. isn’t it weird? how love never changes.

about. no matter what anyone says, yuuji itadori’s love for you is unwavering and he hopes that you’ll never see a reason to change. not for anyone, not even him. (1K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters are aged up to 20s and in college, weird gf and jock bf, yuuji is a jock and has obnoxious teammates, reader is an introvert and wears glasses, selfship coded i fear, fem!reader.

“itadori, don’t you think your girlfriend is a little.. weird?”

the pink haired jock blinks once, then frowns  as he tugs a fresh shirt over his head — practice with his soccer team had ran a little longer than anticipated and he didn’t feel like coming home to you, his girlfriend, in a stinky old shirt. 

yuuji’s not sure when the topic of locker room talk had switched onto him and his love life but he cares enough to bite — not about to let his teammates talk smack about his girl. “where’d you get that idea from?”

another teammate speaks up. “when she comes to your games, she wears your sweatshirts but doesn’t cheer for you at all.” 

“she’s just shy, nothing wrong with that.” yuuji counters.

“whenever we hang out at the after partie she’s always… clinging onto you… doesn’t drink with any of us.”

“i told you, she’s a little shy,”  he stands up a little straighter this time, narrowing his eyes. “and parties aren’t for everyone. she might not like them but she’s there to support me. shouldn’t that be enough?”

“but dude…” someone else speaks up. “don’t you find any of that strange? like she’s just… weird.”

yuuji can’t get home fast enough after that. he almost falls to pieces when he sees you singing and shuffling your way through the cupboards in his dorm kitchen — making yourself a snack. he loves it when you stay over and he gets to watch you like this, so calm and at ease in his space. he feels grateful to even be sharing it with you.

weird isn’t a word that yuuji itadori would use to describe his girlfriend. 

he finds you intriguing. your relationship is still new, so all of the differences between you both interest him beyond belief. each time he discovers a new habit of yours (like the way you forget to take your glasses off when you sleep) or a fact about your life before college, or finds out something obscure relating to your hobbies and interests… yuuji can’t help but to fall in love with you all over again. like an astronomer who’s searching for the secrets of the universe, the pink haired jock wants to know every interesting little detail that makes you, you. 

that’s created the very person he loves today. 

“please never change,” yuuji breathes against the back of your head once he’s home. you can’t even comprehend the speed at which he’s dropped his gym back before he’s wrapped himself around you in the same manner that a boa constrictor would. only more affectionate. “and if you do, let me change with you.” 

being this close to itadori, you can smell his baby-fresh soap and the tinge of sweat from his work out. you can feel the strength of his arms as they squeeze you close from behind — like he’ll never let you go. he makes you feel loved even when it’s not on purpose, you go your every waking moment cared for and adored by yuuji itadori. it’s always subconscious, unwavering and steady. your love is stable like that, never dampened from those outside of the two of you — that much will never change. 

“that’s a big ask, yuu.” comes your contented hum, but you don’t stop your actions — continuing to make your snack while the pink haired jock squeezes you tight. as if to become one with you. “people change all the time.” 

you hold up a hand behind you and he sucks the peanut butter from your thumb eagerly. “i know, but i don’t want what anyone else says about you or us to make you change,” he mumbles petulantly against the shell of your ear, trying to find the right words as he tucks his face into your neck. “you’re perfect to me, as you are.” 

it’s cute that he reminds you of such a trivial little thing. those big brown eyes of yuuji’s see perfection in all of your flaws. he loves you so much you wonder if how much you feel for him even compares. 

“what’s gotten into you?” you giggle, spinning in his arms to stand on the tips of your toes — pressing a soft kiss to the point at which your boyfriend’s jaw meets his neck. it’s all you can reach. “did something happen?” 

yuuji hesitates for a moment, lips pursed and honey-glazed eyes cast to the side. he would never lie to you, that’s not in his nature — but he’d never want to hurt your feelings either. “the guys…the guys on the team said some stuff about us today,” his voice trails off and his hands trail upwards, dipping underneath the jersey of his that you wear to draw circles into your waist using his rough thumbs. he figures it’s best to tell you before one of his teammates  let it slip and hurt your feelings. he would rather die then let that happen. “they… they think you’re weird and that… that we’re too different.” 

“o-oh.”

a flash of pain comes with the territory of yuuji’s honesty, but he’s quick to soothe it as though he’s running your burn under a stream of cool water. “but i like you. like…really really like you,” the words rush out while his eyes stay serious and set in stone. your boyfriend grasps both of your hands firmly before you can even think to cry or pull away.

yuuji is there and he is constant and that is never changing. not for anyone, except for you. “and i like all of the funny things about you. that you’re a little quiet, that you’re always by my side, that you leave me notes in my gym bag or share your celebrity crushes with me. i like you for you. even if you’re a little weird — then…then i am too!” 

his hands, strong and yet so soft, traverse up to your round cheeks — tilting your head up to face him. “please don’t ever change because of what people say,” yuuji repeats tenderly, his lips finding the crown of your head in a gentle kiss. he stays there, like a magnet on metal and the world stands still for a moment. remaining the same, no longer changing, so that yuuji itadori can love you as is. “the way you are right now, it’s everything to me.” 

itadori only moves when you tip your head back to get a better look at him, he looks down at you through his unfairly long lashes — brown eyed gaze latching onto yours while your hearts sync up, beating to the same drum. “i’ll never change, as long as you promise to always love me like this.”

“i’ll love you the same way that i always have. like i’m the luckiest guy in the world, yeah?” he laughs and you smile — because it’s hard to be upset when yuuji is around, and protects your love so genuinely. 

you lean up and he meets you half way — pressing a slow and lingering kiss to the swell of your lips, wrapping his arms around you once again as you away to a silent tune in his tiny dorm kitchen. 

change is inevitable of course. the two of you will grow and become different people than you are right now — but you will always find your way back to the beautiful love that you hold. 

much like a butterfly that blossoms into something beautiful too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[sanchooinc]

cute