˚₊ · »-♡→ you and yuji have been childhood best friends since forever and are basically inseparable, but what happens when the two of you grow up and people start to mistakenly assume that the two of you are in a relationship? Faced with your social status and friendship on the line, neither of you don't dare deny it. There's only one way for you to fix this, be the worst lover ever so he'll break up with you! But what happens when he has the same plan?
tags/cw: yuji itadori x reader, fluff, angst, crack, mix of smau n writing parts, takes place in highschool, cussing, they insult each other as a joke, non curse au,
writing parts = ᢉ𐭩 (will be added as it goes on)
call all my girls a ladies man
𖥔 prologue!
⊹ ࣪Log into the love game
⊹ ࣪It's a typical rapper profile
⊹ ࣪ He looks like the type that play with your heart
Title: Love Game (ラブゲーム)
Author(s): Akemi Matsuzaki
Publisher(s): Magazine Magazine (June)
Year: 1997
Volumes/Chapters: Vol. 1 Ch. 7
Main Tags: Shoune ai | Shoujo | Drama | Horror | Tragedy
Availability Online: partially, only the "Adieu (1979)" oneshot is available. Thanks again to seldomscans on here!
summary: You and Arch have been doing nothing but playing eyetag.
a/n: I was in an angsty mood
warnings: angst
The music is loud enough to blur everything else out.
It pulses through the floor, up my legs, into my chest, like a second heartbeat that doesn’t belong to me. Lights flash in quick bursts, purple, blue, white and every time they hit, the room looks different.
New faces. New moments. Same energy. I shouldn’t be here.
I told myself that at least five times while getting ready. Told my friends I had work to do, things to catch up on, responsibilities I couldn’t ignore.
And yet here I am.
Pressed into the middle of a crowded party just off campus, drink in hand, letting the music take over like I didn’t spend the entire week being the responsible one.
“Finally,” Allie shouts over the music, bumping my shoulder. “You look alive again.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Give me like twenty minutes. I’ll probably regret this.”
“You won’t,” she says immediately, already getting pulled away by someone else.
And just like that, I’m on my own, but I don’t mind. There’s something freeing about being just another person in a crowd. No expectations. No pressure. Just noise and movement and the feeling that anything could happen.
I take a sip of my drink, then it hits me. That feeling, like a shift in the air, like someone just locked onto me.
I pause mid-sip, lowering the cup slowly.
It’s subtle at first. Easy to ignore. But I’ve felt it before, the kind of attention that isn’t casual. The kind that sticks.
I glance to the side.
Nothing.
Then the other direction and there he is.
Arch Manning.
Of course.
Because apparently the universe thought tonight needed to get more complicated.
He’s across the room, leaning back against the wall like he’s completely unaffected by everything happening around him. Like the noise doesn’t reach him. Like the crowd parts without him even trying.
He looks calm. Too calm.
And his eyes?
Already on me.
Not searching. Not surprised. Just there.
Like they’ve been waiting. I hold his gaze for a second too long before I realize what I’m doing.
So I tilt my head slightly, raise my cup in a lazy acknowledgment, just enough to say I see you, and then turn away like it didn’t matter.
Like he didn’t matter. Even though my heartbeat just picked up for no reason at all.
I force myself to focus on literally anything else. The music. The people dancing. The way someone spills their drink and laughs about it like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Normal stuff, safe stuff, but still I can feel it. That pull. And I know, I know, he’s still looking.
Minutes pass. Or maybe it’s less than that. Time feels weird in places like this. I’m just about to convince myself I imagined the whole thing.
“Careful.”
The voice is low, close, too close. I freeze for half a second before turning, already knowing exactly who it is.
Arch stands behind me, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a drink. He looks even more composed up close, which somehow makes him more dangerous.
“Careful?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
His gaze drifts over me, not in a way that feels disrespectful, but like he’s taking everything in. Calculating.
“You keep looking around like that,” he says, voice steady, “people are gonna think you’re looking for something.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “And what if I am?”
His lips twitch, like he almost smiles but stops himself.
“Then I’d say you found it.”
Oh. So that’s his game. Confident. Direct. No hesitation. I take a step closer instead of backing away.
“Wow,” I say lightly. “You always this sure of yourself?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Only when I’m right.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach flip, but it does.
I cross my arms, tilting my head. “And you’re right about me?”
His eyes meet mine again, steady, focused.
“I think you walked in here bored,” he says. “Looking for something to make tonight interesting.”
My breath catches, just slightly. Because he’s not wrong and I hate that he knows it.
“So what?” I challenge. “You’re volunteering?”
“Depends,” he says. “You gonna make it worth my time?”
I laugh again, but this time it’s softer. More real.
“You came up to me,” I remind him. “Feels like you already decided it is.”
That earns me a small nod, like he respects the answer.
“Fair enough.”
For a second, neither of us speaks. The music swells around us, people brushing past, the world continuing like this moment isn’t happening.
But it is. And it feels charged. Like something’s building, even if neither of us is saying it out loud.
“You do this a lot?” I ask after a beat.
“Do what?”
“Walk up to girls like you’ve already figured them out.”
His jaw tightens just slightly, like I hit something there.
“No,” he says. “Just the ones who look like they won’t be easy.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “And you think that’s me?”
“I know that’s you.”
God. He says everything like it’s a fact. Like there’s no room to question it. I step back just a little, creating space, enough to breathe, enough to think.
“Here’s the thing,” I say. “Guys like you? You like the chase. The challenge. But once it’s over” I shrug. “You move on.”
He watches me carefully, like he’s actually listening.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I just haven’t met the right person to make me stay.”
I shouldn’t react to that. It’s probably something he’s said before.
But the way he says it, quiet, almost thoughtful, it lands differently than I expect. I shake it off.
“Still sounds like a game.”
“It is,” he admits.
“So what happens when someone doesn’t want to play?”
His eyes darken slightly, not in a bad way, just more serious.
“Then I don’t force it.”
The answer is simple and somehow that makes this whole thing more real than it should be. I glance around the room, then back at him.
“And if I do want to play?”
This time, he steps closer again, but slower, more careful.
“Then we see who wins.”
The words hang between us, not heavy, but important. I take a breath, feeling my heartbeat pick up again.
Because this is exactly the kind of situation I told myself to avoid. Complicated. Unpredictable. Easy to get caught up in.
But also?
Impossible to walk away from. So instead of overthinking it I lean in just slightly, close enough that only he can hear me.
“You seem pretty confident, Manning,” I murmur.
“Should I not be?”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
“Confidence can turn into overconfidence real fast.”
A pause.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
I smile. Slow. Deliberate. The kind that doesn’t give too much away.
“Maybe we will.”
And before he can respond I turn. Walking back into the crowd, letting the music swallow me up again. Because if this is a game?
I’m not losing it in the first five minutes, but as I move through the lights and noise, I can still feel it. That pull. That attention.
I don’t have to look back to know he’s watching me go.
