꩜

My star, my moon..

[ik33ponmakingc00ki3s]

When bllk parents competitively route for their sons to bag a baddie 💮🍃

Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, Hiori, Kunigami x fem! Reader Drabble

Ok long story short, you, a new manager came in and have to watch over the team during training sessions and matches. AND after a few months of back and forth of these young men pestering you for your attention, they officially have ranted about you towards their parent/s or siblings for some advice into getting into a woman's heart. (Well, some had their parent/s know about it before they even got to tell them, it was just too obvious.)

They LITERALLY see pink and red hearts floating above their son's heads and only sigh about how this beautiful and lovely young woman has them wrapped around her finger. And they can't just stand by.

So all they could do is give them advice…

...

Is what they thought would work when there's multiple parents doing the same exact thing that day.

“Offer her to take her out after practice Yoichi!”

“Buy her a snack every time you meet each other ok Meguru?!”

“Try to help her as much so she'll think of you when she needs help, that always works Rensuke!”

“Don't smile like that, be more charming Hiori.”

“Ask her what her favorite food is, we can try to make it at home for her to eat Hyoma!”

And came in the next day, the unexpected attention you received was overwhelming you. And it didn't go unnoticed by the men who participated in the secret competition forming in, the rest of the football team sweat dropped or became annoyed with witnessing such hammy acts from the 5 men.

“Hey.” Karasu mumbled and nudged Otoya towards your direction with Bachira and Isagi quarreling as you're put in the middle of it, unamused. Watching it unravel as Otoya smirked, reaching out to his pockets before giving in his money towards Karasu. 3,500 yen waving towards his face. “I pick Bachira on this one.”

“Yeah nahh she's definitely picking Isagi”

“I second that,” The two of them turned their heads to see Yukimiya walking towards them, cash in hand “Hiori's been upping his game, don't you think that he and (Y/n)’s been pretty close lately?” He isn't one to participate in biddings, butttt since it's entertaining most of them from time to time, he couldn't just sit by. A lil bet isn't bad when everyone's enjoying it.

“Chigiri and Kunigami's been tagging along with her the whole day too! Don't underestimate them!” Raichi intervened and placed 4,800 yen on the bench, a small group had caved in as the bidding had grown bigger by the minute as the majority of the team had a pile of cash stacked in the middle. Looking at you then back at the money, “What if she just chooses all of them?”

Everyone looked towards Nanase, the boy had flinched and sweat dropped upon the looks he was given as they deadpanned “I don't think they'd like that..” “Well it could still be an option..” Shidou didn't think that idea was bad at all, you got dogs following you around and choosing only one looks like a lethal punishment to the unchosen ones.

“Ok that's weird-”

“A good type of weird!”

Now everyone in the locker room was arguing, the bidding of choices were changing every second as Barou, Rin, and Nagi (Most “normal” ones) stood by with bored looks.

Yeah this is gonna be such a hard watch for the losing team.

—---

It's the world cup, everyone in their seats were rejoicing and screaming on top of their lungs with Japan's win for the championship, and you were there smiling at them proudly. That is until Isagi approached you, bathed in sweat, and Jersey crumpled up. “..Uh hey, (Y/n). Uhm..” he called out for you nervously. This is it, he says inside his head as you look at him confused. And not 1 second in, he already folded under your gaze, fumbling his confession. Everyone else was enjoying the very moment until you both heard a yell of a grown man from the VIP seats.

“C’MON YOICHIIII THIS IS YOUR CHANCE!!” His own dad yelled at him across the field, some audiences and other parents looking at him in surprise or curiosity. Isagi on the other hand was pale, color drained out from him on the spot before shades of red filled it up. “PleaseIgnoreMyDadHeDoesntMeanANYTHING!” He scrambled out, and the plan is not going smoothly for team Isagi.

“Ah-.. does your son have a thing for the pretty manager too??!” Bachira’s mom, who was sitting just beside questioned them, feeling awkward about how the situation would pass by when her dear son didn't end up with you.

“Yes actually! We kept encouraging hi–”

“DON'T BACK OFF YET HYOMA! YOU HAVE BETTER CHANCES!!” Yelled by Chigiri’s older sister as his mom held up a banner of chibi versions of you and him with hearts in it.

“JUST LIKE WE PRACTICED HIORI! DON'T MESS UP!!!” Came another yell from Hiori's mom as her husband carried her on his shoulders to make the whole stadium look at them and pressure their poor son.

“KEEP GOING RENSUKE! YOU CAN DO ITTT!!” High pitched voices let out by two girls as they held out light sticks, flashing red and white, making sure that they're seen even if they sat at the front.

The three of them looked at the other parents yelling from their VIP seats, shocked at how there were more of them telling their sons off on the field embarrassing them.

“YOU’VE GOT COMPETITION BACHIRA!!! BE MORE ENTHUSIASTIC!!!”

Bachira's mom immediately followed suite in a panic as the bee haired man looked at her, smiling and giving his mother a thumbs up before jogging towards you and Isagi happily, much to the other parent's disappointment.

“What the hell’s my family doing…” Chigiri was turning red from embarrassment, his fingers rubbing his forehead in shame, along with the others who either looked away or pretended that they didn't hear anything.

“This is so fucking embarrassing.” Hiori looked away from their direction and moved to yours, mumbling under his breath as Karasu and Otoya were laughing their ass off on the bench, the whole of blue lock were having a field day of witnessing the situation becoming worse yet entertaining due to some parents being involved in their love life.

“You can do it big bro!!! We want a pretty sister-in-law!!!” Kunigami flinched along with the rest who had a crush on you.

...

A second of silence before realization had hit the crowd as they let out a loud “Ooohhhh!”, finally understanding that some of their favourite players had a crush on their manager. Encouraging them to confess as you on the other hand didn't know what to do nor react on the spot, though a lil humoured by the silly little cheers as the whole house was chanting them to confess.

“Holy SHIT double my money in it” Shidou threw in another 5,000 yen, along with the others as they pointed and laughed at their buddies being red on the field.

Yeah no, you may be having fun, but all this attention was overwhelming you, but hey! You got like 5 fine shyts after your ass with their parents getting competitive with each other too amirite? Hurry and pick cs the families are planning out the wedding for their future daughter-in-law 🫢

A/n: Boring ass layout bcs editing in phone is hell I can't-- 😞 never doing this on mobile again

[utwenio]

TBIS IS SO CUTE OH MY GOSH

[suksatoru]

in a room full of art

synopsis; itoshi rin is failing his art class. in order to graduate his senior year of high school, he needs to pass the class with at least a b grade. you're assigned to tutor the hot-headed football athlete—kind and eccentric, you throw rin's entire world off axis.

a/n; i wrote this as a *private* commission for one of my followers some time ago but they said they'd like for me to post it here so yaaaaah !! they had it posted on their account so if u recognize this from somewhere else pls know it is mine and not stolen lol :) ALSO THIS IS ONE OF MY FAV RIN PIECES EVER HAHA SO IM GLAD TO SHARE IT HERE!!!!

pairing: rin itoshi x reader

word count: 5.0k words

itoshi rin didn't have any friends, and it's a fact all his teachers know by now. he's a stoic student, one that doesn't participate in group projects and eats his lunch alone in the library. normally, this type of behavior exhibited by students should have been concerning to his teachers and counselors. but rin was well behaved and had straight a's in most of his classes—so, nobody took much notice of him.

he felt like a ghost, drifting through the walls of his high school without a single person by his side. it was his first day of senior year, and itoshi rin had no expectations for something good.

the phantom ache in his chest is harder to ignore nowadays. he doesn't realize he's been spacing out again until the bell rings, signaling the start of the next class period, and rin is snapped violently out of his daze. he glances at the blank canvas in front of him before realizing he's spent the past fifty five minutes doing absolutely nothing. the students around him file out of the classroom—chatting and laughing as he sits there a bit dumbfounded with how this class seemed to suck the life out of him like no other.

when rin was little, he loved drawing. his imagination would run wild, and sometimes—he couldn't always act out the magnificent battles he wanted his toys to perform. dragons and princes and volcanos—his medium of choice used to be these scratchy crayons his brother, sae, would get for rin from the corner store.

rin remembers how his parents had to force him to stop drawing just to make him eat dinner. and now, he can't even manage to put a single mark on a canvas.

during his teacher's instructions at the beginning of class, he was, quite vaguely told at that, to use whatever colors and styles he wanted to on a 12 by 12 canvas to reflect his soul. bitterly, rin thinks his canvas reflects him perfectly. he'll turn this in tomorrow, he decides. a blank canvas—no feelings, no purpose, nothing. just like him.

he'll take the shitty grade and move on with his life. rin wonders if there's even a language that exists to put his feelings into something other people can comprehend. he doesn't think there is. if he wants anyone to understand how he feels, they'll have to tear his ribs out one by one to reach the barely alive beat lying inside his chest to try and figure him out.

"do you need some help cleaning up?"

itoshi rin is seventeen years old when he falls in love.

rin glances away from his blank canvas, looking up to meet who it is speaking. the class is empty now. his art teacher is busying herself in the back of the classroom, unboxing a new pack of paintbrushes when rin swallows the lump in his throat.

"i'm fine."

your smile is hesitant. understanding, almost, as you look at rin's canvas and the tubes of unopened acrylic paint surrounding him. the window panes hanging high towards the ceiling welcome in the rising sun outside, and rin can see the light shimmering in your eyes—glittering shards of gold gleam like morning stars in your irises as you wordlessly pick up the neglected paint and brushes on his desk—carrying them over to the back of the classroom and putting them away for him as rin watches silently.

slowly, he picks up his own canvas—and he stares at his classmates' drying ones with an almost envious kind of sadness as he places his untouched canvas beside theirs. where they had explosions of colors, reds and yellows and greens and blues blending and combining into the most wonderful art—rin did not. he had nothing.

rin turns around to where he'd seen you last in the back of the classroom, before clearing his throat. he doesn't lift his gaze from the tiled floor beneath him, pressing his hand flat against the surface of a nearby table to steady himself before speaking up

"thanks..." he begins, but his voice trails off when he realizes you've already left.

—

rin was sitting in english class when he heard your voice again. to be completely honest, he had no idea you were in this course with him. rin didn't talk to anyone in all of his classes, so hearing the sound of your voice was a surprise. and where he sat in the back of the classroom, you sat towards the front. you're asking the teacher a question on last night's homework, and rin takes his chance to watch you freely.

you have a tote bag slung over your shoulder. there's a landscape painted on it, with little pins placed all over. you have your hair down today compared to the updo you wore yesterday. it's only when you turn towards your seat that rin finally makes eye contact with you.

time slows, and the conversation around him drowns to nothing as if he's ducked his head underwater. his brain is nothing but white static for that one second you look into his eyes.

truly, you didn't even hold his gaze for a full second, it was more like a fraction of one—but rin's heart rate didn't calm until the bell rang, and he was the first student out the door. he left class that day with clammy palms and pink-tinted cheeks.

today, rin didn't have art class, but he was called down regardless during study hall to meet his art teacher—an old woman with a wrinkly smile who always wore colorful cardigans. rin enters the room, moving through the empty desks and chairs before he stops in front of her with a quiet greeting.

"itoshi rin! it's so nice of you to come so quickly, students aren't usually so courteous! please, have a seat," she says warmly, and rin eyes the blank canvas—his blank canvas—laying beside her on the desk.

rin takes a seat, fading in and out of the conversation as she talks. he already knew what to expect, and of course, his assumptions were right. akamatsu sensei had the type of voice rin imagines story tellers have, or lullaby singers do. she tells him that she's having trouble seeing signs of progress in his art and wanted him to be doing better. but her last sentence is what catches rin off gaurd. this he did not predict.

"i'm failing?"

akamatsu sensei nods her head slowly, folding her hands in her lap before she begins talking about a possible tutor. she watches his delicate brows pinch together in discomfort, soft lips pulled into a small frown filled with silent frustration. rin didn't understand why he had to get another person to tutor him—he thought art was subjective.

"i promise you, rin, i have just the perfect person in mind. they're my best student—i think if anyone can get your imagination flowing again, it's them."

—

akamatsu sensei introduces you and rin to each other the following morning—and rin's learns that your name is y/n. he repeats it in his head a few times, committing it to memory before you speak his name in the sweetest voice he'll ever have the pleasure of hearing.

"itoshi-san, i think we're going to get along well! we can sit together in class and work on assignments with each other, but we'll also have to meet after school. which day are you free?" you question, and rin's heart positively plummets to his feet when you grab his hand and lead him towards his seat—you occupy the usually empty chair beside him, and he follows your lead.

"that's fine. i'm free every friday. every other day of the week i have football practice."

rin's hands grip his knees tightly under the desk when you pull your hand out of his, a fruitless attempt to try and calm himself after you so casually held his hand. your fingers curved around his perfectly. and while the gesture might not have meant anything to you, it meant so much to rin. he doesn't hold hands, he can't even hold a conversation—but you're bubbly and bright in a way that has him submitting in one second flat.

"football? that sounds like fun! i'm sorry, i'm not very well versed with sports. do you like it?" you ask, organizing the paints in front of you as rin nods wordlessly, staring at the gentle manner in which you treat the art materials. you smile at his confirmation, grabbing a tube of a radiant midnight blue and placing a dollop of it on rin's blank canvas with a grin

"when we're in doubt, it's like our minds subconsciously pull away from conflict. we shut down and sorta refuse to do anything sometimes, right? i want to push you out of your comfort zone and give you a blue canvas to work with rather than a white one. we'll see what you do with that, okay?"

rin nods, fingers moving to take the paintbrush you hand him before he turns to the awaiting paint in front of him. his brushstrokes are slow and a little messy, but five minutes later—the canvas is entirely blue.

"what do you see?" you question softly as rin stares at his canvas. he stays silent for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, and then—

"i don't see anything."

rin's inner turmoil is a storm. was he supposed to be seeing something? all he sees is blue. there's nothing coming to his mind, no connection being made—his bites the inside of his cheek, angry at himself and his clear lack of creativity.

"that's okay. let's think together, okay? what do you think of when you think of the color blue? it can be the simplest thing of all, itoshi-san. anything at all," you assure, gently scooting your chair closer to his as he nods, clenching his jaw as he thinks. blue. blue. blue. what the hell is blue?

"the sky."

you're silent a for a few moments before he hears it. it's soft and muffled with the back of your hand, but you're laughing at him. his cheeks burn in an instant, and his lips transform into a scowl immediately

"whatever, i know it's stupid—"

"no, no! i was thinking the same thing, that's why i laughed! now, the sky is a painting all in its own! think about it—it's orange and pink during sunrise, like a fruity drink on the beach. it can be a misty, pale haze during snow storms. but, i want you to think of a time you saw the sky like this—an inky void, like a dark blue veil's been put over the world. can you do that?"

rin doesn't respond. he stares at the sea of blue in front of him—blue blue blue.

"...sometimes, football practice gets cut short on rainy days. the sky sorta looks like this blue on those days. dark. blurry—but it's still...i can see some stars. and the moon peaking out from behind the clouds, too. i guess it kind of looks like that."

rin's brows furrow together in concentration as he stares at the canvas after speaking. he turns away from it and towards you after another moment—and he's met with your curious gaze. he blinks rapidly a few times to confirm the sight of your subdued awe struck expression in front of him is real, not something his imagination made up, before you break into a breathtaking smile.

"well then, let's get some black to add some darker shading to the sky! and some white—for the stars and moon...come, come..."

—

itoshi rin is attentive. it's something you would come to learn soon enough. you're an avid artist—truly, it was your passion. rin can watch you scribble away in your sketchbook from where he sits in the back of the classroom. english class is droning on, and for once, he's not paying attention.

you tilt your head over your notebook, staring at your drawing before you erase something and redraw it. rin watches the way your hair shifts and moves around you as you look at your sketchbook from different angles, perfecting your art. his lips twitch at the sight of your pout when the tip of your pencil breaks. you're restless, quickly sharpening it and continuing your drawing when the teacher's voice breaks him out of his daze.

"all right class, partner up! i'll let you chose your partners this time. please don't make me regret it," she sighs, and the excited chatter of the students quickly fills the once silent room.

rin straightens in his seat. he had absolutely no idea what the assignment was since he wasn't paying attention—but, right now, he didn't care. his eyes stayed glued on you, waiting to see who you would partner up with. rin has to crane his neck a bit as his classmates moved around and shifted seats—effectively blocking his view. once everyone settled down with their partners, rin was able to see you again.

and... you're sitting by yourself.

he doesn't know what urged him so strongly to walk towards you. he can hear his heart pounding, and if feels like there's an invisible thread tugging him closer and closer towards where you sat. he swallows the lump in his throat, standing behind you silently before he taps your shoulder

you turn around, obviously not expecting him—because your eyes widen a bit when you see rin. and rin just...stares. he doesn't say anything, and it's like the two of you were sucked into a bubble, separating you from everyone else—you both stare at each other, blinking blankly and staying absolutely silent

"do you want to—"

"are you—"

rin wants to crawl into a hole and promptly pass away. he shakes his head, pressing his lips into a firm line before speaking again. the flush of embarrassment in your cheeks was making him feel flustered.

"sorry. i was asking if you wanted to be partners with me," he speaks. rin places an awkward palm on the nape of his neck, silently questioning where he got the sudden boost of confidence to approach you from, because it had suddenly, and very inconveniently, vanished into thin air—leaving him defenseless. you smile warmly at him, quickly moving over and beckoning to the open seat beside yours.

"yes! i'd love to be partners," you say, quickly closing your sketchbook and putting it away as he nods gratefully, taking the seat beside you.

"thank you," rin says. and then, it's quiet again. the tension is as thick as butter, and you look around awkwardly before laughing, nervously.

"so...do you know what we're supposed to be doing, itoshi-san?"

this was the first time you saw rin smile. and laugh. well, not laugh, per say. but he snorts, and it's almost as if he was surprised by his own reaction as he shakes his head with a soft grin.

"not a clue."

the rest of class consisted of the two of you leaning towards each other with bowed heads, you soft giggles and rin's low voice filling the void between you two.

—

itoshi rin has a friend.

this is what friends are, he decides. people who smile at you when they see you, people who help you with your homework and work with you on projects. slowly, but surely, fall turned into winter, and winter turned into spring. friendship is a blossoming thing, he decides, because it felt like every day that passed, you and rin became closer.

your guidance is what rin needs. direction and kindness—you helped rin navigate his own mind through art, a language he could use to spill his heart's deepest secrets. every stroke of his brush came straight from the core of his soul.

charcoal was his current medium of choice this friday afternoon. every harsh fingertip pressed into rin's paper and ever gentle brush of his knuckles against the page has its own meaning—its own purpose. his tongue is poked out in concentration, and you watch rin work quietly as the quiet sound of akamatsu sensei's record player filled the silence. rin thinks of the way your delicate fingers transverse and move when you make art, and he mimics your movements—your gentle voice reassuring him.

"beautiful," you breathe breathlessly, tentative hands carefully taking the thick paper rin hands you as you stare at the art piece he'd just created. a battle field—it's set up like a football field, but instead of players, there were towering presences instead. swords and shields, a storm in the background, long blades of grass and a constellation of stars—rin's spark and love for art had been rekindled.

"thank you, y/n. i...i couldn't have done any of this without you. you're the only reason i'm not failing right now, and the only reason i even got back into art." he says softly, voice almost sheepish as your eyes flit towards his—welling with pride.

"i wish i could frame this! it's beautiful...akamatsu sensei is going to be so proud of you, itoshi-san! this talent has always been with you. i just got the wheels rolling. you're very talented, i hope you understand." you smile softly, eyes crinkling with the motion as rin's heart rate spikes at the sight

"rin," he whispers, and you blink in confusion before he clarifies himself

"call me rin, please."

"oh! okay... okay, rin," you correct yourself with a smile, the familiar flush returning to your cheeks

if rin were to move even an inch closer to you, his knee would bump against yours under the table. rin is suddenly hyper aware of the space between you two. the music playing in the back ground fades to nothing, just like the world did when rin stares at you. your eyes soften, and rin's positive his heart is going to burst right out of his chest and fall into your hands if you keep looking at him.

friends don't want to kiss their friends. the realization is chilling, and rin's eyes dart towards your lips for a split second—he couldn't stop himself, and the sight makes his breath hitch. soft, pink, plump—he wants to kiss you. rin really wants to kiss you.

the screeching sound of his chair against the floor shatters the serene moment of peace. you blink rapidly from the loud interruption as rin wordlessly picks his bag off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder in a single, fluid motion before exiting the classroom with fast, purposeful steps. you're left stunned and alone, smile fading as he leaves without saying goodbye

alone again.

—

rin is not familiar with love, you have to understand this. you must.

in his eyes—love was a transaction. a give or take scenario, and if you can't give something useful—you get your heart trampled on. a certain brother taught rin that. he leaves school that day sullen and empty, his chest physically hurting as he walked home.

rin started ignoring you after that day.

he didn't show up to your after school tutoring sessions on friday anymore (no need to now that he's passing, right?), he stopped turning towards you when your english teacher told the class to partner up—and your seat in art class beside him was now occupied by his backpack, a clear message telling you he didn't want you sitting near him.

you have to understand—rin didn't have anything to give. he'd taken your kindness, your love, your guidance—but what did he have to offer? he's not very gentle, and as graceful as his movements may be on the field, he can't always control the bite in his words. and he's oddly sensitive. his humor borderlines between dry and downright crude, and he's not used to having a friend, forget a lover—so, itoshi rin will ignore you. he will love you from afar, but he won't so much as glance in your direction anymore, because he cares too much, and rin thinks you deserve better from someone who could love you gently. he doesn't thrive like you do, he destroys. and if there were one thing in the entire world rin wished to never taint with his darkness, it would be you.

"y/n,"

you glance away from rin's retreating figure. once again, he didn't bother to look at you all day or say goodbye—he simply left class. akamatsu sensei's voice pulls you away from rin as you quickly approach her desk, bowing your head in greeting.

"sensei," you greet with a small smile as her gaze softens. she hands you a slip of paper, her voice gentle as she speaks

"rin has been leaving class far too quickly for me to catch up with! would you be a dear and give this to him for me, please? it's a permission slip he must sign for our upcoming field trip,"

the words otsuka museum of art were printed neatly at the top. you'd been looking forward to this trip for months—you vaguely remember mentioning your excitement for it to rin at some point when he still spoke to you.

the otsuka museum of art scaled five floors—three underground and two above—of the richest art history ever. there were reportedly over a thousand paintings, masterpieces ranging from ancient times to the present day from all over the world. it was your dream to have your own art in a museum like the otsuka museum one day.

"okay! that's not a problem at all, akamatsu sensei," you reply softly, bidding her goodbye as she waves enthusiastically to you. you manage a meek wave, offering a weary smile as you exit the classroom.

this was your chance to talk to rin. determined to find him before he left school for the day, you move swiftly through the crowded hallways—keeping a firm grip on your tote bag and the slip of paper between your fingertips as you push open the front doors of the school—and there he is. his strides are long and leisurely as he walks on the sidewalk about a dozen meters away from you. your feet hit the pavement as you quickly make your way towards him. he doesn't look up from his path to the school's football field, hands remaining shoved deep in his pockets and completely unaware of your approaching steps.

"rin! rin, wait up!"

rin pauses mid step, and you watch every muscle in his back tense the moment your voice reached his ears. he swallows the lump forming in his throat, closing his eyes for a moment before reluctantly turning around. his eyes are round in an almost childlike manner as you approach him.

you take a deep breath before grabbing his hand—and rin is startled for a moment before you place the field trip slip in his hand. he blinks down at it in confusion, squinting at the small text before they widen a bit in realization

"akamatsu sensei couldn't give it to you earlier, so, uh, she asked me to," you quickly say, wringing your hands together nervously as rin stays silent, blinking at the paper in his hand.

"i...i'd be really happy if you came. of course, it's not a required trip, but..."

even though rin won't look at you, resorting to burning a hole through the paper slip in his hands again, so you continue with your words.

"rin, i don't know if i did something wrong to upset you, or if i said something you didn't like—but...i'm sorry."

rin's jaw clenches, and a frown digs its way onto his face as he stares at you. he shakes his head as if to say no, and just when he opens his mouth to say something in hopes to ease you—a loud voice comes barreling towards the two of you.

"itoshi! you're late! get onto the field now!"

rin's coach's voice is booming and demanding of everyone's attention—and you're startled enough to flinch. rin exhales sharply through his nose, a vein threatening to pop on his forehead as he fights to keep himself from cursing out his coach—something he has done many times before—for startling you.

"...we'll, uh, talk another time, all right?"

he doesn't seem to want to leave until he gets your confirmation, and you quickly nod

"i...okay."

rin frowns at your hesitance, taking a half hearted step back, sparing you one last glance, before walking away. his shoulders are slumping just the slightest bit with defeat, and you don't have the strength to keep watching. you begin the walk home, thoughts scattered and heart hurt.

—

thankfully, rin did show up the day of the trip.

your breath hitched when you saw him board the bus—his dark, inky strands mused from the wind outside as he huffed, handing akamatsu sensei his field trip form before he turned towards the open seats. yes, there was one right beside you—but rin took the seat on the other side of the aisle.

doing this, he kept himself both near you and faraway—you heart sinks at the silent rejection. you spend the bus ride sketching in your notebook, trying your best to not look at rin.

—

you fell asleep on the two hour drive there. rin thinks you look a lot like a baby when you sleep. your face is composed entirely of peace. your sketchbook lays idly in your lap, and rin frowns when he notices it's slipping from your grasp.

he waits for the bus to approach a red light before slipping into the vacant spot beside you. he grabs your sketchbook, prepared to close it and put it safely away into your tote bag, when he sees what you were drawing

it was him.

—

everyone arrives to the museum after another half an hour, and after going through security, your classmates and akamatsu sensei stand in the foyer—buzzing with excitement. you leave the group the second you're given the green light. everyone is given ninety minutes to explore the museum on their own before you all have to regroup and grab lunch. you slip away as quietly as you can, moving through the crowd of people in search of some much needed solitude.

you let out a breath of relief once you escape rin's presence. now, you can't see him at all—all you can see is the hundreds of art pieces and hallways waiting to be explored. your first step is hesitant as you remember how much you wanted to explore this beautiful building with rin just a month ago, but you take it anyway.

you move through the museum slowly, allowing your body to sink into the moment and absorb the entirely new world around you. the domed ceilings themselves have art painted on them, and you twirl and waltz through the halls, taking it all in.

your heartbeat calms. your nerves, fears, sadness—it fades to nothing as you take it all in. unbeknownst to you, rin follows you the entire time.

his movements are absolutely precise. he can duck behind a nearby family or statue the moment he anticipates your gaze nearing his vicinity. he keeps a healthy distance, his eyes never leaving your form.

there's a soft smile on your face as you explore the museum. rin can't help but watch the way you excitedly chat to the security guards posted by the arts and explain each piece's history. he watches your animated gestures to the enormous structures as you explain the myths and stories behind them.

you're far too kind. truthfully, rin thinks your heart is bigger than the entire museum—bigger than the entire world. you give, and you give, and you give—but you don't ask for anything in return. you're selfless, offering your sweet smiles to passerbys and dorky art facts to anyone willing to hear.

rin would soon learn the love you offered was unconditional.

you're moving from exhibit to exhibit before you finally enter an empty one. he stands by the entrance where your back is facing him. rin is nervous beyond belief, but he takes the step inside, anyway. you don't notice him at first, too busy staring at a painting much larger than you with a feverish type of awe.

he steps beside you, not meeting your gaze as he peers up at the painting with you. a man and a woman sit at a piano, playing together in harmony. they're in a ballroom of some sort, both dressed in formal wear. rin can tell they're in love with the way they look at each other.

"i'm sorry."

rin can feel you go rigid beside him—he can hear the silent hitch in your breath as you keep your gaze glued to the painting, your fingers tensing at your sides as rin looks away from the painting, turning towards you.

he takes a moment to admire you. your lips, your lashes, the slope of your nose and the curve of your neck—before speaking

"i'm not good with my emotions. i push people away before they get to close, but it was like you slipped through the gaps—i thought i'd hurt you if i stayed. but i think hurt you more by leaving. i like you, y/n. i like you more than any person i've ever known—and i...i think i might even love you,"

the words fall from his lips in a broken whisper, and he wants to reach out and play with your fingers—have something to fidget with as he awaits your response. he wasn't going to shy away from admitting his feelings anymore, that just wasn't him. the only reason he messed up with you the first time was because he's never been in love before. but, he was willing to learn everything about it with you—he didn't want to do it with anyone else.

this moment would forever be engraved into his heart, brain, and soul—rin is sure of it, because the sight of your face when you finally look at him steals the air from his lungs.

your lip trembles slightly in disbelief for a moment before you let out a soft laugh, the sound a melody all in its own to rin's ears as you smile with all your teeth.

his mouth slots over yours a moment later. soft and so, so sweet—itoshi rin's kiss was like pressing your mouth against the petal of a flower. his hands cradle your face, his breathing coming out uneven and quick—he kisses you hard, and you laugh into his mouth as your hands wrap around his neck. he tugs you infinitely closer, molding his form against yours.

"i love you too, rin!"

rin's eyes crinkle with a rare show of genuine joy. his gaze doesn't leave yours for even a moment as he watches your thumb gently caress his cheek, because in a room full of art—itoshi rin would rather look at you.

[utwenio]

holy peak🥹

[if-loves]

don't leave!

// vivien hugo x fem! reader

syn: the half-time whistle blows while you were busy looking for loki's misplaced phone. when you go to give it back to him in the locker room, it seems like hugo has something to give you too?

wc: 1601

notes: fem pronouns / fluff / no y/n used / ooc hugo / some spoilers if you aren't caught up with the manga / miscommunication-ish / they're both still stupid your honor / i had to do too much research into football stadium layouts so pls show this some love and ignore any inaccuracies </3

a/n: the silliness continues

previous series masterlist next

the half-time whistle shrieks, effectively ending the first-half of the match. it was a miracle blue lock managed to catch up, if you were honest, even though it was only by one goal.

okay, that sounds a little mean… it's not that you didn't have any faith in them, but come on, it's france!

regardless, while you were happy about it, you couldn't celebrate hiori's goal. no, unfortunately, you had to leave about halfway through because you suddenly remembered that loki, through charles, had messaged you before the match because he had forgotten his phone in one of the training rooms. which one, you asked, and he only replied "the one i was in" (thank you loki, very specific).

either way, the tablet caught you up on everything you weren't there to witness. hugo scored a goal just before the half-time break, and while you can acknowledge that he's a very talented player, your impression of him is still that he absolutely despises you. oh, and that he has some penchant for physical contact considering how close he was to isagi for a good part of the match (you are acutely aware that football is a contact sport, but it wasn't put-your-chin-on-their-shoulder kind of contact!). you shudder at the thought. hang in there isagi…! maybe after the match, you and him could form a support group…

shaking your head at the thought, you sigh in relief as you finally locate loki's damn phone. the device sits on one of the benches unsuspectingly, and next to it lies a book. huh, loki didn't say he was missing a book. it wasn't charles's, that you were sure of, and you don't recall seeing anyone from blue lock bringing a book to training. hm… maybe it was someone from the french team?

you slipped the phone into your pocket and took the book, flipping it open to see if any name was written on it. instead, what you found was blank page upon blank page upon blank page, not a single drop of ink on the pristine white pages. maybe it was someone's new notebook? but even those would have names written on them somewhere…

with another, more exasperated sigh, you leave the training room and make your way back to the locker rooms. maybe if you were lucky, you would arrive after they leave and you wouldn't be in such terrifyingly close proximity to hugo. it was unlikely, you know that, but a girl can hope!

the walk wasn't long, the training rooms less than 10 minutes away from the pitch. you could hear some boots against the floor and muffled conversations as players and coaches entered their respective locker rooms. maybe you should just join the japan team room, and then head into the france locker room when the break ended…? ah, but you wouldn't be able to ask if anyone was missing an awfully blank book…

steeling your nerves, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths . you will be brave this one time and go into their locker room, regardless of hugo! but before you do… damn you loki for putting you in this position!!!

now, you were ready. well, not really, but sometimes in life, you don't get a choice. this was one of those times.

walking down the hallway, the doors at the end automatically slid open just as you arrived. immediately, probably over twenty pairs of eyes shot to you. this really is your worst nightmare!

"um, i'm really sorry to interrupt, but i have loki's phone…" you hold up the device as evidence, an apologetic tone to your voice. the coach nods in acknowledgement as you scurry to where loki was sat on the bench, a little too close to hugo to your liking. you could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you tried your best to ignore it just like you did before the match.

loki nods at you in thanks when you hand him the phone, while charles waves at you enthusiastically. just as you were about to celebrate surviving this ordeal, you remembered the book in your hands. since you're already here, you might as well…

"and uh, does this book belong to anyone here? i found it in the same spot as loki's phone, if it helps…" you hold it up for everyone to see, and a wave of refusals makes you put it down. guess you'll just hope that someone comes looking—

"it's mine." the hairs on the back of your neck all rise, and your back straightens instinctively at the voice. you knew exactly who it belonged to, but you were praying that you were hearing things and he didn't say that.

to your misfortune, which you find to be becoming a pattern around him, the owner of the voice and the book magically appears in front of you and takes the book out of your hand. but that's not the only thing his hand grabs, no, because your poor hand holding the book also got taken hostage by hugo.

…is this the part where you beg for your life? because it really was starting to feel like it, if not some public humiliation ritual…

"thanks for finding it." hugo murmurs. you didn't even get the time to be baffled that he just has a completely blank book for no reason, because he was leaning a little too close to your face. any closer and his lashes would be touching your face! has he no concept of personal space?!

his other hand, hiding behind his back, places something in your arms. a first glance tells you it's something dark blue, the fabric soft. a second glance, and charles's loud gasp, tells you that it's a jersey. a third glance tells you that it's hugo's jersey, his name written in big capital letters. you were starting to feel really lightheaded.

"you should wear it, and watch only me." he all but demands, and maybe it's just because you're terrified, but it also feels like he's leaning in closer with every word. frantically shaking your hand free, you bow to the coach in apology and dash out of the room as fast as you can without fainting. the jersey is still clutched in your arms, a little too tightly for your own liking. you stand just outside of the japan locker room, trying to catch your breath and calm your poor heart that was beating a million miles a second.

what on god's green earth just happened?! and what are you supposed to do with his jersey?!

and once again, damn you julien loki!!!

hugo was extremely grateful to loki.

thanks to loki, his dream of winning the world cup four times will be realised, and so too will his dream of wedding you. if loki hadn't forgotten his phone, then you would've never found his book, nor would you have come into their locker room, and hugo wouldn't have been able to gift you his jersey.

the whole room is quiet, almost everyone except their coach staring at where you once were with a combination of wide eyes, open mouths, or hands on their faces. hugo pays them no mind, sitting back down on the bench, eyes trained on the book you held just a moment ago. his fingers brush the places yours were, feeling the lingering warmth from your hands. if he closed his eyes, he could feel your hand in his again…

"what just happened???" charles gawks, oddly reminiscent of the first time hugo met you, the cup in his hand having taken a skydive to the floor. the other players make similar sounds of surprise, having just witnessed perhaps the most shocking thing in all their time of playing in the team. hugo, mechanical and blunt and unfeeling and — you get the idea, hugo, trying to make a move on a person of the opposite gender?! and someone from the opposing team, no less!

they didn't even know hugo could do that!

their coach doesn't even bother to silence them. there was only a few more minutes left of the break anyway, so they might as well take some stress off (if they were even feeling any) by… freaking out over hugo's impossibly bad "rizz."

"their poor manager looked like she was about to collapse…" renoir mumbles, chapa nodding in agreement.

"she looked like she was going to file a restraining order against him…" camus mutters, taking another gulp of water.

"hugo, there's no way you're going to make her like you by acting like that!" leyden laughs, while most of the room nods in agreement.

"thanks for bringing her here, loki." hugo says sincerely, finally looking up from the book. loki only stares at him with a mix of exasperation and bewilderment, and mentally, he apologises to you for putting you in this position.

"you really are hopeless, hugo…"

when they make their way back to the pitch a few minutes later, hugo searches for your figure at the benches. to his dismay, you aren't looking at him, and you're not wearing his jersey.

(logically speaking, there was no way you would ever wear it during a match so long as you're on the opposing team, but a man can dream...)

the beginnings of a pout form, but he steels his expression. hugo glances at isagi through his lashes, when an idea pops into his head.

"hey, isagi yoichi…" hugo calls, seriousness in his voice and an intensity in his dark eyes. "what's your little manager's number?"

"…?"

(by the benches, you sneeze.)

taglist (open! comment or send an ask to be added) : @thetwinkims @luffyloving @oh-miniso @mydearest1

[utwenio]

This is so cute oh Mein gott🥹

[yayamrata]

I’m actually fucking pissing myself

[utwenio]

Shakespeare in modern era right here 💔

[kenyudotcom]

unappeased hunger. ᯓ★ bunny iglesias. [gn!reader]

synopsis ; happiness is watching the number on the scale go down warnings ; reader has an ed (anorexia), body dysmorphia, starving, weight loss, body check, vomit mention, sh, unhealthy behaviors & ideologies, internalised shame/hatred, blood mention . ooc eehhh . lowk lost the plot wc ; 926

if you or someone you know are struggling, please reach out. help is out there, and you are never alone.

note: this is heavily centered around how it affected me and people who have shared their experience with me. it does not work the same for everyone, nor should you feel like you're invalid for doing or not doing something the way i've written.

bunny’s always been big, right? muscular, tall—big.

but now, more than ever, he’s realising it wasn’t just that he’s big. you’re small. frail. weak.

that sounds meaner than he wished it would come out. but the moment it occurred to him—the very second he realised it—, all he could wonder was how he didn’t notice it earlier.

you’ve lost weight drastically. your frame feels empty, like a shell that a kid collects at the beach that once was home to a sea creature. a coat hanger without the coat.

the mirror tells you lies. you swear its like being in one of those distortion rooms; the ones where you walk into a polygonal-configured room and there’s mirrors on every side. the ones that have dents and are bent so they make the person look weird.

the mirror is a liar. the weight scale is a liar.

bunny is falling for those lies when he tries to confront you, one day.

he slowly sits down on the side of your bed, right beside where you were laying down.

“mi vida, we need to talk,” he tries coaxing you into talking, about anything, really.

you hum quietly, inviting him to continue.

“i’ve, uh… how do i say this,” he’s clearly trying not to make this feel like an attack or insult; he really is just worried. though, its not every day that your partner is drastically losing weight, amongst other things. signs, he’d call it.

“what, you’re breaking up with me?” you murmur to yourself, laughing almost hollowly. it wasn’t a funny joke. it’d just add more stress if he leaves now.

“no, of course not!” his hands splay out in front of him, as if forming a physical defense. “i’ve been noticing some things lately. i wanted to bring it up with you, if you haven’t already noticed. though, you obviously know your body, i’m just worried. we can stop this conversation here, if it makes you—”

“it’s nothing serious; i just wake up and feel like starving. that’s all there is to it,” you respond dismissively, rolling over to lay face-down, with your cheek squished against the pillow.

“but it is that serious,” he gently takes your hand into his own, his speech full of urgency that’s contrary to the manner of his actions. “you’ve lost so much weight. you’re growing paler—no, almost a little blue at your hands. it is that serious, amor, and if you don’t see it, i’ll have to take you to a doctor.”

it takes a second to process, but once it does, your eyes widen. your hand quivers in his; suddenly, the ever so slightly comprehendible shivers of your hand feel like tremors.

he’s right.

a little paler, sure, but your hands are just barely a little blue. maybe from the fingertips. fuck, was it always like this? and when did your wrist become that small? bony, even.

when did your body last feel so tight under your skin?

when was the last time you ate a meal, or anything, without checking in the mirror afterwards? shirt up a little, turn to the side, and check. next stop; bathroom floor.

crying, dry retching, vomiting—it got easier over time. your knees against the bathroom tiles became less painful, over time. the feeling of your fingers hitting your teeth and the back of your throat became less… well, you’ll never truly get used to it. counting calories and finding them on tiny labels became a first nature.

the feeling of drinking carbonated drinks on an empty stomach became rewarding.

the dizziness of simply standing up meant you did something right. passing out in the middle of mundane activities became an alternative to eating.

sleep, starve, rot, repeat.

if you ate, it wouldn’t even be an hour before it came out.

the mirror lies.

oh, she lies to you. why would she tell you such things?

some days, she tells you you’re massive. disgusting. fat. other days, she tells you you’re tiny. dainty. like a doll.

and on some days, you break the mirror, your frail fists morphing from slightly blueish to drenched in deep red. in terms of both colour and the thing the nurse told you at the hospital. something about deep wounds and stitches.

and don’t think they didn’t notice your… well, you. immediately, they ask questions. like an interview. no, more like an interrogation. questions on questions; hell, some of them sounded like they were telling you your condition.

it was all a blur. blood tests, hazy vision, light headedness, beeping machines—the last thing you heard before it all went black was “keep them under supervision for a while.”

that was recently, actually. you don’t remember much. maybe bunny was there—again, unreliable memory.

“please, don’t let it get bad. let me get you checked out,” his voice drops, almost with a hint of desperation. “i don’t want you to suffer longer than you need to, if at all. i’m late, i know, but i can’t watch you lose yourself…”

you don’t respond.

“i can’t bear watching you lose yourself...” he murmurs to himself, bringing your hand up to his face. he leans into your palm, closing his eyes for a moment.

it’s not worth fighting over some things. its not as easy as a “let’s go get me checked out, bunny! then i’ll be healthy!”, either.

he knows that. its a massive step to even bring it up with you.

he presses a chaste kiss to your palm, his eyes fluttering open and meeting yours.

“not again, i can’t.”

a/n ; this one hurt a little tags ; @kissklei <3

© kenyudotcom 2026 feeding to ai, plagiarism and claiming as own are strictly forbidden. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[utwenio]

Cigarettes out the window, or in this case, your tongue. ft: Nagi Seishiro

900 or so words, angst if you squint ur eyes a bit—wrote this around 3AM, so not proofread! Mostly fluff tho

The air in your apartment reeks of smoke. It lingers as a vice, instead molding and fitting itself into what seems to be your everyday routine. The walls are stained, and you're thankful the apartment doesn’t have a smoke system.

What wakes you in the mornings isn’t a cup of coffee or a quick skim of the news; no, it’s a quick one before eight!

You really couldn’t explain it yourself, why you do all this. Perhaps the ash and veering adultness it brought you reminded you of home. When arguments got too messy between your parents, you’d be sent to some dinky store to purchase your mother a pack of cigarettes. Whatever brand worked.

The clerks knew you well by then. How sad, to be used to such a grim sight. A sick cue—they see your meek frame approach, and by the time you step inside, the box already waits by the counter.

So it’s safe to say you got it from your parents.

Nagi had known of your unfortunate habits, had known when he first sniffed the rustic scent of what seemed to be ash coming from that jacket you always wore. Now that he mentions it, the more he thinks about it, you probably kept your packs in those pockets. After all, your hands were always tucked in.

Perhaps you found it somewhat comforting, knowing you had your spares. The assurance was something you never had, a privilege.

Nagi isn’t one for smoking. Hakuho makes sure to hammer the ideology of its harm and to absolutely never use one—it goes from one ear to another for him, because he’s never considered, nor does he care for it.

But, if it is what kept you intact, then so be it. After all, he knows all the unfortunate shit you went through.

The two of you, now tied by the rope known as fate, have found yourself in a relationship; had been for a year, and still going strong. Nagi, as lazy as he is, still can’t help but wonder how someone as wounded as you could love so tenderly.

You weren’t raised with such kindness, so where’d you learn to hold him so softly, lull him to sleep when nights got too restless? You clearly never got this treatment, as caged as you were, stripped of all the softness most, if not all children should be getting.

The mattress dips as Nagi lays atop of you; not that you mind, in fact, you found the weight comforting—your fingers combing and kneading his scalp, in which he purrs in comfort.

“Lazy, aren’t you?” you muse, chuckling softly as your fingers trek deeper, scratching his scalp. It’s a win-win for the both of you—he gets a relaxing massage, and you get to make your boyfriend happy.

“So soft..” he hums softly, arms wrapped around your hips, almost using you as a plush you think, as shuffles impossibly closer to engulf you with more of his warmth. “moree,” he whines, eyes lulled as he looks at you with those doe eyes—how can you say no?

“You baby,” huffing as you pull him closer, letting him peer closer until the two of your noses are tipped against one another. Breathing in each other, intimate as you perked up at him,

He nuzzles his, which earns a hearty giggle from you, and gosh, how could he ever resist such a melody?

With little to no hesitation, he tilts and pushes his lips against yours. Your hands, which’d been still kneading his head, tug down to the back of his neck. His tongue, probing against your lips finally gains access to your mouth.

You taste like smoke, he thinks, nestling his hands around your waist as he dares to delve deeper; you must’ve smoked beforehand, and it’s his first time kissing you fresh off a cigarette.

“N-Nagi,” you heaved against his lips, muffled by his persistence, “I just smoked.. Are you sure you’re fine with it?”

“Mmmm, don’t care..” he murmured, plying his tongue off yours to get a good look at you—how your eyes would look elsewhere, almost as if you were ashamed, hesitant to hear whatever he’ll say, how your hands, which’d been tracing random things on his nape, now sprawled over his chest, almost pushing him off.

He doesn’t understand what you're so worried about.

It’s bitter, ashy and somewhat metallic. He can’t exactly place a finger on it, but he doesn’t mind it. Sure, he prefers the natural flavor of your mouth against his, but he’s not against this either.

“Ooh,” he clicks in realization. “you worried about that?” he tilts his head, cocked in a way that you’d think he never considered it. “I didn’t mind it though, didn’t I?”

“You’re just saying that to be kind.” you frown, cucking your head to the side before crossing your arms. “Even I can’t get behind the aftertaste.”

“But I can.” he follows up too quickly. One of his hands lift up to caress your cheek, the artic of your flesh comforting to him. “I don’t care whatever taste you have, you’re still you.”

Before you could respond back, he pulled you in for another kiss. That oughta shut you up.

Nagi doesn’t care about your smoking habits—you’re still you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, as unhealthy as it were, so be it.

[utwenio]

It’s over, isn’t it? Ft: Sae Itoshi

P2 to this, semi-angst (?) also apologies for the late post, exams and temporary disinterest—sorry if this isn’t written well enough, it was rushed for the sake of posting :(

It’s been eight months, sevendays and twenty-one hours since the two of you broke up. But why bother counting—instead, it should’ve been considered good riddance on his part.

He should’ve seen this coming, or rather, the both of you did see this coming, but alas, there’s no use of mending what’s truly broken. Like shattered glass, he’d only get injured in the process.

He should move on. You were an experience, a fine one in his eyes, but as the saying goes, all good things come to an end.

Or so he thought. A spark, once so bright, and something he considered had passed once again blazes brighter than it ever did—stronger, with reverence and this time, the determination he displayed in the field, if not more.

With his new found resolve, where logic and emotion clicked, he’d finally caught up with what he’d been avoiding for his own sake—the sick, bitter truth he reduced to face in the eye.

Because he knew he’d crumble in an instant if he ever came to terms with it.

You’re not yourself—is something that he realizes after a while. When he means a while is the eight months, seve days and twenty-one hours and maybe twenty-two minutes. But hey, why’s he counting?

Sure, he’s seen some slight twitches but surely, surely you’d go back to how you always were; sweet and perfectly human—you provided the emotional aspect he lacked. It was balanced, atleast in his eyes.

But very much to his dismay, it appears he’s pushed you to the brink of your own demise. Because of him, he's left with nothing but a husk of who you were.

It killed him to go home. He remembers when he’d gulp down all the worries that had unfortunately crept up and confirmed themselves.

But rather, having to see what you’ve became because of him.

Aching and sore from training, there’s nothing more that appeases him than just seeing you waiting by the door, a warm smile that he swears gives him a tinge of energy—even on days where he doesn’t deserve it, you still act sickeningly tender with him.

By then, he’s greeted with nothing but the back of your sleeping form in your shared bed. At times you are awake, you brush him off with a quick wave and some half-assed smile that never reaches your smile if he’s lucky.

Some days are worse than most—sure, maybe he does end up letting his own frustration soil and murk what pure feelings he has for you. Too enwrapped by his own stress to notice how you felt.

And all he’s done is brush it aside, because surely, you’ll be fine by tomorrow then.

How wrong he was; look where he is now because of his so called genius. Trapped within the luxurious apartment complex above Madrid’s beautiful sea of lights and yet, the only person he truly considered his solace wasn’t here with him to admire the sight.

Even by then, he’d only be admiring you. He finally admits that yes, he was utterly enamoured by you. But then again, how can he ever take you back?

The painful recollection of slump of your shoulders when he decides to walk past you rather than to fall into your loving arms. How your voice falters when he responds sharper than he should—all these quirks, something he should’ve noticed, something he should’ve fixed.

The worse one is probably when you stopped seeking his presence in bed. You’d always been a sucker for physical closeness—of course he’d know that, considering that you always had your hand latched onto something of his.

Though ever since, you’ve started sleeping strictly at your part of the bed.

When the two of you went out, you’d immediately grab his hand, maybe tug his sleeve if you felt lazy to reach his. And heaven forbid how much you slobbered yourself over him when he had a free moment.

But by then, you were nothing but a phantom in your own home. Instead, you inch farther, made yourself seem smaller, invisible even. Parting before the ugly.

And that’s when he finally picked up on it. Just now of all days. The realization isn’t how those rom-coms display it; loud, unnecessarily dramatic. Unlike those, the actuality occurs in a sense of shunning silence, to a point where he can’t hear his own monologue.

But to Sae, who’d been used to hearing your cheerful voice about whatever would soothe him, a calming balm to his internal lunacy;

“I saw a teal crystal on my feed. It reminded me of your eyes!” you’d beam.

“You think we should get a cat? You act like one anyways, it can keep me company while you’re busy.” you’d ask.

“We should go to this cafe! I made sure to check the menu, they had that tea you liked!” you’d smile at him.

“Why’d you go to practice? It’s raining and you could’ve gotten sick! And no, I don’t care if you could’ve just practiced indoors, damn it!” you’d nag him.

Now all he hears is the white noise of trickling rain against the window. How ironic, he thinks, how the rain only appears by the time he’s readying himself to whatever turmoil he’ll experience.

Maybe this is what they meant by delayed mourning.

The soft drizzle is what would’ve caused him to go home early, and by then, you would’ve told him about it. Would’ve been the most interesting highlight of this tepid day—if you were still here, that is.

The realization that you were the only thing that grounded him. The warmth along with the almost endless love you gave. How selfish he’d been, so much that he couldn’t value what he had, what you had.

Though, then again, what could he do?

You left. The memory marks itself at the back of his head, a reminder of what he’s lost.

You packed every bit of love you had to give and left him— the apartment is back to its minimalistic, dull and lifeless glory. A blank slate that he couldn’t customize even if he wanted to. No matter the amount of color, decorations or whatever clutter could ever replace the homely vibe you gave it.

He remembers your last words. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry.” was it? Just how ice glazes over, it’s blurry. The only shards he can grasp is your sillhoute, lingering and giving him one last smile before the door closes.

He thought you left by then.

Though, you paused afterwards; just a few minutes, maybe hoping to see him chasing after you—but alas, you thought you expected too much and then, with a sigh, you left.

Now all he can do is stare back at the sour memory, reminiscing and sizing everything he could’ve done to make you stay—to at least look his way, because nowadays, just scrolling by your posts on his feed was enough.

Because if it meant going back to you, he’d ruin what happiness you had left after him. That meant having to be the cause of your sadness. And of course, he wouldn’t want that for you.

Sure, he is selfish, but not to such a degree. If having to witness fragments of your happiness meant having to watch from the side, then so be it.

If you want to come back, he won’t hesitate to welcome you with open arms, to get a grasp of your body and never let go.

Gosh, he misses you. He shifts, uncomfortably as he runs a hand down his scalp—hell, he even started wearing his bangs down out of habit.

Poor, poor Sae. Doesn’t matter though—it’s his fault anyways!

Again, I’m so sorry for the late post!! I hope this satisfies you enough,,, pls do request other characters my blog is just the Itoshi brothers rn ahhh,, 🥹🥹

[utwenio]

The concept of Yandere!Rin!!

Let me know if this IS a Yandere tho 💔💔 I got this idea while I was at the car, listening to if killed someone for you by Alec Benjamin

Just posting my Drabble, let me know if u want the complete part—and for the p2 of the sae oneshot, I’m working on it trust trust (aka scrapped one of my works cuz I wasn’t satisfied)

Shivering as you flay your arms defensively, shaking your head in denial, you refused to believe that he of all people would ever commit such a heinous crime.

With a strained chest, you cry. “Rin..” you managed to hiccup with the little voice you had left, the phone you gripped with such vice, trembling to call the police.

“You’re a heartless psychopa—!“

“No.” he snaps his gaze towards yours; it’s devoid of morals, but instead a sickening sense of wonder, a profound sense of purpose, in its own twisted way—not like it’d make sense to you.

“You’re wrong, (name).” Though he cuts you off, he says your name with such sweetness, letting it roll as if it were a sacred symbol he’d utter over and over, a mantis of infinite longing he had for you.

“A psycho? Sure,” he shrugs as he admits, placid when inching closer, hand reaching to caress your tender cheek, which’d been moist with the downpour of your tears—rubbing the sorrows with a swipe of his thumb.

“I’ll admit that. But heartless?” he huffs, disgusted by the mere idea. “Don’t ever call me heartless, especially when I did all this. For you, for us.”

His eyes leer lower to the phone. A case, which was your favorite color, and the most painful sight, your wallpaper being you with that damned Isagi, making a fool of himself while you looked as captivating as the day he saw you.

His hatred for that stupid, putrid sprout-head runs painfully deep, so deep he might as well consider it in his blood, because really, what’s not to hate about that idiot?

Firstly he gets his shitty brother’s acknowledgement before he does, but the worst, heinous crime is attempting to take you away from him.

Out of everything that absolute bastard has done, this had to be his breaking point; you, who’d been his solace and only sense of humanity, and finally, his salvation from his sinful thoughts—is being taken away.

And Rin, the same boy who’d dwell over such obscenities as death with such causality, knows exactly what to do! After all, he’d been itching to try what he’s seen on tv, and for the sake of protecting you? Why wouldn’t he?

[utwenio]

Growing tired; Itoshi Sae ♡

semi-angst, you both suck at communication and implied fem reader but do as you please (real ones know this is a repost, though tweaked and improved a lil) 1.5k words

self indulgent once again, heh

Edit, p2 is here

You don’t know when or how it started. Your relationship, carefully built and aged with trust, was now slipping before your fingers, slithering away, dropping down to where you didn’t know nor see.

Your boyfriend, Sae Itoshi, whom you once considered the love of your life—even imagining him in your future, matching rings on your fingers was now nothing but a blurry picture, as he himself, became a stranger within the coziness of your relationship.

A forgotten date. You wouldn’t have made a big deal if it weren’t for the fact it was your anniversary where he had asked you to be his, and for him to be yours.

You still remember the surreal memory as if it were yesterday;

He had asked you to stroll with him by the waves, the same beach where he and Rin played as children, where the waves clashed onto their bare feet as they kicked the ball out and about.

When his steps took a sudden stop, turning to you as he took his hands in yours, fingers intertwining as he asked the golden question.

“(Name), It’s weird how you managed to creep yourself within my life.” he huffs as if he were annoyed—though really, how could he?

With clarity, he turns towards you. His expression, something you haven’t been able to read, was nothing short of what he usually showed—what greeted you was utter warmth.

His eyes, which’d been sharp and piercing, melts down to something more human—to someone in love.

“I’ve pushed everything and everyone away for the sake of my so-called dream.” he tinges, but even you could sense the bit of disgust as he says it; maybe he does regret what he’s become.

To think someone so closed off would be willing to open up to you of all people, and for that person to be Sae, the same man who’d been so sure he left the past behind; is nothing but a fool when it came to you.

His fingers brush against yours. Before you knew it, he delicately took your hands against his lips, treating your body like porcelain—like you’d crack with the softest of tension.

“But (name), I can never imagine doing that to you.”

A soft, chaste kiss presses against your knuckles. Your breath hitches, caught off guard. The flesh of your cheeks warm up a pretty pink. The sight of you only leaves him more array.

“Please, please,” he murmurs against your knuckles, nuzzling his cheek against the tender flesh, “be mine. And I’ll be yours, even if I can’t show it all the time.”

Words that once warmed you now left you confused. Did he really mean what he said then, or was he caught up in the moment? Surely, he had pure intentions.

Dinner is nothing but cold. Feeling heavy on your seat, the pasta stares back at you with mockery—the aroma of tomatoes and meatballs linger around the awkward silence.

“You forgot.” your voice cuts through the tension of the dinner table, eyes locked onto your meal, utensils playing around with the meatballs you prepared, especially for today, for him.

He didn’t seem to notice the sharp edge of your voice, not caring to glance at you as he responds, tone usually indifferent.

“I forgot.” he repeats. “I’m a busy person, (name).”

What seemed to be a wave of reality washes over you, the cold realization, where logic catches up with your heart.

This is what it’s like dating him, what it’s like dating the Sae Itoshi, Japan’s crown jewel, their prodigy—whether he wanted or not.

The same man who promised to be sure you felt nothing but loved, nowhere to be seen. Surely, he must be tired.

But then again, he doesn’t care to look your way.

Who sits in front of you isn’t the same man you fell in love with. All that remains is a tusk of a person, a soulless athlete who can’t snap out of his sick, cruel dream.

An athlete who can’t differentiate between reality and the field.

Such thoughts feel wrong. You’re being too cruel to him. Surely, he’s just tired. He’ll come around soon enough.

The first tick. Not only had he disregarded how special this day was to the both of you, he made no attempts to soothe you. No apologies, instead met with the coldness he shows in the field.

“I even..” your lips shift to a thin line, now taking back your words.

You don’t want another argument, especially if your words don’t affect him in the slightest.

Makes you question if they ever did, even.

“Nevermind.” you sigh, the utensils feel heavy on your hands, clutched.

Ever since, the both of you begin to drift further apart. Agonizingly slow, not either of you making the effort to call out the tension, because maybe, deep down, you hoped that for once, he’d make the first move.

But of course, deep down, a part of you knows that you’ve blurred out the truth, that you still had hope that he’d make up for everything—the poor communication, lack of affection and quality time when he’s finally free, when the world didn’t drop their heavy expectations on him.

How wrong you were.

The sound of the clock ticks ominously, a taunt and joke against your tired form; slouched on the couch, dolled up whilst mascara trails down your cheeks.

Everything around you felt like a mockery; the door you had been staring at with that stupid smile beforehand, the mirror you used to touch up your make-up, the cabinet with the heels you would’ve been wearing.

Now it only collects dust and instead brings bittersweet memories.

Your phone lays on the coffee table, how the last message you received from him was another one of his half-assed apologies. You didn’t bother to open the message.

Because you knew you’d just end up worse—a duality of ugly, murky anger to downright nasty sadness.

A hand tugs the roots of your scalp, momentary pain and silent curses all dedicated to the fool; you, for hoping.

Today was your birthday—the one day where he swore he cleared his schedule for, where he apparently made time for you. He even told you to get all pretty for him, that he’ll be picking you up in thirty.

It’s been an hour. You’d know that, knowing you’ve been staring at the clock for each minute you don’t hear your phone ringing.

And of course, he didn’t bother to text you back until five minutes ago—when you'd already readied up for him.

Sorry carino, something came up.

Your brows lower, lips that curl to a frown, etching your soft features as you digest the text, arrayed and confusion melting into something uglier.

I’ll make it up to you, k?

Words couldn’t describe how disappointed you were. Your throat closes, words that urge to spill, simply don’t.

You should understand, just swallow whatever emotion you had bubbling up your chest—you know the demands of being a pro, don’t you?

Despite logic, an overwhelming plethora of emotions that spurs you further, the beads of tears that rolled down your cheeks, your fists curled up against your strands.

Tugging on your ends, you hoped it’d help you. Whether it’s making you forget, that you’d direct your attention on the fleeting pain.

It doesn’t. Makes you feel worse, actually.

What results is your hair turning messier, smudged mascara that rolls down your cheeks, and most importantly, how the little confidence you had left dies down.

Slowly, the ugliness of your own emotions bleak beyond physical boundaries; you’ve slumped, your hair now disheveled on a daily basis along with the dark circles that kiss below.

Your curled up position, shivering, but now because of the cold, but because doubt consumed you whole—where his touch didn’t feel assuring, now devoid of the warmth it used to give you.

God, how’d you end up in such a mess? Was it your fault?

Nothing but some after-thought that only stayed on the back of his head.

A sharp pain presses at your lip, nibbling the flesh—the coppery taste of blood along with the chemicals of your lipstick; your form shrinks.

Your warmth, which you’re now losing, collides with the harsh coldness of the floor as both legs knit up together, pressed against your chest.

Feeling your frame tremble, you finally let yourself go—what could only be described as absolute heartbreak, the room echoes with the sick melody of your cries, nails digging against your scalp harshly.

Nothing but heartbreak seeps out—hatred for the false hope he had given you, the amount of times you’ve always tried justifying his actions.

But most of all, most importantly, how much you hated yourself; for how much this hurt—you were being selfish, weren’t you? Torn between hating and painfully understanding what he’s going through.

Being with someone like him, but rather the fact you believed that somehow, he’d change. Making a huge deal out of what? Stupid (name), crumbling to the pressure of dating a hot-shot athlete!

So now, who's really to blame?

Had been rotting at me ever since I was still in school. Real ones knowwww, I’ll write something new promise 🤞🤞do tell if u want p2, thx

[utwenio]

Video game luvr! Itoshi Sae ♡

self indulgent, non-proofread and tsundere sae (canon trust, I’m literally kaneshiro) // 1.1k words

“So this is what you’ve been up to?” He clicks his tongue, arm perched over the couch, looming over your slouched figure; compared to him, sheen of sweat yet still picture perfect—you were a mess.

The two of you, he couldn’t quite describe—Worlds apart, he supposes? It’s endearing in its own way.

Your boyfriend, who came home from after an awful productive day of soccer practice; which meant the usual; Laps at the crack of dawn, endless drills and finally—no breaks.

To him, this was his normal. Engraved and etched onto his bones, this is what made him who he was today.

So, seeing you like this, he can only judge; how do you find comfort in.. not moving?

What seems to be a mountain of sheets wraps around you. The room, which was your shared living room, despite its minimalism aesthetic, was nothing short of a mess.

The eyesore brightness of the tv screen only bounces and reflects against the sheets, as the sounds of grunting and punches whiff through the sound system.

And of course, instead of the one you were initially eyeing, which was the first model, he got you the switch two. Nothing but the best for his dearest, after all!

He’s seen you eye the console every now and then, whether it is watching gameplays with seething envy, or from the windows each time you guys go out.

And out of the kindness of his heart, and maybe the thrill of providing both your needs and wants despite your dismay, he bought it for you; even went through his way to buy a couple games—he’s remembered the snippets of your monologue whenever the topic drifted, murmurs you thought you’ve kept to yourself.

Now, Sae Itoshi, in all his glory, can only stare, the gears within his soccer-fueled mind not understanding what exactly was just so fun about this.

“What I’m doing,” the uniformed clicking follows, precise in its own way. “is highly important.” You mumble, eyes glued to the wide screen; an array of colors, flashes and the sound of swords clashing against flesh plays a terrific melody.

“You’ve been here since when, exactly?” Sae can only perk closer, head lowering to the comfort of the sheets, his chin resting atop your head. “I swear, this’ll become routine. An unhealthy one, if I may add.”

As much as he trusted you with your own well being, he knew you like the back of his hand; once you were to ever be enthralled by something, it'll be hard to snap you out of it—you’d always been like that, so goal oriented.

Would’ve been charming, it really was, but it’d been a dual edged blade; now was a wonderful example. Sharp, his tone lowers. “Since when exactly, (name)?”

You yawn. “I don’t know, since uh, eight?” you mutter, as if you remarked the weather today; it was cloudy, and you wouldn’t know—because even the curtains were closed up until then.

The clicking of the buttons only intensifies, increasing as you barely bat your eyes in his direction; not like you did in the first place, considering how much of an eyesore the screen was. Too many things were happening.

Eight in the morning. He’s never looked at the clock faster, it’s currently ten in the fucking evening. He left around seven for training.

With a tired sigh, deep as he pinches the bridge of his nose—he doesn’t know if you still have the capacity to care for yourself. “Are we serious right now, (name)? Can you not see the severity of your actions right now?”

“I swear, sometimes I ask myself why I love you,” His brows furrow, though he knows he really isn’t that angry at you. “you’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“Guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself, babe.” You muse, the sly grin only peers wider, scoffing at his stern expression.

He swears he feels a vein pop. The soft puff that leaves your lips pisses him more than it should—and for him, that’d be abnormal. But then again, it was you who caused it.

The only exception to everything he’s against; the only flaw he’s never tried to scrub or polish. Instead, he loved every bit of it, of you.

And maybe, just maybe because of that petty little comment you just felt the need to say, he finally decides to meddle in; you’re not taking care of yourself, and as your boyfriend, it’s time he oughta teach you a lesson.

Whilst you remain emerged in whatever you were playing, he makes his way closer, around the sofa, footsteps muffled by the carpet. The closer he reaches, the more he clearly hears the persistent clicking of the controller.

You didn’t feel the need to look down at whatever you clicked—he’ll admit, he’s somewhat impressed at your abilities; it’s practically a 6th sense!

His arms, fleshy and strained from the endless training, knowing how demanding the sports had been, engulf your neck.

You don’t pester, infact, you decide to wallow and submit. The blankets that swallowed you whole are now tossed aside carelessly, as they plop a pile by the sofa.

Somehow, he managed to squeeze himself onto the couch without you noticing, arms inching lower to grab your waist and plop your weight against his lap; you remained unfazed, almost nimble and compliant to his shifts.

Your back presses against his chest, and the warmth he radiated felt warmer than any of those blankets ever did. You purr a sound of satisfaction, pressing closer, a content hum slips off.

“You’re warm.” you lull against him, rubbing your head against his shoulder. “And sweaty.”

You pause the game, now staring at him with those beady hues of yours. He swears his heart skipped a beat—and he hates how easy it was for you.

“Sae?” you call out, the name rolls off your tongue beautifully, he notices, much to his dismay.

You glint, a cat-like smile on your lips as you admire the sight and all its glory—Sae Itoshi, who the world knew as strict, blunt and nothing of warmth was currently pouting. He was anything but intimidating.

Doesn’t help that his bangs, which you’d always pestered him about, are finally down. Sae, who’d been eyeing your microglances, only feels warmer, unfortunately tinting the hue of his cheeks a pretty pink.

“Y-Yeah?” his tone, which’d always been so composed and concise, falters, cracks as his eyes suddenly find the wall to be interesting; you chuckle.

“You’re as red as a tomato right now.” he then proceeds to bury his face down to your hair, letting the scent of your shampoo engulf his senses—he wouldn’t mind dying like this, if it meant having to deal with your teasing.

But then again, he’s never minded it. Infact, it’s one of the eons of traits he loves about you.

Sae wishes he could stay in this moment forever; your weight against his, and not having to be Sae Itoshi. Just Sae. Your Sae.

I’m still struggling with layout I’m SOWWY anyways I’m back and uh sorry I deleted my old posts, prolly will rewrite them 🤤 I’ll probably start accepting requests pls im desperate