kaeichi

[kaeichi]

ღ ˚⋅ coffee talk — mikage reo.

mikage reo is not addicted to caffeine.

that's what he keeps telling nagi, anyway. the latter doesn't know why he keeps reiterating that “fact” either—he doesn't even care, nor does he believe him in the first place—but even someone like nagi would suspect something is amiss solely by the way reo keeps coming back to the coffee shop that the heir deemed second-rate not too long ago.

today marks day eleven of visiting said coffee shop in a row; nagi barely steps his foot in, and he already wants to leave.

“welcome, reo! and nagi too!”

that something that nagi suspects comes in the form of a living, breathing person; one that usually takes reo’s order and makes his specialized coffee for him.

(“it tastes different somehow, nagi!” reo had explained to him the other day, justifying his countless visits and spending too much on tips—though for the pro soccer player and CEO of a business corporation, absolutely nothing is too much for him. “you should give it a try. i swear, that barista has magic hands or something. i've had so many macchiatos before, but none of them has tasted so…delectable, so lush, and so—”

“oh, i’m sure.” nagi commented offhandedly, zoning out and hoping this is just another one of reo’s many fleeting interests.)

unfortunately that is not the case this time, especially not with the way reo’s legs immediately go stiff when he advances rather awkwardly over the counter, as if he suddenly forgot how to walk just by the sound of your voice. nagi can tell how you pretend not to notice, a gentle smile on your face beckoning him closer, your eyes as warm as the yellow string lights hung on the walls around the quiet shop and the freshly ground arabica beans that you’ve been brewing in the back.

this is so…yeah, no. nagi should definitely just leave.

“the usual caramel macchiato today? or just a regular latte this time?” your eyes look up from the register when reo doesn't verbally reply, peering at him through your lashes, and he wants to smack himself for accidentally being entranced by your lips moving and taking too long to answer. he can already hear nagi’s voice taunting him: get a grip already, reo.

“yes, please.”

“…sorry, which one?”

he takes a second to breath. he has to, or else he'll end up making an even bigger fool of himself. “uh, i'll just get a latte. since i already had one this morning.”

you then focus your full attention to him, a teasing look evident in your gaze. “you should really tone down the caffeine intake, reo. i can't imagine how that'd be healthy for you.”

“haha, consider it as a compliment to your coffee-making skills.”

there is an actual growing concern that you have for him, since he has been showing up for the past eleven days and getting macchiatos or lattes; at times even twice a day, so your mild unease is valid. there is also that possibility that he's been getting those for someone else, but you discard that thought when you see him stay in the shop sometimes, leisurely drinking from his steaming mug as he types away on his laptop on nights that he's not overly busy.

nonetheless, he remains your favorite customer, and it's not just because of his generous tips and all. you do wonder what he does for a living; would it be rude to ask? though, you suppose you can reserve that question when you start to get to know him personally on some other occasion.

wait, get to know him personally? you glance towards the elegantly dressed male once again once you're done pouring the scalding liquid onto the disposable cup, taking in his lavish appearance and slicked back violet hair—you can't help but think he may be out of your league.

but something tells you that you shouldn't be afraid, not with the hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the earnest, tender smile that always adorns his face whenever he talks to you.

“my shift is ending in five minutes. if you wanna wait, then maybe we can head out together…?”

you're relieved to have taken the chance, because the purple-haired male suddenly jolts, “y-yeah, of course! let me just tell–” when reo turns around to see that his companion is nowhere to be found, he sighs. “…nevermind.”

he hears you stifle a giggle, a sweet melody falling in his ears, and he's so glad he found the time to squeeze in this quick trip tonight despite his hectic schedule. when you hand him his latte, the corners of his mouth inadvertently lifts up as he sees your handwriting on the cup in black ink:

Reo ღ ◡̈

a few minutes later, after you have changed out of your black apron and gathered your stuff, reo walks out of the coffee shop with you, the chilly autumn air breezing past his skin.

his eyes flit downward when you rub your hands in an attempt to heat them up.

it's cold tonight, coldest it has been in a week, yet reo feels warm all of a sudden, even though he barely had a sip from his drink. he wipes his free hand on his slacks, a build up of sweat coating his palm. he regrets not taking his blazer off in his car, because it now feels uncomfortably tight around him, and since when did it get so hot—

“you okay, reo?” you cast him a side glance over the shoulder, eyes raking over his restless form, “you're so fidgety.”

“sorry, yeah. it's just the coffee.”

you give a pointed look, wordlessly reminding him again that maybe he should dial it down or some. it's fine, he's not addicted to caffeine, to something else maybe, but not caffeine. reo’s gaze drifts downwards again, glancing at your empty palm again, and… oh.

that must've been why his fingers kept twitching. for now, he refrains from reaching out, hopeful that this wouldn't be his last encounter with you, and that he'll eventually find the courage someday.

slicked back hair reo.... reo i need u so bad ples

[kaeichi]

ღ ˚⋅ coffee talk — reo.

mikage reo is not addicted to caffeine.

that's what he keeps telling nagi, anyway. the latter doesn't know why he keeps reiterating that “fact” either—he doesn't even care, nor does he believe him in the first place—but even someone like nagi would suspect something is amiss solely by the way reo keeps coming back to the coffee shop that the heir deemed second-rate not too long ago.

today marks day eleven of visiting said coffee shop in a row; nagi barely steps his foot in, and he already wants to leave.

“welcome, reo! and nagi too!”

that something that nagi suspects comes in the form of a living, breathing person; one that usually takes reo’s order and makes his specialized coffee for him.

(“it tastes different somehow, nagi!” reo had explained to him the other day, justifying his countless visits and spending too much on tips—though for the pro soccer player and CEO of a business corporation, absolutely nothing is too much for him. “you should give it a try. i swear, that barista has magic hands or something. i've had so many macchiatos before, but none of them has tasted so…delectable, so lush, and so—”

“oh, i’m sure.” nagi commented offhandedly, zoning out and hoping this is just another one of reo’s many fleeting interests.)

unfortunately that is not the case this time, especially not with the way reo’s legs immediately go stiff when he advances rather awkwardly over the counter, as if he suddenly forgot how to walk just by the sound of your voice. nagi can tell how you pretend not to notice, a gentle smile on your face beckoning him closer, your eyes as warm as the yellow string lights hung on the walls around the quiet shop and the freshly ground arabica beans that you’ve been brewing in the back.

this is so…yeah, no. nagi should definitely just leave.

“the usual caramel macchiato today? or just a regular latte this time?” your eyes look up from the register when reo doesn't verbally reply, peering at him through your lashes, and he wants to smack himself for accidentally being entranced by your lips moving and taking too long to answer. he can already hear nagi’s voice taunting him: get a grip already, reo.

“yes, please.”

“…sorry, which one?”

he takes a second to breath. he has to, or else he'll end up making an even bigger fool of himself. “uh, i'll just get a latte. since i already had one this morning.”

you then focus your full attention to him, a teasing look evident in your gaze. “you should really tone down the caffeine intake, reo. i can't imagine how that'd be healthy for you.”

“haha, consider it as a compliment to your coffee-making skills.”

there is an actual growing concern that you have for him, since he has been showing up for the past eleven days and getting macchiatos or lattes; at times even twice a day, so your mild unease is valid. there is also that possibility that he's been getting those for someone else, but you discard that thought when you see him stay in the shop sometimes, leisurely drinking from his steaming mug as he types away on his laptop on nights that he's not overly busy.

nonetheless, he remains your favorite customer, and it's not just because of his generous tips and all. you do wonder what he does for a living; would it be rude to ask? though, you suppose you can reserve that question when you start to get to know him personally on some other occasion.

wait, get to know him personally? you glance towards the elegantly dressed male once again once you're done pouring the scalding liquid onto the disposable cup, taking in his lavish appearance and slicked back violet hair—you can't help but think he may be out of your league.

but something tells you that you shouldn't be afraid, not with the hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the earnest, tender smile that always adorns his face whenever he talks to you.

“my shift is ending in five minutes. if you wanna wait, then maybe we can head out together…?”

you're relieved to have taken the chance, because the purple-haired male suddenly jolts, “y-yeah, of course! let me just tell–” when reo turns around to see that his companion is nowhere to be found, he sighs. “…nevermind.”

he hears you stifle a giggle, a sweet melody falling in his ears, and he's so glad he found the time to squeeze in this quick trip tonight despite his hectic schedule. when you hand him his latte, the corners of his mouth inadvertently lifts up as he sees your handwriting on the cup in black ink:

Reo ღ ◡̈

a few minutes later, after you have changed out of your black apron and gathered your stuff, reo walks out of the coffee shop with you, the chilly autumn air breezing past his skin.

his eyes flit downward when you rub your hands in an attempt to heat them up.

it's cold tonight, coldest it has been in a week, yet reo feels warm all of a sudden, even though he barely had a sip from his drink. he wipes his free hand on his slacks, a build up of sweat coating his palm. he regrets not taking his blazer off in his car, because it now feels uncomfortably tight around him, and since when did it get so hot—

“you okay, reo?” you cast him a side glance over the shoulder, eyes raking over his restless form, “you're so fidgety.”

“sorry, yeah. it's just the coffee.”

you give a pointed look, wordlessly reminding him again that maybe he should dial it down or some. it's fine, he's not addicted to caffeine, to something else maybe, but not caffeine. reo’s gaze drifts downwards again, glancing at your empty palm again, and… oh.

that must've been why his fingers kept twitching. for now, he refrains from reaching out, hopeful that this wouldn't be his last encounter with you, and that he'll eventually find the courage someday.

slicked back hair reo.... reo i need u so bad ples

[kaeichi]

processes of the heart

yuta is in love with you. maddeningly so.

his love manifests in the form of his heartbeat, in the form of his blood circulation—yuta's love is everywhere, and what once was explained by scientists in an effort to further the understanding of the human body has only furthered yuta's understanding of his love.

his love for you.

okkotsu yuta ♡ gn!reader

warnings: a lot of biology terms & metaphors, yuta is super lovesick, pre-established relationship, incorrect bio facts (do not trust panda and yuta)

notes: i hope yuta moves away to a remote island in the middle of nowhere where it is safe and sound and he doesnt have to fight ever again

"oh, what a shame!" panda exclaims, looking at the clock. "it's time for my bedtime! i can't watch the movie with you guys, sorry!"

"salmon," toge says, following panda out of the living room with a nonchalant shrug.

"same. i have to go train," maki adds, standing up.

you and yuta stare at each other with confused expressions as, one by one, your classmates file out of the living room, suddenly abandoning their longtime tradition of having a movie night once a month.

"do you need to go too, yuta?" you ask apprehensively. yuta quickly shakes his head, his hands coming to flail around his figure as he fumbles over his words, trying to reassure you.

"no, don't worry,"—it's during times like these, with just the two of you, that yuta returns to his nervous first-year self—"i have plenty of time."

for you, his mind adds. he bites back his words, choosing to relish in the relief that sweeps over your face like a golden light, giving your features a glow that permeates in the crevices of his mind.

thump-thump. for some reason, yuta becomes all-too aware of the race of his heart.

"good," you say, smiling at him with that smile of yours. his heart stutters; his hands become clammy as he wipes them against the side of his shirt, feigning ignorance to the way his fingers tremble a little, the way his chest hurts a little.

yuta tries his best not to acknowledge the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your gaze drifts towards the television screen, unaware of how he stares at you. oh, yuta wonders if you'll ever notice—if you'll ever notice the way he looks at you, the way he adores you. he wonders if you'll ever, for just a second, notice him the way he notices you.

just a second is enough.

because yuta is a witness—your witness—and the way you furrow your brows when you concentrate, and the way you mutter something under your breath when the main character does something stupid doesn't go unnoticed by him.

whenever something exciting happens, your eyes light up, as if your irises were made of fragments from the night sky, cut out and shaped just for you.

you shiver. yuta notices.

(when has he not?)

"are you cold?" he asks, despite already knowing the answer. yuta knows a lot about you. he knows you're going to dismiss his question, because you're always trying your best to not be anyone's burden.

but you can be my burden, yuta thinks, waiting for you to respond. he waits a lot; but yuta likes it that way. he would rather be the one waiting than making you wait, after all.

you blink owlishly, shocked that he noticed.

(when has he not?)

when you look at him, yuta feels something creep up his throat. when you look at him, yuta takes a deep breath, as if he's trying to breathe you in like oxygen, letting your presence meld into his blood and travel to all the parts of his body, fueling his existence.

the process begins with oxygen—your being—diffusing into his lungs. his heart then pumps blood to catch a wisp of you, and your being travels to the capillary beds of his tissues, giving every limb and fiber a piece of you, a fraction of your colossal vitality.

but unlike oxygen, which leaves as carbon dioxide with every exhale, yuta does not let you go. you pervade into his organs, into his body and you stay there. he doesn't know much about biology, but he knows that you never leave him; your essence is placed delicately into his cells, fusing with the fibers of his skin and the lining of his intestines.

what yuta does know, however, is that the process—of living, of loving—never ends, so long as yuta lives. because his heart is always beating, and his blood is always circulating, and yuta thinks that it only ever happens when you are there. what is all this for, if not you?

you look away. yuta feels his heart slow, and his blood comes to a standstill.

humans can go four to six minutes without oxygen. when you look away from him, yuta's heart stops beating, and the oxygen level in his system stagnates.

five seconds go by.

"i'm not cold," you respond, avoiding his gaze. yuta chases after it, desperate to live.

"are you sure?" still, he's weak to you. yuta doesn't want to force you to admit anything, nor does he want to pressure you into responding to him, even if he already knows the answer. if you refuse to admit you're cold, yuta will help you nonetheless.

he does not need oxygen for that.

ten seconds. he's still conscious.

"yeah." you give him a shaky smile, and he feels his heart shudder, strained under the weight of his body collapsing inwards, satisfied. oxygen returns to his tissues once more and yuta lives, he lives! on and on, persisting and desperate so long as you exist, so long as you spare him an ounce, a fraction of your existence.

"okay," he says, giving in. when you look away, yuta take a deep breath. he finds a blanket nearby, wrapping it gently over his shoulders before inching towards your side. your arm brushes against his and he feels goosebumps ripple throughout his skin.

"i'm cold," yuta tells you frankly, "sorry."

"oh," you breathe out, surprised. "same." your voice then drops to a whisper, as if you're embarrassed to admit the fact that you had been so vehemently opposing for the past couple minutes. yuta doesn't judge you for this; he offers you a tender smile before opening the blanket on one side.

"come here," he replies. there's a breathless tinge to his voice, as if he's high off life and bounding across meadows when you join him under the blanket. you wonder if he's actually cold, because when your arm brushes against his, it radiates warmth, drawing you in like icarus to the sun.

but yuta doesn't burn you. so you come closer and closer, 'till your arm is fully brushed up against him and you feel his figure stiffen up slightly, his eyes trained on the screen when they were once trained on you.

and yuta is unsure of what to do, because you were star-far before. all yuta could ever do, since the first year of jujutsu high, was admire you, as if you were the sky and he were bound to earth. and he would watch and watch, reaching a hand out, desperate to catch a breeze, a stray fragment of your incomparable vitality.

but here you are: next to him, his atmosphere colliding briefly—too briefly—with yours, and suddenly everything has been worth it, and suddenly everything is beautiful. he takes a deep breath and everything is right, as if all the chaos in the world (the entropy) had rearranged into one, tangible mass. because entropy becomes enthalpy and enthalpy is the total energy within a system, and the enthalpy in yuta's great, big planet takes the form of his palpable, vibrant love.

(yuta has no idea what he's talking about; he still doesn't understand how entropy and enthalpy work.)

in the corner of his peripheral vision, yuta notices you craning your head toward the television screen, paying no mind to the way he panics, the way he is left a flustered mess.

he supposes it's always been like this: with him following you.

"you know, sometimes when my body performs homeostasis—" yuta starts, trying his best to sound factual.

"stop trying to throw random biology words around," maki interrupts with a scowl, "you are not the thinker. do you even know what a lipid is?'

yuta scratches his head. "uh, i feel like i've seen it around somewhere..."

"oh yeah, 'cause lipids are strolling through the streets of tokyo," maki replies.

"aren't lipids a type of protein?" panda interjects.

yuta opens his mouth to agree, but he quickly looks away when maki pulls out a staff, doing a 360-triple-axel-jump-serve before whooping the shit out of panda for his stupidity.

"definitely not," yuta states to panda's corpse matter-of-factly, "how could you say lipids are a protein?"

"everything is a protein!" panda retorts.

that's true, yuta thinks. again, he quickly retracts his statement once maki whoops the shit out of panda for his stupidity.

"kelp," toge says, raising one hand up to wave. you walk through the doors of the living room and yuta wonders when the walls became so vibrant, when the entire school got a paint coat that dusted it with golden light.

"hey, toge!"

"[name]," maki says, her furrowed brows easing up at the sight of your face. "tell these idiots what a lipid is."

"a fat?" you respond, almost confused. "why are we talking about lipids?"

"because someone here is letting one biology lesson from shoko get to his head." maki glares at yuta. "suddenly, he thinks he's a biology prodigy."

you laugh at this, and yuta feels something hum in his chest. flowers begin to blossom all across his ribs, and their stems weave around the bone, decorating his torso with love. and then you turn to him and you grin, your eyes crinkling with mirth as he feels his stomach churn.

"don't you have a reversed technique anyway? you don't need to be a biology master, yuta."

and oh, the way you say his name—the way you look at him and the way you perceive him. yuta wants to sink into your gaze and rest there, bathing in the color of you irises for all of eternity.

homeostasis is an essential process for all organisms. it is the concept of maintaining chemical equilibrium, of balancing one's body against the environment its in. when it's cold, people shiver as a way for the body to generate heat and warm itself up. when people become warm again, the shivering stops. that is homeostasis.

when you look at him, yuta's heart races. it's desperate to circulate his blood, because the oxygen he breathes—in your presence—melts into the liquid, traveling all across his body. he supposes it's because he's desperate to capture your existence, to make a portion of it his own.

(biology is definitely not his forte.)

when you look away, yuta's heart stops. it has no function anymore. when you look away, yuta experiences momentary clinical death, the processes of his system coming to a halt since there's no reason to keep going on, to continue breathing and living if you are not there.

"you're right," he says, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. yuta feels the judging stares from his classmates, as if they're scorning him for giving into everything you say.

but he supposes it's always been like this: with him giving into you, with him loving you.

yuta's love goes beyond physical appearances, beyond the look in his eyes and the smile on his lips. his love travels from his irises to his ribs, manifesting as flowers that wind around them, reaching his heart and rooting there.

forever.

[kaeichi]

♀️ nagireo

the quality is so ass i'm sorry idk what happened uhhhmmmmm uhmmmm uhmmmmmmm 😢😢😢😢

lord i'm used to twitter tagging and posting instead please bear w me 💔

it's a redraw of the. the screenshot from the new epinagi pv if it wasn't already obvious. yk the uhhhh yeah 👍

also idk what happened to reo she looks kinda freaky sorry girl 🙏🙏

having. having a fight w the text girl why can't i make the title bold oh i'm yelling oh i'm fuming oh god i give up ok

[kaeichi]

BLUE LOCK BOYS AS ROMANCE TROPES !

— feat ⨾ itoshi sae, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo.

— contents ⨾ fluff, angst.

ITOSHI SAE + second chance at love !

it's raw with desperation and fear and hope— the way sae's fingers are clutching the fabric of your shirt. it's wasn't supposed to be this way. he kisses the tears trailing down your cheeks, “you said it was over. you said it wasn't worth it. you said you didn't want—” you choke on your own words, hand closing in fists on your sides when sae mutters breathlessly, “i didn't mean it, never ever.” he says. something like guilt burns in his eyes, a taste of regret on his lips, uncertainty and impatience in his hastened breaths.

it's crazy, you think. the way he still has that effect he had on you years ago when you were both seventeen in the airport terminal, teary eyes and staggered breaths. when the fear that the distance would tear you apart first took over, and sae stopped believing. when you looked away from him for the first time and he didn't reach out to wipe your tears. it wasn't supposed to be this way. he was back after four years and you weren't supposed to be in his arms. you promised yourself you'd talk like old friends do, and he trusted himself that he wouldn't say anything to try and make you stay.

“i think it can work, you and me, us. just the two of us and it'll be enough.” you know these words have burned on his tongue for long, because they're warm on your lips. you're kissing him back like it's only natural to do so.“i'm already yours, always have been.” he murmurs.

ITOSHI RIN + childhood friends to lovers !

it's the warm and golden hues of the setting sun melting into the evening blues, splattered colours of contrast coming together— the mark of a newborn eve, the smell of wet earth after the first shower of spring and the cool caress of the breeze. rin is standing by the entrance gates to your school, leaning against the wall, head rested to the side as he waits for you.

you think you're caught in a trance. his back covers the remnants of the sunlight like the moon eclipsing the sun, casting shadows of orange glows. when he breathes, the shadows dance with him. he frowns in wait, and you catch up to him. when you smile, it's almost melancholy, “what's got you smiling like that?” rin eyes the solemn curve of your lips.

“hmm? i think it's ’cause i like you.” the words bleed from your voice in saccharine hues, in bittersweet whispers of unrequited love and fear that maybe you've ruined the carefully painted mosaic of years of knowing rin and the sea green gleam of his eyes, the quiet hums and smiles only you know, the knowledge that he doesn't know how to make paper planes, summer nights of horror movie marathons and trading ice creams.

rin parts his lips, eyes as wide as saucers. he sucks a breath in— searching for the second you say you're joking, “do you mean that?”

you nod and rin's arms swallow you whole, chests pressed so close your heartbeats sync and improvise as one.

“i like you too, really like you.” he breathes into your neck— lingers of relief and gratitude like he's breathing for the first time.

NAGI SEISHIRO + forced proximity !

past 2 am into the late hours of midnight blues and the heavy patters rain against the glass window, reduced to background noise because you're subconsciously trying to trace the steady pattern of nagi's breathing, eyes skimming the fall and rise of his chest every two seconds.

you've been awake since thunder rumbled the walls of your temporarily-shared bedroom for the first time tonight. some fun, memorable just-close-friends trip this is. perhaps it wasn't enough you had to share the bed with someone, maybe it's truly because that someone happened to be nagi seishiro that you can't sleep at all. you're conscious of every breath he takes, how his body expands and relaxes. the heat of your bodies melding as one like a blanket of second warmth over you. “you still awake?” you ask, low and soft. nagi hums, “mhm, if you still are.”

his voice is nothing but a breath of the comfort of not being alone, exhaustion from the day clawing at his throat. “you can sleep if you want.” you say, it's whispered into the night— a silent thank you because he's letting you know he's here as long as you want him, “i wanna stay like this.” he urges, bringing a hand to brush your hair behind your ear and you let him. you let him hook his arm around your waist, foreheads brushing lightly, breaths tangling in knots and lips seconds away from meeting. you watch the curve of his lips, how they move to form words, “i like this more.”

MIKAGE REO + fake relationship !

you think reo had always looked like midsummer nights adorned with princely smiles and bubbles of champagne in the glass, glitters of neon city lights against damp car windows, juvenile secrets traded as i love you's with the hope it lasts forever. ( it doesn't. )

it lingers in the way he kisses you these days— a small talk to fill in loud silences, pretense and improvised. you kiss him back— a lullaby of aching heartbreak, unrequited and young. it almost makes you forget about the blinding flashes of camera lights, hurrying to capture the moment mikage reo is seen with his partner.

it's just like he had asked you to, “date me” he'd said, missing the way your eyes lit up, “it doesn't have to be real, just enough so my parents stop setting me up for blind dates.”

“i don't think i can do this anymore.” your voice breaks, eyes refusing to meet his.

“what? why?—” he rushes close and you step back, “it's getting too real for me, i can't.”

he pauses— ponders your words, lets them replay in his mind over and over again, “...and you don't want that?” you do. so much that you said yes before thinking when he first proposed this, “what about you, reo? this... this means nothing to you right? none of th—”

“it does”, his voice is almost begging, “it means everything to me. you do. it's you and it's always been you.” he looks at you, wondering if he should continue. he does anyway, “it's real. i loved you every time i said it, every time i didn't say it. I'll say it again if you want me to—” and you hear it, like it's always been there, like it's all he's ever known, “— i love you, y/n.”

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

[kaeichi]

love is in the air.

. . . and maybe that's why mikage reo can view the world with such clouded, pink-hued vision, and why nagi seishiro cannot breathe at all.

series. nagi + reader + reo. gn! reader. reader likes guys. bestfriend! nagi. valentines/white day. highschool setting. swearing. humor. fluff & angst.

prev ┊ next ┊ 01 … 02 … 03

⊹ 02 : radiant [wc: 4.6k]

TWO YEARS AGO

“ah…found you, finally.” 

nagi huffs out, slightly out of breath as he leans against the railing of the staircase on the fourth floor. what a damn hassle, making him expend such excessive effort like this—it all could've been easily prevented if you just replied to his text asking you about his whereabouts. he figures your phone must've died, because there's no way you wouldn't have noticed his 7 texts of wya? in a row.

“been tryin’ to look everywhere f’you. next time, can you just tell…” he trails off once he steps closer and realizes you're not alone.

“seriously? him again?” your boyfriend len scowls, directing his caustic gaze at the topic of interest, who has conveniently decided to show up at the right moment.

except nothing about this is right at all. 

there's no good explanation as to why you feel your heart plummet. your best friend, your only trusted companion whose mere presence incites a familiar sense of comfort and an effortless, breezy smile from you; when you're with him, you don’t have to think much about the reasoning behind why he has that sort of ability, or why it feels like you're right at home whenever you're with him.

you just somehow know. and that's how it has always been.

being with nagi is supposed to be easy, calming, and freeing, even—so why is there a heavy pressure weighing down on you all of a sudden? despite everything, why has he suddenly become the last person you want to see right now?

“seishiro?” apprehensively, you ask, “what are you doing here?”

“i just came to get you. like usual.” while there's nothing wrong with what nagi says, you still inadvertently wince, hesitating to meet either male's eyes as an unpleasant feeling brews in your gut.

“yeah, but i told you i was gonna be with my boyfriend…”

here’s the thing: it's not like nagi doesn't know you have one. 

when you first told him about it, he thought it was a joke (a hilarious one, at that). he thought it might've been one of your delusions again, and in typical nagi seishiro fashion he only spared you a fleeting glance with heavy-lidded eyes and a congratulations, i guess in the most listless tone. and when you told him to go on ahead because you wouldn't walk home with him today, he failed to take it seriously once more, thinking it was one of your weird ‘loyalty pranks’ to see if he would actually go and leave you behind.

but when he didn't feel the usual tug on his shoulder, or your arm resting against the top of his dozing head to wake him up at the end of the class, he thought there was something slightly off. when he looked around and saw no trace of you around the classroom or even around the front of the school, he thought there was something really wrong.

nagi’s starting to find this stupid joke less and less funny.

could all of the previous days (or has it already been weeks?) you’ve been talking about this mysterious nobody be true? he should’ve paid more attention. so, yes—it's not like he doesn't know you have one, he just had a rather hard time believing it (though he doesn't know it's due to the fact that you are you, or because maybe he's just in denial about it).

what annoying, annoying jest. when did this so-called “relationship” even have the time to blossom? 

“oh…did you?” the white-haired male’s voice doesn't come out as smooth as he’d like. he scratches his neck, feeling it a bit clogged for whatever reason. he's glad he's not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, because even if his voice betrays him, he can at least keep his expression neutral. “well, i’m here now, and i don't wanna walk home alone. i kinda forgot the way back, so i need your help—”

“seishiro!” you hiss, your voice clipped and bordering on desperate; a warning, one that goes right over nagi’s head.

“you know what?” a peeved voice cuts in—len’s, whose patience has worn thin. he has had enough of nagi demanding your attention that was supposed to be reserved for him. if you can’t even keep your eyes solely on your boyfriend, then you might as well be a good-for-nothing cheat. “forget this. i don’t think we’d ever work out if this continues.”

“w-what? wait, huh?” as your face crumbles, nagi is unable to grasp why he feels a faint throb in his chest at the sight. “let's talk about thi—”

“right, let's talk about it, hm?” when you finally meet len’s eyes, you’re barely able to recognize your boyfriend at this point, his taunting sneer morphing his face into someone completely different. is this really the kind, alluring lover that you fell for? “be with me, or cut off this… this nagi kid?”

“what? where did this come from? you can't just suddenly make me choose—”

“and there's your answer.” he scoffs, slapping your hand away that's unconsciously reaching out to him before turning around to leave. in a few rigid strides, he's gone, and you're left staring blankly at the space where he just was.

it is nagi who breaks the silence after a few moments. “…guess this wasn't a good time, huh?” nagi sighs, gripping the strap of his backpack tighter as you remain frozen. “well, at least we can go home now.”

“nagi.”

confusion clouding all over his face, he slightly perks up at your somber tone, a hint of unease setting in his stomach. he doesn't like whatever this is that he's suddenly feeling. “why’re you calling me nagi?”

“i think you know why. leave me alone, nagi.”

for quite some time after, those words remain the last thing you've said to him.

nagi has always been somewhat aware of his inability to comprehend feelings, whether it be his own or of others, but this time is the first time he's ever bothered by his lack of aptitude; the first time he's ever felt this swirl of foreign emotions engulf him, of strange, unknown sensations rushing to him all at once. what started as a mere bud sprouting along the expanse of his lungs, grew double—no, triple in size within a matter of days, poking and squeezing the spongy organ until its function proved near useless. 

the abundance of petals produced by these excrescences is nothing but a nuisance, blocking his airways and tainting his tongue with the bitter, awful taste of decay, which only seems to get worse with each passing week without a word from you. it's a pain, it's majorly vexing, it's—

“leave me alone, nagi.”

—it's suffocating.

PRESENT

nagi still refuses to join the soccer team.

in the hallways, reo somehow manages to always find you and your companion throughout the day, greeting the both of you with unmatched enthusiasm—the kind that someone really shouldn't have at seven o’clock in the morning. everytime that happens, reo is only met with the same, vacant stare, accompanied with a blunt no without much thought.

after all, he's not the only one who came to recruit the white-haired genius. the volleyball, basketball, and softball clubs (even the cheerleading team, for some reason?) have all tried, to which he instantly shut down.

“why would i participate in sports? even walking is tiring to me,” is his simple reasoning every single time, without fail.

at some point, reo tries to bribe him with a brand new gaming console as a “customary gift”. not that there's anything customary about that, but you suppose rich people live in a different world than you common folks do (when you found out that reo arrives to school in a goddamn limousine, you've lost all interest in being more than acquaintances with someone as absurd as that).

however, that is when reo finally manages to elicit a reaction from nagi, a slight sheen in his eyes that made you immediately panic, dragging him away before he gives in and telling him accepting anything from mikage? i think the fuck not! (“why not?” “because we don’t want to get in debt by someone like him!” “oh, we don’t?” “yes, dummy! next thing you know, we keep ‘borrowing’ money from him and eventually when we can't pay it back, he ships us off to some remote island and makes us his slaves for the rest of our lives because we couldn't afford our debt!” “you watch too much horror movies, i think.”)

however, as irritating as one’s persistence could be, deep down you hope nagi accepts reo’s invite. you've always known about his underutilized potential, and how he himself is the only thing that's holding him back.

truly, a waste that is.

“i know that rich boy’s been really annoying about it, but why don't you try it out? even just for a little bit?” you ask nagi, having stayed behind during lunch in your classroom instead of heading to the crowded school cafeteria.

“don't wanna,” he mutters against his arms, head buried against the desk.

“why not? our teacher’s been hounding you for not being in a club, right?”

“i’ll just join the book club or something. now go away,” he says, probably trying to catch up on much needed rest, despite already sleeping through your morning classes.

“you slacker. just try it out so mikage stops bothering me too.”

nagi suddenly lifts his head up. “he’s bothering you?”

leaning your elbow on the desk nagi’s lying down on, you press your cheek against your palm as you snicker at his sudden mood change. “mhm. won't you save me, your one and only best friend? the one you swore to protect until the world collapses? me, an innocent, pure ethereal being who's cruelly subjected to harassment and—” 

he breathes out a long exhale. you brace yourself, racking your brain as you try to think of more ways to persuade him (without including the promise of reo’s “prize” or whatever suspicious deals you're sure the heir is involved with). 

however, in nagi’s perspective, it's not because he needed any more convincing, but because he can't believe he's actually willingly to participate in something so bothersome for someone's sake. “…fine.”

“wait, actually?! for real?” with your eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, nagi almost snorts at your ridiculousness. almost.

“you're the one who kept telling me to go for it, so why’re ya surprised?” 

his sleepy voice gets drowned out by your excited chattering. “wow, nagi seishiro is actually interested in something else other than napping and gaming? no way! noooo way!”

“it's annoying, but yeah.” he grimaces, regret already sinking in—but since he's doing it for you, he supposes it's alright. just this once, he can make an exception. “…you're coming with me, right?”

a pause. “um… no? unless you want me to be the token benchwarmer?”

“ah, fair.”

“yeah, yeah. besides, i’m already in debate club, so me joining you is out of the question.”

“not even as our manager?”

“nope.”

nagi visibly sulks, lips forming into his signature pout. cute. it almost looks like he's at a loss of what to do without you—maybe it’s a result of you and him being stuck together at the hip since middle school, and how he's grown dependent on you due to his lazy nature, but you're sure he'll survive on his own.

…probably.

“i’ll come watch your games though,” you quickly add in case he backtracks on his word, reaching over the desk and tousling his hair, messing it up even more. he doesn't complain like how he usually would, merely blinking his wide gray eyes at you. “i mean, what kind of best friend would i be if i didn't support you?”

that seems enough for nagi. he straightens up, a hand running through his now disheveled white locks, peering at you with a newfound motivation. “better keep your eyes on me, ‘kay?”

you grin, nodding. “duh. goes without saying, loser.”

sometime after that, reo, nagi, and yourself have now fallen into some sort of routine: nagi now has practice on thursdays and fridays after school, but sometimes reo swings by unexpectedly during lunch on those days to discuss with nagi what their training plans would be after school (unable to wait until the end of the day, apparently). not that nagi actually listens, but he has come to a realization that it’d be too much work if he were to refuse him, so he just lets him do whatever he wants.

would it be foolish to think that reo would let up once he’s gotten what he wanted? if anything, his apparent interest grows even more, which only encourages the rumors that are recently circulating about you. girls still glare at you in jealousy, while guys sneak judgmental glances at you, but reo manages to clear up any misunderstandings using his natural charm and influence, so you're fine for the most part. how thoughtful. well, it's his fault in the first place anyway. 

for some reason, you see him a lot more often than necessary.

…like right now, for instance.

when a flash of purple appears in your peripherals, you turn, met with the sight of reo’s handsome figure hovering by the doorway. the tall male is hanging rather stiffly in the middle of the entrance, as if unable to decide whether to come inside or not.

“mikage?” you decide to call him out. “what are you doing here?”

he flinches, akin to a deer in headlights. what's up with that reaction? is he not supposed to be here or…? “huh? well, i’m here for nagi, of course.”

“right.” you nod curtly. it's monday today; they don't even have practice until the next few days.

but even then, reo has picked the worst time to drop by, because nagi isn't even at school today. (surprise, surprise—he slept in. again.) just as you are about to bring that up, reo casually ambles over and pulls a seat back, sitting across you with a sheepish smile on his face.

by now, you've grown familiar with the scent of his cologne wafting in the air whenever he's nearby. it's a delicate yet expensive scent, fresh and woody, like musk with hints of apples and mint. a vast difference from nagi’s, whose smell is more down-to-earth, like fresh laundry and the breeze of early mornings.

other than the questioning glance you offer him, nothing happens for a few moments. reo opens his mouth as if to say something, but when nothing comes out, he reverts back to pursed lips and skittish glimpses. it's off-putting how he seems to struggle with striking up a conversation for once—you start to feel a bit awkward about the stretched silence, so you just shrug and continue eating from your bento. as long as he's not bothering you too much, you don't actually mind his company.

“want some?” noticing how you're the only one eating lunch, you absentmindedly bring up the chopsticks close to his mouth, urging him to take a bite out of your tamagoyaki.

that seems to finally snap reo out of his inner strife, his violet eyes widening as they flicker between you and the food, “y-you're feeding me…?” 

ah, crap—you’re so used to feeding nagi that you didn't even think twice before bringing the neatly rolled omelette to his lips. before you can retract your hand though, reo quickly composes himself, enclosing his fingers on your forearm to prevent you from moving away. “okay, i guess,” he mutters shyly before taking a bite.

a slight relief fills you as you watch him accept your offer, though that quickly turns into nervousness. “well? how was it?” you ask, observing the purple-haired male chewing carefully with a finger on his chin.

“did you cook this?” reo returns with a question of his own, peering at you through his lashes.

“you didn’t answer my question…”

“hm. did you?”

“what, is my cooking not good enough for the great master mikage reo’s superior taste buds?” you roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance as your face warms at the fact that he's deliberately avoiding your questions. you half-expect him to spit out the food; now that you think about it, surely he wouldn't enjoy eating something so bland and second-rate—

“hmm, not sure. i might need another bite to fully understand the flavors.”

you blink dumbly at reo’s coyness. well, he doesn't seem to outright hate it, so that's better than you are initially expecting. when you push the bento closer to him, he only stares at you expectantly, as if waiting for something. you stare right back, muttering, “what is it?” 

“uh…actually, i broke both of my hands. and my fingers too. all ten of them.” reo blurts out, simultaneously hiding his hands away from your view.

…what.

this is the second time you're at a loss for words because of reo. perplexed, you lean in, trying to take a peek behind his back. “your fingers seemed perfectly fine when you grabbed my arm.”

“well, a lot can happen in two seconds.”

“like…?”

“spontaneous functional impairment?”

i’ll show you a spontaneous functional impairment, you grumble under your breath. “i am not your maid.”

reo tilts his head to side, warmth radiating from the innocent smile plastered on his face. it's the same one he usually wears, the kind that makes one weak in the knees—one that you're fortunately immune to. 

(at least you think so, anyway.)

“…if i paid you, would you be more inclined?”

“piss off, mikage.”

reo chuckles, airy and soft, and you find it disturbing how a mere sound can easily disarm your guard. that's just the kind of person he is, you guess, barely even having to try yet the influence he holds over anyone (regrettably including you, to a certain degree) is undeniable. you ponder why someone like him is even here in the first place; doesn't he have more important stuff to do?

“kidding, i'm kidding! it's delicious.”

but when he assures you and you watch as his eyes crinkle with amusement, you decide not to sweat the little details. he continues, “i mean it. i’d love to have more, if you're willing, of course.”

since hakuho high is a college prep school, your school’s soccer team is weak compared to the others, not to mention fairly new, established only recently by reo himself (thus making him captain, as if he couldn't be any more popular). it hasn't garnered much attention from its students—but since this is the first official match against another school, a pretty sizable crowd has filled the bleachers that friday afternoon, excitement and anticipation buzzing in the air.

on the way to the bleachers, you catch sight of your friend and his teammates warming up while the coach gathers them to hold his final group meeting prior to the game, most of them stretching their legs and some basking under the sunshine (and by some, you mean only nagi).

after the coach finishes saying his speech to the team, reo claps his hand against nagi’s back, making the latter wince. reo just hooks his arm around nagi’s shoulder, and you see his mouth moving and gesturing towards the direction of the bleachers when his purple eyes suddenly fall on you. sending reo a small wave, he waves back at you, albeit with more enthusiasm—which also made the girls surrounding you shriek. ah, right. you briefly think that you should start acting like you don’t know him in public, on the off chance that a crazed fan of his comes for your throat just for being involved with him.

nagi glances where reo’s line of sight is. you wave at him as well when your eyes meet, expecting him to just send one back in acknowledgment, but instead he starts jogging towards you. “you made it,” he breathes out once he's within earshot. 

“i said i’d watch your game, right?” you playfully jab him on the arm, observing how his legs look way more toned than you’ve last seen. has he always been this fit? seems like all that training he begrudgingly went through has paid off. “lookin’ fresh in uniform, seishiro. sorry i couldn't make it to any practices though, i couldn't ditch my own club.”

nagi shrugs, feeling content since you still made it. he reaches into his pocket, fishing out his beloved device and handing it to you. “can you keep my phone with you? i forgot i had it in my pocket.”

after nagi gets back to his team, you end up sitting on the third row of the bleachers as you wait for the game to begin. you fiddle with the charm on his phone. he still has it attached (you make a mental note to ask him about it again later), and you notice how some of the colors of the black beads have faded. a cursory thought passes, where you wonder if it's due to age, or if he touched it too often that the oils from his fingertips have worn the surface off.

you're leaning more on the former hypothesis—you can’t imagine nagi getting sentimental over a handmade charm that’s mediocre at best. or anything at all, period.

a sudden bump on your shoulder causes you to break out of your thoughts. a deep voice hurriedly speaks out, “excuse m—”

“len?” out of all people, why is he sitting next to you? 

you’ve barely seen your ex-boyfriend in the past three years. either he's good at hiding, or you're even less popular (or involved with anyone else who isn't nagi) than you think. to be honest, you've forgotten all about him, but you can still recognize his dark eyes and, annoyingly enough, even the scent of his cologne with just one moment of appraisal.

len looks at you, eyes widened and mouth agape, before he gets up and turns around, climbing up the stairs to find a different seat. you click your tongue, slightly ticked off that he ran away from you. again. okay, whatever.

just then, the referee blows the whistle, signaling the start of the game. reo gets the ball first touch, sneaking his way through defenders with his quick thinking and passes. you're impressed by his skill, but since this is the mikage reo we're talking about, you guess you should've expected it. the team moves accordingly, passing the ball back and forth between them, intensity already cranked up to the maximum so soon after it began.

well, mostly everyone is pumped up. nagi’s half-ass running makes you snicker, and you wonder if he's even going to do anything at all this match if his slouched, lethargic posture is anything to go by. but then you catch sight of his face when an opposing player comes up to him, his visage contorting from passive to mildly irritated. it's only a tiny change, hardly even noticeable, but since you've known him for so long you've gained a good understanding of these miniscule differences. you realize his opponent must have taunted him because now he's locked in, straightening up and dashing towards the penalty area.

for a pretty lax person, you wouldn't have guessed he'd be the type to be vindictive when provoked. most of the time, he does it unintentionally, showing off his unparalleled genius with barely any effort. the ball comes flying toward him, and it almost lands a few inches behind him yet he reaches it perfectly, twisting his body to trap the ball and swiftly kicking it to the goal in one fluid motion.

not even a minute in, hakuho scores a goal, and the world abruptly stops for a second.

absolute silence falls on the field, rendering both the opposing team and the crowd too stunned to speak or even move, save for reo who just beams at the prodigious striker.

“LET’S GO, SEISHIRO!” 

the crowd subsequently erupts with deafening applause and cheers the moment they break out of their stupor, jumping out of their seats and yelling out what was that? in wonder and amazement.

nagi looks up as he hears your voice so distinctly clear from the bleachers. sure, he might have been a tad more zealous about that first goal, but it's not like it was a hard one to pull off—though you and everyone else’s reaction says otherwise, so he must've done something cool.

…still, is any of that really necessary? nagi likes that you've made it to his first ever official match, but you look as if you're one step away from joining the cheerleading squad and be his personal cheerleader. he watches as you cup your hands around your mouth, grinning widely at him across the field, and he thinks that you've never changed at all since middle school. you're always too loud, too forward, too bothersome, too annoying—

but that makes you, you. he wouldn't want it any other way.

for the rest of the game, hakuho dominates the match thanks to him and reo. at some point, the white-haired striker vaguely remembers his captain telling him about some sort of a hat trick, and that it was a really difficult move to pull off (not really) so he tries doing that just to show off a little. i mean, it's my debut, and you're watching, he reasons.

it’s over before he knows it, the score being an impressive 7-0. after the referee blows the whistle and the game ends, everyone explodes into cheers once again, nagi’s teammates huddling over, some jumping on his back and some even lifting him up. 

“nagi!” reo cries out. “wow! i've never seen you worked that hard bef— wait, where are you going?”

when nagi glances towards the bleachers again, he sees you pushing past the other students, nearly hopping over them so you can get to the field, fueled by nothing but adrenaline and hype. he shrugs off his teammate's arms around him, making a beeline towards you. he doesn't even realize what he's doing, lured by the excitement and passion emanating from your presence.

“hey, what are you doing all the way h—”

“SEISHIRO, HELLO? that was so incredible, what the hell was that?!” you exclaim, launching yourself at him. luckily, he catches you just in time…unluckily, he underestimates your exhilaration, your tackle causing both you toppling down on the grass with you landing on top of him as he lets out an oof– as his back hits the grass. “you crazy bastard. i always knew you had it in you!”

from the corner of his eye, he sees reo’s head whipped in your direction, watching the two of you intently, but at the moment none of that matters. nagi still isn’t too good at reading people's emotions, but when it's displayed so clearly before him, your earnest gaze and a smile impossibly wide that your face must've hurt to hold that for so long, he realizes you make it easy for him to understand it this time with no room for any alternative perception.

strands of your hair fall against his face as you hover above him, and the afternoon sun is just about to set, creating a warm halo against your form, and nagi thinks you look as radiant as ever.

taglist: @yoimiya-lover @i2innie

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE i got so busy irl 😔 taglist is open! just comment ^_^ (if im unable/forgot to tag you, pls lmk!!)

[kaeichi]

satosugu! but they’re frat boys at a party for an upcoming game LOL (someone plz write a frat stsg fic I NEED IT)

[kaeichi]

and if i drop a loser bandmember yuuta au....

[kaeichi]

"dont u like kaiser? how do u think he looks ugly yet attractive at the same time?" simple. its because i

[kaeichi]

[kaeichi]

they say no homo every time they give the juiciest goodnight kiss to each other and think they’re safe

[kaeichi]

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ masterlist… ENTRY ONE : A NEW LIGHT … next : where did it all go wrong?

ᡣ𐭩 . even after all these years, detective itoshi rin has never gotten over the murder of his wife. he swore that he'd find the killer and figure out what really happened to you that night. the case ended up getting out up as a cold case, however. one day, though, he happened to stumble upon your diary while clearing up the attic to move to a new house. as he went through it, he realised that maybe it wasn't murder, perhaps something else. now with new leads, he manages to open the case  again, with a new hope to find out what happened to you, but personal matters start getting in his way. 

series : detective! itoshi rin! x dead! fem! reader, mentions of death, marriage, angst, rich! rin, mystery au, abuse, violence, black mail, unrequited love, threats, widowed rin, yn and rin have child named “mai” stalking ﾉ 2.1k wc. ﾉ mentions of eating disorder, yn has shitty parents. (more could be added.)

Often, Rin found himself having dreams about you—odd ones, never normal—at least the ones that started normal. He was in your shared room, and you were twirling in your wedding dress, the exact same thing you did four days before your wedding. He’d come up behind you, and suddenly he was in his tuxedo. The image of the two of you became distorted, and you’d fall on the floor, blood all over his suit and hands, your wedding dress drowning in blood, and your face was lifeless.

The first time he woke up, distressed, he immediately checked your (untouched) side of the closet, making sure the wedding dress was still in good shape.

Sometimes he’d head to his daughter's room (the last thing he really had that reminded him of you) and hug her. “Dad, are you ok?” The eight-year-old mumbled, sleep most obvious in her tone. “Yes, I’m okay. Go back to sleep,” he assured, trying to fight back tears that burned his eyes.

She was the carbon copy of you, with the same hair, nose, and even the way she acted. The only thing of him in her was her bright blue eyes.

Sometimes, he’d simply cry. All that his brain has been begging him to do after bottling it up and staying strong for his child.

He shut his car door, walking up to the entrance to his daughter's school.

“Mai, your dad is here,” the teacher called, and she quickly turned her head away from her friend and waved at him. “She’s doing good in school, yeah?” He asked as Mai ran up to hug her father. He picked her up, and she laid her head on his shoulders. “Shes amazing! You’ve got quite a disciplined daughter right there.”

She definitely got that from him; you were always up to no good.

“Good to hear,” he smiled, something he found himself doing quite often ever since your death six years ago. It was a big change from his stoicness and his tendency to be rude and cold, but he had to change for his daughter. You weren’t there to balance out his personality.

He opened the car door for his daughter. “Put on your seatbelt, or I will tackle you,” he threatened, but it didn’t seem to affect her, not with that obvious soft look on his face.

It was a long, staring contest before he sighed. “Fine, I guess we’ll just hit a car, and you’ll fly out.”

The eight-year-old giggled, “Sounds fun.”

“If you do, I’ll get you ice cream,” he tempted, and the girl nodded in agreement. “Deal.” She finally put on her seatbelt, and Rin got into the driver's seat.

“Dad, can you ask a question?” Mai asked, as he found himself in the middle of long traffic. “Of course.”

“What was a mama like?” She wondered, her voice filled with curiosity. “She was amazing,” he smiled softly, a real one this time. “She looked like you, and you act just like her, you know? She would be so happy to see how much you resembled her if she were here right now.”

The kid smiled and said, "But will I ever have another one? Or is it just you and me forever?”

Rin furrowed his child’s question. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone in my class has a mom. And I wonder, Will you ever have one?”

In a way, Rin felt anger at the question. No one could be you or be like you; no one could take your place in his heart.

“I’m not sure, honey.”

His phone buzzed suddenly, just in time, and he picked it up to see who had texted him.

It wasn’t long before the clock read five o’clock, and he could see Emi’s car parking outside.

Aoki Emi, your best friend, or she used to be before you died. She was there for him during those rough times, even when his own family couldn’t.

Her crush on him was, well, painfully obvious. Even before you died, he could tell.

However, the boy ignored it; Emis crush wouldn’t do anything; he only had his eyes on you.

But what pissed him off? Even if she was the only person who was there for him, who he would consider a “close friend,” everyone never understood that he truly didn’t like her like that. Even Isagi, Bachira, and Chigiri all encouraged him to be with her, other than Otoya, who seemed to have a crush on her. Even his own daughter.

He’d admit to anyone else that she was attractive. She is tall and blonde, with green eyes and a small beauty mark beneath her bottom lip. Not to him, though. He wanted only you, even if you weren’t there; he was forever loyal to you.

Maybe he should cut ties with the girl; after all, what good did she serve him anymore? He thought about that multiple times, but Mai hated the idea. She loved her, almost considering her her new mother. (The thought disgusted him.)

Boxes were all that was found in the house, other than the smell of food that filled the house as Mai munched on the food. He would be moving everything the next day, and all that was left was his room and the attic.

“Do you think you could do my room, and I’ll be doing the attic?” he stated, and she nodded warmly. Suddenly, he was pushed away by his short daughter. “Mama!” She exclaimed as the blonde girl lifted herself up.

Rin furrowed his brow. “Not mama, it’s Emi,” he corrected his daughter, and a frown fell on her face. “Right.” Emi mumbled as she placed the little girl down. “So your room, you said?”

He nodded as she grabbed a few boxes that lay on the kitchen counter as she walked off. “Go watch TV, as long as you like; only for today, however,” he said as he patted his daughter on the head. “Yay!”

He quickly headed to the attic, which he’s been avoiding for weeks now. It was dusty and filled with old things; luckily, many were already placed in boxes.

Some remained unboxed, however. He went to the pile of things and grabbed a box.

Surprisingly, this was easier than he thought, as he quickly grabbed the dusty items and placed them in the box.

But a dusty grey leather book caught his attention. It said nothing, and he wasn’t sure why, but he was curious.

For Emi, she seemed to be doing better. Rin had packed most of the things, but she was still pondering why she even agreed to this.

She opened his drawer stand, and suddenly she was met with a picture of you. She loved you; you were her best friend.

But as she went through the pictures, she realised just how much you’ve taken from her. You were always better—in her eyes. Prettier and smarter is why she always studied her ass to best you.

As she went through the pictures of you, she reached the ones of you and Rin simply and one that included all three of you. All the way back in junior year of high school. It was Christmas, three weeks after you and Rin first started dating.

You had dragged her along despite the fact she wasn’t invited because you were “nervous to meet his parents and brother.” She was annoyed but went along.

It was fun, but she remembers exactly the feeling of jealousy. You win everything, and you just had to steal Rin from her.

You all stood in front of the camera, Rins arm across your shoulder, and she sat in a chair in front of you both, forcing a fake smile, which was nonexistent in Rins face.

The rest of the pictures were only you two, taken by Rins parents, who were excited for their son.

She got tears rolling down her cheeks as she crumbled up the picture and placed it in her pocket. “You just had to steal Rin from me; steal everything for me, bitch!” She whispered and yelled, making sure no one could hear.

Rin wouldn’t notice she took it or burned it.

Rin opened the book. Diary entry one. 6/8/2008 Huh, diary? Was this yours?

Lately, I’m not sure; maybe I’m imagining it. Rin has been quite distant. I don’t know why we’ve only been dating for a year; why is he already so distant? I think he might be going through something; I'm not sure. I’ll give him space. Other than that, life’s pretty good, I guess.

This is from... sixteen years ago?

Entry two. 3/4/2009. It has been some time since I completely forgot about this thing. Life isn’t that good, not anymore. I solved things with Rin. But my grades are dropping, and I’ve gained some fat. I hate my body right now. My parents aren’t proud; they keep comparing me to Emi. I hate that. Is it bad that I feel a little jealous? I’m not supposed to; she’s my best friend, and I love her. But all I can hear is how amazing she is all the time. I can't say this to Rin; I don't want him to worry. Im trying. I really am, I swear; I'm studying, I have a part-time job, and I'm working on losing fat—not in the best way, I guess, though.

He saw dried tear stains around the paper, which smudged some of the text.

Entry three. 4/6/2009. My parents found out I'd been staving myself; they got me a therapist. I guess it’s good to know they care. But god, they pitied Emi more when she broke down crying when she found out. Like, hello? I’m the daughter who’s been going through this eating disorder; why do you care how much I've saddened her? They should be worried about me, not her; you are my parents, not hers.

Entry four: 5/6/2009 Rin found out . Now he won’t leave my side; he saw how little my parents care. So, I’ve been going to his house lately. He reminded me to eat, and he watched me do it. I hate it, but I know he’s just looking out for me. I love him. He’s all I have right now, really. I guess I have Emi too, but she’s really just thriving in my parents attention right now. Don’t you have your own?

He skipped a few pages, which ended up leading him to the ones you’d written six years ago.

Diary entry, I don’t know; I lost count. 23/11/2018.

This was only three weeks before you died.

Fuck life. My hormones are all over the place. I love Mai; she’s so cute. She has Rin's beautiful eyes. But my body looks so bad again. I haven’t been eating lately; I’m trying. Emi’s noticed something’s up, but I think I’ve hidden it well. Rin is so much help; he stays up late and wakes up when she starts crying.

Diary entry: I still don’t know. 24/11/2018 I’ve relapsed again. Rin realised he was mad. He isn’t understanding; you think he’s just worried? I don’t know. Lately, my friends have been distant, even Emi. I don’t know, I miss them, but I need someone to talk to too. My mom only talks to me to ask about her grandchild; she never asks about me. She got mad when I told her I hadn’t spoken to Emi in a while either. I feel like crying; I want to so badly, but I know if I do, I will crumble.

Diary entry. ??? November 25, 2018. I feel detached from life; I don’t know. I feel so close to ending it. I’m still keeping it cool around Rin and my daughter, but it’s getting harder every day.

He closed the book there. That was the most he could read. No way was it suicide; you wouldn’t. It made him want to open that case again; you didn’t do it, no way you did.

taglist: @catelismo, @sereniteav, @dummyf, @y2kuromi, @chigiyoma, @aikuoliverswife.

[kaeichi]

scaramouche hates you.

he hates you so much that whenever he looks at you, he can hardly breathe.

he hates that glint in your eye when you look at him, always amused, always piercing — and he hates that challenging smirk on your lips even more, so much that he wants nothing but to wipe if off your face. he could list just about dozens more reasons why he hated you, it was never-ending.

“why do you hate me so much?” you confront him one day, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. “what did i ever do to you?”

nothing, he confesses. and everything.

“i don't need to explain myself to the likes of you,” he scoffs instead. his entire being thrums. what wouldn't he give to put you in your place right now. alas, he had better things to do, more important places to be.

he turns to leave, but you grasp his wrist tight, and archons — your touch sears.

he snatches his arm back, burnt.

“don't touch me,” he hisses, face flushing with fury, maybe something more. “this isn't worth my time.”

and pathetically, he flees, but the heat from your gaze lingers on the back of his next for ages more.

no, scaramouche didn't hate you. how could he ever hate you? he loathes how he loves you — irrevocably, deliriously, he loves you so ardently and yet — and yet there's no place for that love to go.

so for now, he hides behind the emotion most comfortable, the emotion most natural.

so for now, scaramouche hates you.

[kaeichi]

[kaeichi]

love is in the air.

. . . and maybe that's why mikage reo can view the world with such clouded, pink-hued vision, and why nagi seishiro cannot breathe at all.

series. nagi + reader + reo. no gendered terms, but some implications of m! reader. reader likes boys. bestfriend! nagi. valentines/white day. highschool setting. swearing. humor. fluff & angst.

a/n. repost bc it wasnt showing up in tags T-T i js want a shoujo anime w these two as the MLs...

prev ┊ next ┊ 01 … 02 … 03

⊹ 01 : my dear partner [wc: 4.7k]

TWO YEARS AGO

“…dude. you're scaring all the hoes away.” 

nagi watches your lips move, though he barely registers anything you've been saying since he has stopped listening a while ago—which, honestly, comes as no surprise to anyone.

there’s no real reason to be so lethargic at this hour (it's already late noon, plus he surprisingly had a decent amount of sleep the previous night for once), nor the time to think about trivial things, but he can’t help but think about how exactly every single thing stopped being so bothersome like it used to.

he can't quite pinpoint what brought on this gradual change, but if he had to, then it’d probably be three springs ago—when he’d wake up a little earlier than usual to the gentle kiss of the sun through his window and the cherry blossoms were in perfect bloom. around that time is when he’d received his quiet companion choki, he’d finally scored top 1 in the leaderboards after months and months of grinding in his favorite mobile game, and… when you’d first sat next to him in middle school.

for as long as he remembers, you were simply just there. an unexpected oddity that has not only forced its way through, but has also wedged firmly into every aspect in his life. and somehow, he’d concluded that maybe some things weren't so bad—that some things weren't such a hassle to him after all.

“move, idiot. at this point you might as well hold my hand.” the snow-haired male barely hears your voice over his wandering thoughts, stumbling from the light shove you give him. he has now become acutely aware of your swinging hand, wary of the close proximity and the faint buzz of static that lingers on his skin. huh. maybe it is better to move away.

still, he’d rather not reposition himself. it’s too much work, he’d like to reason, and it's certainly not because of anything else… maybe. he doesn't really know for sure. what he does know though, is that the space beside him suddenly feels strangely empty. 

when he looks at you to see a pout forming on your lips, he can't help but sigh. you're being unreasonable. there's something that's been nagging his curiosity for a while now, and it took him quite a bit to realize what it is.

“seishirooo,” you whined one day, allowing your head to sink against his mattress, taking up nearly the whole space while nagi sits at the corner of the bed. you came over to his place that day to bother him, stating that you needed some comfort because apparently, “no one ever looks at me. i feel so damn invisible.” he shrugged and offered you his controller, challenging you to a 1v1 with him as a distraction.

“…but i look at you all the time?” he replied.

“yeah, but that's different.” and he would've asked you to elaborate more, if not for the fact that you've been horribly vague about it when he does ask, and the perpetually sleepy gamer only has so much patience before he gives up and decides it's something not worth spending his energy on.

besides, you're always emotional like that. this was probably just another one of your fleeting phases.

it's not until he notices you've been longingly gazing at the couples on the campus, quietly seething under your breath that it finally clicks. now, he may not have the greatest understanding when it comes to feelings and all its complexities, but even he can tell you’re reeking with jealousy.

despite being pushed off only seconds ago, nagi shuffles closer again as he falls into step beside you. even if sparks prick his skin, it feels right in this way. “dunno why you ‘need’ hoes when you already have me.”

“just because i'm into guys doesn’t mean that i like you in that way,” you mutter, sending him an odd glance like you thought there’s something wrong with his head for even suggesting that. not knowing how to respond, he settles for staring right back without a word. 

“what's with that look? you know what i mean, seishiro.” you continue, averting your gaze from him. what look? he asks internally. “it's just, well, literally everyone is getting into relationships. and i know we're still first years, but… it just feels like i’m missing out, y’know? 

“do you really? sounds like a hassle to me,” he shrugs, and it truly does—he never saw the appeal of dumb crushes, of drama nearly every day, of possible unrequited “love,” or of wasting half your time and energy on someone just for it to not mean anything at all in the end. video games sound way more fun, and way less heartbreak inducing.

“you can't say that when you haven’t even experienced it,” you argue, still pouting.

“it’s overrated anyways. being single is better.”

“hah! of course you’d say that, you virgin.” 

“you’re one to talk,” nagi boredly quips. “i’m celibate purely by choice, but you on the other hand… if you really think about it, you're basically an incel.”

nearly choking on your spit, you exclaim, “hah?!”

“you don't even really talk to other guys except for me, and on top of that, you're barely approached by anybody,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone, oblivious to the way his best friend’s confidence waning rapidly by the second the more he speaks.

“yeah? and who’s fault is it, you cockblocker!” 

nagi simply sticks a tongue out as you flip him off.

right after that, the two of you ended up breaking into a sprint as you heard the clicking sound of heels walking on the tiles around the corner, not wanting to get caught for skipping classes. well, you ran, and just dragged him by the wrist. he felt the warmth of your fingers even through the thick barrier of his baggy sleeve.

PRESENT

you try not to trip and fall face first as a cold hand guides you through the crowded hallway.

it's embarrassing enough as it is to be rushing through the middle of the corridor and pushing past the bodies of random students like you're a main character or some sort, but even more so when the (apparently) most popular guy of the campus that you’ve (never) seen is walking right in front of you.

and it gets even more humiliating when said popular guy has taken hostage of your wrist, leading you away to a more secluded area. shocked, harsh whispers echo throughout nearly the whole floor, and multiple eyes shoot daggers at the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of your uniform, and you’ve never wanted to bury yourself alive more than this moment.

after rounding a corner into a miraculously empty hallway, you finally skid to a stop, yanking your hand away, ready to pounce at the culprit who made you go through all that unnecessary attention. however, before you can get a word in, the refined male bows his head low in front of you, and you find yourself face-to-face with sleek purple locks.

“i’m sorry, but i have no time for dating. i’m really flattered, though. i hope we can stay friends still.” he hurriedly says, hope gleaming in his matching purple eyes.

…what. 

who is he again? and why is he rejecting you?

for some reason, you find the stranger’s gaze too bright that you have to look away; so you do exactly that, tilting your chin downwards instead and letting your hair mask your expression.

after a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “i'm really sorry, it hurts me to see you look so down… i’m sure we can put this behind us and—”

“nice shoes,” you interrupt, still not raising your head to meet his now confused stare. “i can tell you really love wearing them, judging by the busted, worn out stitches. hey, is it just me or is that prada logo kinda wonky too?”

the male's jaw drops down nearly all the way to the floor.

“pardon me?” he says through gritted teeth, keeping his composure by flashing his usual award-winning smile, albeit a lot more stiffer. “i know i just rejected you, but you don't have to be so hostile…” 

when you finally raise your head, your expression can only be described as terribly and solemnly unamused, unimpressed beyond words.

then, you suddenly lean closer, peering closely into his violet irises with thoughtful hum. an unwilling flush of red creeps on the tips of the boy’s ears, his eyes widening comically at the sudden intrusion of space. “you’ll do,” nodding to yourself, you now grab his wrist and pull him away. “come.”

“w-wait, huh? where are we go—” 

“you're the one who made me late. let's go!”

reo isn't quite sure why he's the one being dragged away now.

he has only initially planned to gently turn down the person who last confessed to him, whose family just so happened to be related to his father’s business partners—but now he somehow finds himself on a whole date with that person? (the same one who brazenly insulted him by implying his shoes are fake, by the way!)

“i have other plans today, you know…” the heir says, subtly trying to inch away from you.

you tug him back by his sleeve, with twice as much force than he had used on you earlier. “i can imagine, my dear partner.”

“w-what?” reo stutters, and he's cringes at himself for how he's acting at the moment. the usually composed and charming mikage reo, now reduced to a stuttering and blushing mess? how embarrassing.

“normally my best friend would do this with me, but he slept in today.” leave it to seishiro to leave me all alone on the day that actually matters, you irritatedly mutter under your breath. “well, whatever. come on.”

as you and him enter the packed bubble tea shop, the fingers that were wrapped around his sleeve slides down to interlace with reo’s own clammy ones. he realizes this a second too late, and before he has the chance to let go, the clerk by the entrance greets them with an enthusiastic “welcome, lovebirds!”

“huh?!” reo’s jaw slackens, dumbfounded. he’s really starting to hate himself now—it's unbecoming of him, really, but it's hard to process everything when you're so close to him that the scent of your shampoo keeps invading his senses and subsequently messing with his head.

“here’s your special tickets for today. thank you for participating, and happy valentines!” you drag him straight to the back, where the colorful claw machines are set up. reo catches a glimpse of the pink posters set up on the walls of the quaint shop, which reads: couples get free special tickets! today only! …ah. that's why he's here.

“aoi-san… you're gripping too tight,” he says, gritting his teeth together into a forced smile. 

“aoi?” you repeat, your grip finally loosening until you let go entirely. “huh… i see. by the way, what's your name again?”

needless to say, the purple-haired male is beyond perplexed. “is this your unique attempt at a joke or something?”

“come on, rich boy. we've held hands and i don’t even know your name!” 

“right… which i totally wasn't being forced to do…” he lets out an awkward laugh. sure, some admirers of his tend to get a tad excessive, but they were never able to get far with him, much less forcibly drag him out on a date—and it's not even because they want him to spend his unlimited budget on them and spoil them rotten, but just so they can get… a free special ticket for a claw machine. how did he end up getting in this bizarre situation? more importantly, how does he get out?

you simply shrug. “your fault, rich boy. you should try thinking about anyone other than yourself for once.”

“excuse me?” he narrows his eyes, slightly peeved. he's had enough of your rude attitude; potential business partner or not, he hopes that he never has to interact with you again in the future. “stop calling me that. i have a name, and it's mikage reo.”

the way your eyes widen doesn't go unnoticed by him. “and what did you even mean by that?” he presses defensively.

you plop down on the seat, with reo mirroring you as you insert the rouge ticket decorated with pink hearts into the slot of the claw machine. “well, mikage reo. i’m sure you're aware how aoi’s family is important, right?”

yeah, this person is definitely a weirdo, reo muses. who refers to themselves in third person?

“i heard they had connections everywhere… just like you. it's crucial to maintain a good relationship with someone like that, right?” you conclude—that would explain why reo had taken the time to personally talk to “aoi” one-on-one instead of just flat out rejecting them on the spot.

reo tilts his head to the side. “i’m not following…?”

“mikage.” you emphasize, looking at him straight in the eye before turning your attention back to playing. “i’m saying that the poor kid’s still waiting for an answer. your heartfelt and sincere rejection, to be exact.”

a few seconds of silence pass. well, as silent as it can be with the loud chattering of the crowd and the mechanical whirrs of the claw machine you're currently messing with resounding in the air.

“you mean, you're not…” reo trails off, all color draining from his face. “i’m so, so sorr—”

“aoi’s the one you should apologize to, not me. oh, i got a double! how lucky.” you eagerly grab the prize, the limited edition valentine’s merch exclusive to this boba shop; a plushie collectible that comes with a redeemable code for your favorite video game. you want to collect all of them, but you’re broke as hell and you’re only here due to the free ticket. turning to reo, you shove the second plushie to his chest. “here, this is for you. since you did help me out with getting these.”

“ah, thank you…” reo absentmindedly accepts the small toy, still reeling on how he could make such a careless mistake. “listen, i do apologize—”

“i wonder how'd you even mix us up. is it ‘cause we have the same hair color?” you ask, slightly amused because aside from that, you and aoi look nothing alike. your fingers tap on the surface of the control panel, observing reo’s shame-stricken visage. “or maybe… is it because everyone just looks the same to you?”

at that moment, mikage reo realizes two things: (1) maybe he's more transparent and vulnerable than he thinks, and (2) you're dangerous, and it's better to stay far, far away from you. how could you see right through him so quickly? what if that's something you'll use against him?

he doesn't like to admit it, but it's true—in his perspective, everyone's the same. they're just after him for money and status, and at some point, they've all just become faceless, superficial pawns vying for his attention.

and of course, you’re no exemption.

noticing he’s gone quiet, you continue, “but i guess if my world was as vast as yours, i couldn't possibly keep up with everything either, so i get it. i’m not saying i’m in the same situation as you, but i can kind of relate, i guess. i only keep the ones who's important to me close, and the rest just exist and do whatever. i’m selective, but in that way, at least i can give my all to the ones that really matter.”

reo closes his mouth shut. here you are casually saying that you don't matter to him, and while that isn't a lie in the slightest, he still can't help but feel guilty. maybe it's just the people-pleaser in him, or maybe it’s the way the corners of your lips are slightly quirked up and to form a miniscule, accepting smile, but he wants to reassure you, “still, i’m sure you feel that—”

“i don’t.” you don't mind that he didn't know you, because you didn't even know him either—there’s no reason for you to take it personal. you’d be a hypocrite otherwise. “i really don’t.”

you smile at him. he thinks it's out of understanding, but unbeknownst to him you're actually just entertained by how his inner turmoil is so clearly reflected on his expression. “so don’t worry about it. plus, we’re even now.” you add, gesturing towards the prize.

hopping off the stool, you wave at him as you start to walk away. “...happy valentines. i'll see you around, mikage. maybe. er, probably not.”

“wait!” he hurriedly jumps off the stool as well, clutching the plushie in his hand as he follows after you. “i… let me drive you home.” the words stumble out before he even realizes what he's saying. you're probably just using him, and you're dangerous, and you see right through him, and he should stop wasting his time because his actual valentine's date is probably three seconds away from storming out the restaurant he's booked at—

so why is he doing this?

“drive?” you repeat, because of course he’d have a driver. damn rich people, you think internally. “nuh uh. it's like a ten minute walk, and i’d rather save the environment.”

“then i’ll walk with you.”

“you do realize i’m done dragging you for the day, right?” you quirk a brow up, amused; you could've sworn he was itching to get the hell away half an hour ago. “you're free. you can go home if you want.”

reo smiles, a more genial one this time. “i know.”

“so, you into popular guys now?” 

“hell no.”

nagi narrows his eyes at you. “you’re just into reo, then?” 

while you expected to be grilled first thing in the morning by random people about your apparent relationship with mikage reo (to which you simply replied, “i don’t know who that is, sorry,” and proceeded to run away), you didn't expect to be interrogated by your apathetic best friend as well. 

usually, nagi prefers to be completely silent during the 1st period (and actually all the way through lunch), not bothering to utter more than a few words, but today, he seems uncharacteristically on edge, waiting for you at the corner of the gym with a wrinkle between his brows.

“why are you on a first name basis with him?”

“everyone calls him reo.” he shrugs. “why him?”

“i never said i was into him.”

“then what's all that partner thing about?” he asks, which confuses you a bit. you doubt that reo would go around announcing to everyone how you teasingly called him ‘partner’ and practically dragged him to a date against his will, but it's not like him and nagi are close either, so you wonder where nagi has heard this information from. then, you suddenly recall back to yesterday, where you saw the curtain of your neighbor’s bedroom window swinging side-to-side, as if it was drawn close a mere second before you looked up. 

it seems that your mind wasn't playing tricks with you after all, and that a certain someone was eavesdropping on your conversation with reo as he walked you to your door.

“fake partners, you mean? and it was a just a joke—i met him that day.”

“that day? why are you acting so close if you've just met that day?”

“you're awfully talkative today, seishiro.” 

“i know. it's making me exhausted, and it's all your fault.” he then presses his weight against you, leaning his forehead on your shoulder—as he always does when he's tired and you're within reach. your eyes widen immediately, darting around the gymnasium to see if any of your classmates has noticed.

you don't want people to get the wrong idea about you two. it's not because it kills your chances with anyone due to the assumption that you aren't single (which you still very much are, by the way), or even because of potential issues of being a two-timer due to a certain rich boy—it's just that whenever you get asked if you and your best friend are together, you can't help but flinch from the idea, like ice is being poured inside the back of your shirt. you don’t really know what to call it, but you do know that you've answered the question a hundred times and you're positively sick of it.

“i told you to stop doing this in public,” you hiss, trying to push the giant, clingy sloth off you. “and stop whining, nagi. i’m not going anywhere. besides, i’m not even looking for a relationship or anything like that. not after… you know, what happened during our first year.”

he lifts his head up, frowning at you. “don’t call me nagi. just ‘cause you met a new guy doesn't mean you get to call me nagi.” 

you raise an unimpressed brow. what’s his problem? “only if you stop whining.” 

“…‘m not.” he slurs his words together, only proving your point.

“yes you are!”

“why do you have to be so annoying? you're such a pain,” he sighs, now walking away from you.

“i'm the annoying one?! and don't call me a pain, you—!” without hesitation, you promptly snatch a red ball from the steel ball cart beside you before swinging your arm at him, slamming the dodgeball right to his head. well, you tried to, at least; even with his back facing towards you, nagi only takes one step to the side to avoid it.

“your shitty aim sucks balls,” the tall male comments unenthusiastically, his white fringe falling over his eyes as he gazes at you over his shoulder. his nonchalance only spurs you on, now hauling multiple dodgeballs at him.

“how about you suck my ba—”

“give it up already. you're never gonna hit me.” and nagi actually has the audacity to yawn mid-dodge. of course, it only fuels your irritation even more. you eventually run out of balls to throw, so you mindlessly grab the nearest object to your right and chuck that as well.

…which unfortunately, happens to be nagi’s phone that he's snuck inside the gym, peeking under a face towel on the bench.

“oh, fu—” 

because of your (rightfully) so-called shitty aim, it swung way up high to the left, a few steps away from nagi. in less than a second, he realizes what you have flung at him, and his body moves instinctively; he throws himself towards it, swinging his leg upward and trapping it with his foot with perfect ease before it has the chance to plummet down on the floor.

“why are you making me move so much…” he sighs. “what a pain.” 

“you’re supposed to move anyways, we're in PE. you're welcome,” you smugly reason out. and then not even a second later you fold, shoulders curling inwards as you glance toward his phone; if it weren't for his godly reflexes, you would've broken it. with a small voice, you meekly add, “sorry.”

nagi shrugs in response.

when he saunters over to place his phone on the bench again, a silver glint catches your eye. a small charm swings lightly, small beads of white and black strung haphazardly together attached to the side of his phone case.

“wait, this is…” a phone charm crafted by hand, which is your birthday present for him four years ago. “i didnt know you still had that.”

“why wouldn't i?”

“where was it this whole time? this wasn't here a few days ago.”

“i just kept it in my drawer ‘cause i don’t wanna lose it.”

tilting your head to the side, you ask, “so why'd you suddenly decide to attach it to your phone now?”

he looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “…dunno.” 

eyes dropping into slits, you mutter, “you know, that kinda sounds sus—”

“hey! that was amazing! nagi, right? you should play soccer with me!”

nagi and yourself both turn to the direction of the sudden voice, seeing a familiar figure running towards you, vivid purple eyes gleaming under the gymnasium’s stark white lights.

“mikage?” you exclaim.

ever so slightly, nagi sharpens his usual droopy eyes. “nah.” he immediately says, turning on his heel.

“seishiro? wait, weren't you supposed to be looking for a club?”

“don’t really care.” you follow him, lightly jogging to keep up. as soon as you catch up by his side, the taller male glances at you as he asks, “will you join too?”

is he seriously asking you that… “no?”

“then i won't.” nagi concludes as he continues to walk away from reo.

“hey, wait up!” reo calls out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “ah, i was completely shut down… say, will you help me convince him?”

your brows shoot up as your gaze flicks down where he's casually touching you. after your initial confusion of who he is yesterday, you then recognize him after learning his name—the most popular boy in school, known for his good looks, charisma, and most especially, his wealth. he gets along well with literally everyone, and acts genuinely close with them even if they aren't.

“uh, why should i?”

“remember that limited edition merch you like? i can get you the rest of the collection. in fact, i’ll even buy out the whole place just for you.”

“wha– seriously?” you feel your eye twitch. damn rich people. “it was limited edition. they all ran out of stock already.”

“i have my ways.” well, that's not shady at all. he flashes a grin at your skepticism, winking at you, “anything for my partner.”

and you now understand why he's earned his title. this is probably how he always gets what he wants—with a smile like that, anyone would drop to their knees and do whatever he’d ask. two years ago, you would've keeled over for attention like this, but now, you're nothing but indifferent.

he places his hands on both of your shoulders now, completely stopping you from taking off. wide violet eyes scrutinize your own, making you scrunch your nose at the close proximity. “shouldn't you be begging him and not me?”

“yeah, but...” reo swears he feels an air of animosity radiating from the white-haired male, and that's why he has decided to turn you instead. “you wouldn't leave your partner hanging, right? as partners, we help each other out, riiiight?” he says, dragging his words out.

you lean as far as you physically can from his grip, but he doesn't seem to care, excitedly looking at you with stars evident in his eyes. “mikage, you—” he smiles at you, bright and blinding, and you find yourself withering under his intense gaze. “okay, fine, just—”

“well, that's settled then! they’re joining the club too, nagi seishiro. they can be our manager.” you briefly wonder why he didn't outright offer to have you join the team, but he probably saw how you threw the dodgeballs earlier… though it's not like you have to use your hands in soccer, so what the hell, this is kind of insulting.

“says who, mikage?”

“you're gonna come watch all our games?” he negotiates.

“why don’t you offer that i join the team?”

“ahahaha. haha. hah.” he laughs awkwardly, swinging an arm around your shoulder and ultimately evading your question.

because you were too busy trying to shrug him off, you miss the way nagi’s eyes zero on to reo’s arm around you, wordlessly observing the whole interaction with his lips pressed taut.

you still don’t know why reo hasn't moved away; he's so close that you can see the dark amethyst specks in his irises, the long strands that frame his face are lightly tickling your cheek, and if you lean in even just an inch, you can practically—

“you said anything i want, right?” your voice drops to a low whisper, and reo nods slowly, still seemingly oblivious to the lack of space between you.

“then... what if i said i wanted a kiss?”

reo’s smile drops immediately, recoiling away from you as if you've slapped him, his whole entire face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears. finally out of his grasp, you erupt into boisterous laughter, shaking your head as you leave the flustered boy alone and catching up to nagi.

likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated ♡

[kaeichi]

geto comm

[kaeichi]

HeyYy I’m a little slow but how did eita and yn realize that they were into each other in that way or desired each other like that? (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN 😜) Like did eita just hit yn with “dtf? 😈” on a random Thursday orrrr 😭

extra chapter: blurred

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — part of priceless. eita doesn’t understand why it irks him seeing other guys hit on you. after one night together with you, he at least knows he’s fucked.

content: otoya eita x female reader. smut. takes place in university, before “friendship”. eita calls reader princess, alcohol, profanity, mentions of death, penetration, spanking, cunnilingus, virgin!reader, eita makes reader cum multiple times. word count: 3.3k

༝༚༝༚ hahahaha i am so normal about university!yn & otoya guys … so completely normal </3 side to nonnie: yn and eita have always found each other attractive ! they just never thought they’d go that far at first :)

you’ve always been like this, so why does it bother him more than ever?

two months. that’s how long it’s been since you two talked. for two people who always talk shit all day long everyday, that’s a long time. it’s eita’s fault. he knows. maybe he shouldn’t have been so vocal about how you should act. it’s not his place.

he knows that.

he hasn’t apologised.

it’s a saturday night, and you’re just out having fun with your course mates—it’s not illegal. and eita’s with his bandmates, and a date to top it off—some girl who came up to him after a performance and said she was a fan; in hindsight it was probably just to get into his pants and yet she’s still here, two dates later.

she’s here, and he knows she’s probably beside him wondering why the fuck he’s staring at some other girl when she’s grinding against him but he can’t help himself. no matter how loud the music, no matter how crowded the club, no matter how miss bombshell here rubs her ass against him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

you don’t like to club. you barely like those people you’re with. eita knows why you’re acting like this.

so unserious. so smiley. so forced.

“oi, takuya,” eita calls out to one of his bandmates, setting his whiskey, neat on their table. “she’s all yours,” he says, shoving the poor miss bombshell to his bandmate, her cries of objection going unheard because he’s making his way to you.

there’s a guy trying to feel you up, your course mate. what the fuck is his name again?

“yes, shiro?” eita hears you coo once he’s close enough.

right, shiro takanori. notorious playboy, almost as notorious as eita. born rich, heir to one of the most exclusive resort clubs in japan, already in a couple of big modelling gigs thanks to his naturally good looks. silver spoon, trust fund idiot who has his hands on your hips and such lustful eyes and that smirk that says he knows he’s going to get exactly what he wants.

unluckily for him, eita’s here. and like hell is he ever going to be so lucky to bring you back home to his mansion.

with a firm grip around your bare waist—because of course you had to wear something so sexy tonight, that black single shoulder strap crop top of yours—eita cuts in, only shooting shiro a warning glare before pulling you aside, dragging you behind him.

“hey, what the fuck?” you protest once he stops at the empty booth near the side. you sound frustrated, and upset, and somehow eita knows what the fuck is going on inside that little still-twisted mind of yours. “i was talking to him, you know?”

eita scowls, the most judgemental look on his face as he listens to you. “yeah? were you trying to seduce him too or what?”

there’s a defiant look in your eyes. you’re only a little tipsy, so you still have the better part of your common sense with you. “so what if i was? how’s that any of your business?”

what a way to have your first big disagreement since you became friends. this is the part where both of you are thankful that the music’s too loud for anyone else to hear you.

eita scoffs, tongue poking against his inner cheek as he looks at you in disbelief. he’s not an infinitely patient person. especially not when he’s looking at you not behaving like yourself. he takes a step back, leaning against the wall, hands in his pants pocket as he looks from the bigger picture.

your father just died not long ago. you have to deal with your mother and the inhumane way she treats you. you have to make sure you score well for everything lest they take your scholarship away.

you’re losing it.

probably.

so much so that you’re willing to look for someone like shiro takanori to relieve your pain. eita doesn’t get it—he’s right here. is he worse than shiro?

“you know what? forget it,” you sigh, your eyes glazing over, the potential tears betraying your spiteful exterior. you don’t say anything else before you’re storming out of the club, with eita struggling to catch up behind you.

he’s calling out your name but you ignore him. he’s sure. your hearing isn't that bad. and fuck because it’s raining and you’re too stubborn to stop and so is he so he ends up running after you, both of you soaked to the bone because it’s quite heavy and he thinks you find solace in it since it can mask your tears.

the intersection where the both of you meet before school starts because the diner you like is just around the corner—that’s where he catches up to you. eita’s fingers connect around your wrist and you try to yank it away but it’s no use.

“let go of me.”

the rain’s pouring all around you and your voice isn’t even clear but eita can’t let you go. not when he knows he’s guilty of leaving you alone when he shouldn’t have. all because of his stupid pride.

maybe he should’ve listened to you.

is that what you need? distraction?

it’s simple and complicated both at the same time. eita doesn’t care about your small crushes and fleeting flings, but why does he care so much back there, when he saw you with shiro like that?

before he knows it, his hand is pulling you in by the back of your neck, his lips on yours and it’s so much better than he imagined. yeah, he’s imagined what it’d be like to kiss you recently, for some reason. and you must really need the distraction, because you’re kissing him back.

“what was that for?” you ask, breathily, foreheads pressing together as your fingers fist at his shirt.

it takes everything in eita to pull away, not that it’s because he has any form of self control when it comes to these things, but partly because of the rain and partly because of the conscious fact that you’re one of his best friends and that until tonight, he never thought he’d actually ever cross a line with you.

eita ignores your question because it’s too tempting not to. “let’s get out of this rain, it’s all your fucking fault,” eita murmurs, though his strong words are cancelled out by his hands around yours as he walks with you in the direction back to the dorms.

“here.” eita tosses you one of his clean jerseys, the one he wears for the national team. you once told him that’s your favourite one. you always steal his shit. “i need that for my next game though, so don’t stash that away.”

you snort, “didn’t know you realised.”

eita looks at you from over his shoulder, white hair matted against his face, a squinted stare as he deadpans at you. “of course i did, you stole three jerseys and one windbreaker.”

just like you are when you’re around him, eita realises you’re so shameless, your grin lighting up your face. “and you let me.” because you of all people know he always asks for his jerseys back, especially after all his random dates try to wear it and never return it. (he’s already gotten in trouble for that with his coach once.)

do you even know what you’re doing? eita thinks you don’t. it’s just the way you are, it’s how you act—this is all natural to you, not forced.

his gaze falls to your bare skin not concealed by your crop top, to your legs under that pleated skirt. thank fuck he didn’t let you get too carried away with shiro.

“change and then get out,” eita tells you, pulling his shirt over his head. he doesn’t think he can stand another minute with you here looking like that; hair a mess, soaked top to bottom, makeup slightly smudged and yet still looking like a fucking vision.

it’s very annoying, actually.

why’d he have to insist on making friends with you that day?

“mean,” you mumble, and eita ignores you. because you need to get out of here, and fast, before he regresses to fifteen minutes ago when he couldn’t control himself. and you’re like a spoiled brat, purposefully saying shit that you know will get under his skin. “hm, maybe i’ll ask shiro if he’s still at the club.”

shit like that.

“are you—” but the moment eita turns around, you’re suppressing a grin. stupid, just trying to rile him up. but it’s not like you won’t go looking for it—distractions. you will. you’ll look for bad news because that’s what you need right now.

he gives up. he gives up on trying to play the role of a good friend. you’re testing his limits and it turns out they’re not really that high. and lucky for you, he’s always found you pretty. you’re so fucking pretty and you’re interesting, even with the way you’re inching closer to him right now.

“fuck, you’re too much,” eita murmurs under his breath, the last of his will being stripped away. he’s already letting his hands pull you closer.

“i can always find someone else,” you whisper, both of you avoiding each other’s gaze.

“don’t you dare.” no, eita doesn’t want that. fuck, why doesn’t he want to share? he uses his fingers to tip your chin up, searching your eyes for the answers he already knows. “you wanna forget, y/n?”

you nod, the recollection of everything that’s happened within the past few months already threatening to make the tears fall. but eita catches you before they do, because he knows you’re so stubborn that you’d rather hold everything back than let them out, even if it’s him.

“just physical, ‘kay?”

eita nearly scoffs, but his tongue is too busy to let him. “yeah yeah, if you end up falling for real i’ll kill you,” he says, in between kisses, both of you ending up on the bed, eita hovering over your body as he marks your neck.

“don’t worry, you won’t have to.”

maybe it’s the fact that he never thought that he’d ever touch you like this, make out with you in his room, that he’s already hard as a rock even without doing anything yet. his mouth travels downward—neck, collarbone, chest—and your moans only get louder.

there’s a way that your voice makes him excited more than he usually is, the way your chest is heaving that urges him to devour you right then and there. his hands travel down to your thighs, pulling them apart, and the way your head pops up to look at him when his lips press kisses on your thigh—those sweet, innocent eyes—makes him pause.

“you’ve never done it before?” eita asks, softer in comparison to the loudness of the rainstorm outside.

and the moment you hesitantly shake your head, eita feels his heart beating faster in his chest. yeah, definitely a good idea to have taken you away from shiro. he swallows the lump in his throat, the idea that he’ll be your first seems strangely enticing.

it’s not surprising to him though, considering you’ve never had a boyfriend since he’s known you, and with the way you’re so stiff, anyone can tell.

eita’s hands smoothly caress your skin as he gets up, looking over your body once. “tell me if you ever want me to stop,” he tells you, hands travelling underneath your top, slowly lifting it up and off of you, your face tilted to the side, too awkward to look at him. you know he’s been with multiple girls—most of which you know are models and the like. it makes you a little self conscious of your own body, but eita doesn’t care. “look at me.”

you do, your eyes travelling to his face first, looking at the barely contained lust from behind his green irises. he’s already half naked, so you can see again now, just how toned he is, eyes shamelessly dragging over his form. but so is his, his hand now snaking up your thighs, pulling your skirt up over your stomach, the way you wear that bold lace lingerie driving him crazy.

wordlessly, you sit up on the edge of the bed, your boldness taking centre stage, fingers unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, the cunning in your eyes looking so, so attractive to him. you even know to pull a condom out of his pocket.

“i know you, otoya eita,” you whisper, and eita doesn’t doubt it. if anything, you’re probably the only person who knows him as well as you do. nobody else comes close.

he takes the condom from you, opening it with his teeth while you get rid of his boxers before handing it to you, a smirk on his face. “first lesson, innocent girl,” he says, a thumb caressing your cheek. “put it on for me.”

with a sneaky grin, you stick your tongue out, giving his tip a little kitten lick before anything else—what are you trying to do, give him a heart attack? eita can barely contain himself just looking at you like this; slightly wet and looking sexy as hell. fuck, he’s so fucked, he wants to know what it feels like to be inside of you so bad. a muffled groan rumbles in his throat, and you take that as a sign to lick a stripe up his length some more, making him throw his head back, taking the chance to roll the condom over his dick. his hand comes up to your hair and tugs on it, pulling you away.

“be a good girl and lie the fuck down, now,” he tells you, though it doesn’t matter since he pushes you down, immediately pulling your panties aside and relishing in how wet you are. soaking, and not from the rain. “nobody’s ever touched you there before, huh, y/n?” he wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed.

eita’s breath is hot against your pussy, partially covered by the lace before he tugs it to the side again, kissing the area around it, watching as you clench around nothing. “e-eita, please—”

he snorts—you don’t even know what you want, do you? you just know that you can’t get rid of the frustration by yourself. no, because no matter how you’ve ever helped yourself in the past, if you ever did, eita’s going to make you feel a lot better. good enough to make you forget everything.

he’ll just give you a taste of your own medicine, giving your clit a quick little lick, watching as you squirm just from that alone. resigning, he pushes a finger inside you—just one, he doesn’t want to break you just yet—watching your face as your back arches, the pleasured moan that rolls off your tongue threatening to make him addicted. you’re so wet and so hot and you’re his best friend but fuck that, he wants you. physically. every. single. part of you.

you’re already wet enough, but his mouth lingers longer on your pussy, licking your folds and tasting every bit of you. he likes the way you moan his name, and the way your fingers grasp at the sheets and his hair. you’re a lot more addictive than any other girl he’s ever met and fuck if he’s going to let this be the one and only time he gets to have you.

eita pulls his finger out of you, lining his dick in front of your entrance, moving the hair away from your face. you’re all hot and bothered and he really wants to know what you look like when you’re getting fucked. probably better than anything he’s ever seen—in person or on video.

he leans down, hands on either side of you, silently begging you to just tell him to stop but you don’t. your hands only trace a trail down his chest and he can’t keep still anymore.

“fuck, can’t take it anymore,” he groans into your ear, body pressed on top of yours as he gently nibs on your lobe. “i’ll try to go slow, okay? but you’re so fucking hot like this i can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

“just do it, i don’t care, i need you,” you tell him, all rushed and muffled because both of you are at your wit’s end.

that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s slowly pushing himself into you, groaning out your name as he feels your tight, gummy walls through the latex, your nails already digging into his back.

“you okay?” he asks, stilling for a moment.

“i’ll get used to it,” you tell him, feeling the burn from the stretch of your first time. “just fuck me already, please.”

shit-eating smirk on his face, he mocks you, white hair falling all over you, the messiness of it only making him look even more like bad news. he moves his hips achingly slow, watching every minor change in your expression, from the way your brows arch to the way you bite your lip.

“we’re alone in here, princess, don’t hide your sounds,” he tells you, a hint of condescension in his tone.

until tonight, you didn’t think you’d ever let him touch you like this, feel you this intimately. yet here he is, pushing your bra up and putting your nipple in his mouth while he fucks into you, tongue flicking at your perky bud, making you feel all sorts of things you’ve never experienced before.

and you listen to him, his name falling out your mouth more times tonight than it has since the time you’ve known him—his lips moving from your chest to your neck to your lips, hungry as if he absolutely needs to claim his territory on every part of you.

eita shifts so that he can look at all of you, watch as your breasts bounce as he thrusts in and out of you, watch as your slick coats the base of his dick as you beg him not to stop, as if he could. fuck, he could cum just like this but he doesn’t want it to end so soon. you’ve already creamed around him what, twice now? you’re sensitive, oh so sensitive, squirming at every slight movement, mewling uncontrollably as he pinches your clit, threatening to cum again when he turns you around, gets you on your knees, slapping your ass.

how the fuck is he supposed to fuck anybody else now when you’re the most perfect girl he’s ever seen?

you arch your back, propped up on your palms as you look over your shoulder at him, his hips still moving, controlling himself as he makes absolutely sure to savour this moment tonight. 

but, like always, you always find a way to surprise him, mischief behind those eyes as you smirk at him; you smirk at him like you know how much he loves this.

“eita.” the way you say his name is so dangerous—like he’s caught in your web with no way out. “cum inside me?”

and just like that, he obeys, unintentionally, his body toppling on top of you, the weakest, guttural moan coming out of him ever as he feels you cumming at the same time too, his fingers rubbing circles on your clit, riding you through it.

fuck, he thinks as he looks at you under him, both of you wet from the rain or sweating, he can’t even tell, but what he knows is that he’s so, so fucked after what happened tonight.

shit, he wants more of you.