rinstars

[rinstars]

risa hi will we get an epilogue for cry for me?

yk what i actually got a few hundred words of that written but ive never finished it 😭 do yall still want it??

[rinstars]

「 STUCK IN THE MIDDLE 」 💧 PROLOGUE

PAIRING : Gojo Satoru x Reader.

OTHER CHARACTERS : Geto Suguru. Ieiri Shoko. Iori Utahime. Nanami Kento. Fushiguro Megumi. MORE....

GENRE : Angst.

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Unrequited Love. Childhood Friends. Toxicity. Friends with benefits. Past relationships. Set in the Jujutsu World (will take & use canon events but NOT exactly canon compliant). Profanity. Injury & Violence.

SYNOPSIS : For as long as you could remember, there was Utahime and Satoru. From the chaos of your years together at Jujutsu High to the following years of going through the crushing burden of having to teach young sorcerers in training, they have always existed in every variation of your memories. They’ve been together for as long as you could remember and your lifelong love and admiration for Gojo Satoru has no place in the friend group you’ve all tried so hard to keep together. There has only been Utahime and Satoru... Until there wasn’t. And suddenly, you’ve found yourself stuck in the middle of it all.

TAGLIST : OPEN

The clouds swallow every bit of light the moon is supposed to give, casting the room in swirling shadows and creeping darkness. If you listen closely, ignoring the thunderous beating of your heart against your chest, you’ll hear the melodic howling of the wind. There was something ominous about tonight. Ten or so crows fly in a never-ending circle—almost as if telling you something. Like a bad omen, a wolf dog howls in the distance. It’s going to be a long night and you know it. 

You’ve known it since you saw the familiar black car pulling up as you watch through the windows of your room. You’ve known it since you decided to open the doors to your home five hours ago—a slave to the jewel blue eyes of the man you’ve loved for as long as you could remember. You’ve known it since you felt the sharp pain against your back as he slammed you against the mahogany, lips latching onto your neck with a sharp inhale of exhilaration. As if he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you. Like you are the salvation from the hell he’s been living. You’ve known it since he pushed himself into you. Some kind of twisted fulfillment to the dreams you’ve prayed for every single night.

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyelids drooping shut as he enters your warmth. 

The intrusion makes you clench involuntarily, toes curling as the first taste of heaven engulfs your whole body. A whimper escapes through your lips, a small cry of both pain and pleasure. His length fills you up to the brim. Chokes down air from your lungs until you start feeling like you couldn’t breathe. He fits so perfectly inside you with every ridge, every vein grating into the gummy walls of your insides and hitting every sensitive part of you. 

When he starts to move, building his pace and starting slow, you feel yourself leak even more—inner thighs slick with the cream he’s messily spreading all over the both of you. Mindlessly, he starts to move even faster, length pumping in and out of you in an attempt to reach your highs. The head of his cock nudges your cervix, a painful knock that sends your mind reeling. A powerful and welcome pain that keeps your head light with eyes rolled back and a scream building up from the back of your throat.

Reaching up, you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his rough thrusts with equally rough jolts of your hips. Grinding against his length, you feel him reach even deeper inside you causing you to clench harshly, a scream ripping from your throat as you feel his own arms wrap around your waist to steady you.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, teeth gritted. “Loosen up, sweetheart. Gonna—fuck, gonna lose my fucking mind. Relax, sweetheart, y-yeah— shit, that's it, good girl.”

The room fills with a plethora of your labored breathing and curses, a sign of the ecstasy that connects you with the man beneath you. With shaky thighs, you lift yourself up from him, a squirt of juices wetting his abdomen and thighs. You feel yourself fading out of consciousness, insides overstimulated from the feeling of the strongest fucking in and out of your womb. Still, you fight it, dropping back down his thigh with teary eyes as you reach up to cradle his face.

“More, ‘Toru,” you moan with a sluggish grin, nipples hard and rubbing against his sweaty chest. “Wanted this for so long, ‘Toru. Needed this so, so bad. Please, please, keep going—nnghhh.”

He ignored all of this, fingers silently  reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit—drawing you closer and closer to another orgasm while his other fingers splay against the small of your back, holding you close to him.

Everything is so perfect. 

You against him, him against you. Your bodies in perfect rhythm and melody. This is a dream come true. It's that one moment in life that makes you go, finally. Every breath, every feeling, every touch, every connection of your body with his gets amplified and it's all you could see and hear and feel. 

It's all you are. It's all you ever wish to be.

Until everything in the moment fades away from you as you reach another orgasm, your walls warming with the flow of his own high releasing inside you. Then, you barely even feel the next rounds of movement as he continues moving in and out of you. Suddenly, all you could feel and hear was that voice in your head telling you all the reasons why this is wrong. Suddenly, the pleasure and achievement that came with Gojo Satoru finally seeing you in a different light and getting intimate with you is crushed by the pain that reminds you why this is nothing to be proud of. 

This wasn't supposed to happen.

With a strike of pain on your chest, you hear your own voice in your head. Playing over and over like a broken record. Whispering until it's a loud blaring in your thoughts:

This is a mistake. 

He's your fucking best friend. She's your friend too.

He's broken, he's sad, he's confused. 

They've just broken up.

He's just using you. 

All of these play into your head like a melody you're not ever going to forget. It's a steady hum within you. A constant reminder that never fails to make you flinch even as he pulls out of you and falls unconscious with sleep on your side of the bed. Like a persistent devil, your thoughts are in chaos until the moment you shut your eyes on the bed beside him—curtain drawn for you couldn't stand to see the bad omens so painfully and obviously laid out as a reminder of what all of this is and what it isn't.

You're never going to forget, you think.

Not as your heart breaks when you hear the silent buzz of Infinity enveloping Gojo Satoru—a thing to keep everyone at a distance, a sound inaudible to everyone else in the world but you. 

[rinstars]

「 STUCK IN THE MIDDLE 」 💧 PROLOGUE

PAIRING : Gojo Satoru x Reader.

OTHER CHARACTERS : Geto Suguru. Ieiri Shoko. Iori Utahime. Nanami Kento. Fushiguro Megumi. MORE....

GENRE : Angst.

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Unrequited Love. Childhood Friends. Toxicity. Friends with benefits. Past relationships. Set in the Jujutsu World (will take & use canon events but NOT exactly canon compliant). Profanity. Injury & Violence.

SYNOPSIS : For as long as you could remember, there was Utahime and Satoru. From the chaos of your years together at Jujutsu High to the following years of going through the crushing burden of having to teach young sorcerers in training, they have always existed in every variation of your memories. They’ve been together for as long as you could remember and your lifelong love and admiration for Gojo Satoru has no place in the friend group you’ve all tried so hard to keep together. There has only been Utahime and Satoru... Until there wasn’t. And suddenly, you’ve found yourself stuck in the middle of it all.

TAGLIST : OPEN

The clouds swallow every bit of light the moon is supposed to give, casting the room in swirling shadows and creeping darkness. If you listen closely, ignoring the thunderous beating of your heart against your chest, you’ll hear the melodic howling of the wind. There was something ominous about tonight. Ten or so crows fly in a never-ending circle—almost as if telling you something. Like a bad omen, a wolf dog howls in the distance. It’s going to be a long night and you know it. 

You’ve known it since you saw the familiar black car pulling up as you watch through the windows of your room. You’ve known it since you decided to open the doors to your home five hours ago—a slave to the jewel blue eyes of the man you’ve loved for as long as you could remember. You’ve known it since you felt the sharp pain against your back as he slammed you against the mahogany, lips latching onto your neck with a sharp inhale of exhilaration. As if he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you. Like you are the salvation from the hell he’s been living. You’ve known it since he pushed himself into you. Some kind of twisted fulfillment to the dreams you’ve prayed for every single night.

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyelids drooping shut as he enters your warmth. 

The intrusion makes you clench involuntarily, toes curling as the first taste of heaven engulfs your whole body. A whimper escapes through your lips, a small cry of both pain and pleasure. His length fills you up to the brim. Chokes down air from your lungs until you start feeling like you couldn’t breathe. He fits so perfectly inside you with every ridge, every vein grating into the gummy walls of your insides and hitting every sensitive part of you. 

When he starts to move, building his pace and starting slow, you feel yourself leak even more—inner thighs slick with the cream he’s messily spreading all over the both of you. Mindlessly, he starts to move even faster, length pumping in and out of you in an attempt to reach your highs. The head of his cock nudges your cervix, a painful knock that sends your mind reeling. A powerful and welcome pain that keeps your head light with eyes rolled back and a scream building up from the back of your throat.

Reaching up, you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his rough thrusts with equally rough jolts of your hips. Grinding against his length, you feel him reach even deeper inside you causing you to clench harshly, a scream ripping from your throat as you feel his own arms wrap around your waist to steady you.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, teeth gritted. “Loosen up, sweetheart. Gonna—fuck, gonna lose my fucking mind. Relax, sweetheart, y-yeah— shit, that's it, good girl.”

The room fills with a plethora of your labored breathing and curses, a sign of the ecstasy that connects you with the man beneath you. With shaky thighs, you lift yourself up from him, a squirt of juices wetting his abdomen and thighs. You feel yourself fading out of consciousness, insides overstimulated from the feeling of the strongest fucking in and out of your womb. Still, you fight it, dropping back down his thigh with teary eyes as you reach up to cradle his face.

“More, ‘Toru,” you moan with a sluggish grin, nipples hard and rubbing against his sweaty chest. “Wanted this for so long, ‘Toru. Needed this so, so bad. Please, please, keep going—nnghhh.”

He ignored all of this, fingers silently  reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit—drawing you closer and closer to another orgasm while his other fingers splay against the small of your back, holding you close to him.

Everything is so perfect. 

You against him, him against you. Your bodies in perfect rhythm and melody. This is a dream come true. It's that one moment in life that makes you go, finally. Every breath, every feeling, every touch, every connection of your body with his gets amplified and it's all you could see and hear and feel. 

It's all you are. It's all you ever wish to be.

Until everything in the moment fades away from you as you reach another orgasm, your walls warming with the flow of his own high releasing inside you. Then, you barely even feel the next rounds of movement as he continues moving in and out of you. Suddenly, all you could feel and hear was that voice in your head telling you all the reasons why this is wrong. Suddenly, the pleasure and achievement that came with Gojo Satoru finally seeing you in a different light and getting intimate with you is crushed by the pain that reminds you why this is nothing to be proud of. 

This wasn't supposed to happen.

With a strike of pain on your chest, you hear your own voice in your head. Playing over and over like a broken record. Whispering until it's a loud blaring in your thoughts:

This is a mistake. 

He's your fucking best friend. She's your friend too.

He's broken, he's sad, he's confused. 

They've just broken up.

He's just using you. 

All of these play into your head like a melody you're not ever going to forget. It's a steady hum within you. A constant reminder that never fails to make you flinch even as he pulls out of you and falls unconscious with sleep on your side of the bed. Like a persistent devil, your thoughts are in chaos until the moment you shut your eyes on the bed beside him—curtain drawn for you couldn't stand to see the bad omens so painfully and obviously laid out as a reminder of what all of this is and what it isn't.

You're never going to forget, you think.

Not as your heart breaks when you hear the silent buzz of Infinity enveloping Gojo Satoru—a thing to keep everyone at a distance, a sound inaudible to everyone else in the world but you. 

[rinstars]

「 STUCK IN THE MIDDLE 」 💧 PROLOGUE

PAIRING : Gojo Satoru x Reader.

OTHER CHARACTERS : Geto Suguru. Ieiri Shoko. Iori Utahime. Nanami Kento. Fushiguro Megumi. MORE....

GENRE : Angst.

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Unrequited Love. Childhood Friends. Toxicity. Friends with benefits. Past relationships. Set in the Jujutsu World (will take & use canon events but NOT exactly canon compliant). Profanity. Injury & Violence.

SYNOPSIS : For as long as you could remember, there was Utahime and Satoru. From the chaos of your years together at Jujutsu High to the following years of going through the crushing burden of having to teach young sorcerers in training, they have always existed in every variation of your memories. They’ve been together for as long as you could remember and your lifelong love and admiration for Gojo Satoru has no place in the friend group you’ve all tried so hard to keep together. There has only been Utahime and Satoru... Until there wasn’t. And suddenly, you’ve found yourself stuck in the middle of it all.

TAGLIST : OPEN

The clouds swallow every bit of light the moon is supposed to give, casting the room in swirling shadows and creeping darkness. If you listen closely, ignoring the thunderous beating of your heart against your chest, you’ll hear the melodic howling of the wind. There was something ominous about tonight. Ten or so crows fly in a never-ending circle—almost as if telling you something. Like a bad omen, a wolf dog howls in the distance. It’s going to be a long night and you know it. 

You’ve known it since you saw the familiar black car pulling up as you watch through the windows of your room. You’ve known it since you decided to open the doors to your home five hours ago—a slave to the jewel blue eyes of the man you’ve loved for as long as you could remember. You’ve known it since you felt the sharp pain against your back as he slammed you against the mahogany, lips latching onto your neck with a sharp inhale of exhilaration. As if he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you. Like you are the salvation from the hell he’s been living. You’ve known it since he pushed himself into you. Some kind of twisted fulfillment to the dreams you’ve prayed for every single night.

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyelids drooping shut as he enters your warmth. 

The intrusion makes you clench involuntarily, toes curling as the first taste of heaven engulfs your whole body. A whimper escapes through your lips, a small cry of both pain and pleasure. His length fills you up to the brim. Chokes down air from your lungs until you start feeling like you couldn’t breathe. He fits so perfectly inside you with every ridge, every vein grating into the gummy walls of your insides and hitting every sensitive part of you. 

When he starts to move, building his pace and starting slow, you feel yourself leak even more—inner thighs slick with the cream he’s messily spreading all over the both of you. Mindlessly, he starts to move even faster, length pumping in and out of you in an attempt to reach your highs. The head of his cock nudges your cervix, a painful knock that sends your mind reeling. A powerful and welcome pain that keeps your head light with eyes rolled back and a scream building up from the back of your throat.

Reaching up, you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his rough thrusts with equally rough jolts of your hips. Grinding against his length, you feel him reach even deeper inside you causing you to clench harshly, a scream ripping from your throat as you feel his own arms wrap around your waist to steady you.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, teeth gritted. “Loosen up, sweetheart. Gonna—fuck, gonna lose my fucking mind. Relax, sweetheart, y-yeah— shit, that's it, good girl.”

The room fills with a plethora of your labored breathing and curses, a sign of the ecstasy that connects you with the man beneath you. With shaky thighs, you lift yourself up from him, a squirt of juices wetting his abdomen and thighs. You feel yourself fading out of consciousness, insides overstimulated from the feeling of the strongest fucking in and out of your womb. Still, you fight it, dropping back down his thigh with teary eyes as you reach up to cradle his face.

“More, ‘Toru,” you moan with a sluggish grin, nipples hard and rubbing against his sweaty chest. “Wanted this for so long, ‘Toru. Needed this so, so bad. Please, please, keep going—nnghhh.”

He ignored all of this, fingers silently  reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit—drawing you closer and closer to another orgasm while his other fingers splay against the small of your back, holding you close to him.

Everything is so perfect. 

You against him, him against you. Your bodies in perfect rhythm and melody. This is a dream come true. It's that one moment in life that makes you go, finally. Every breath, every feeling, every touch, every connection of your body with his gets amplified and it's all you could see and hear and feel. 

It's all you are. It's all you ever wish to be.

Until everything in the moment fades away from you as you reach another orgasm, your walls warming with the flow of his own high releasing inside you. Then, you barely even feel the next rounds of movement as he continues moving in and out of you. Suddenly, all you could feel and hear was that voice in your head telling you all the reasons why this is wrong. Suddenly, the pleasure and achievement that came with Gojo Satoru finally seeing you in a different light and getting intimate with you is crushed by the pain that reminds you why this is nothing to be proud of. 

This wasn't supposed to happen.

With a strike of pain on your chest, you hear your own voice in your head. Playing over and over like a broken record. Whispering until it's a loud blaring in your thoughts:

This is a mistake. 

He's your fucking best friend. She's your friend too.

He's broken, he's sad, he's confused. 

They've just broken up.

He's just using you. 

All of these play into your head like a melody you're not ever going to forget. It's a steady hum within you. A constant reminder that never fails to make you flinch even as he pulls out of you and falls unconscious with sleep on your side of the bed. Like a persistent devil, your thoughts are in chaos until the moment you shut your eyes on the bed beside him—curtain drawn for you couldn't stand to see the bad omens so painfully and obviously laid out as a reminder of what all of this is and what it isn't.

You're never going to forget, you think.

Not as your heart breaks when you hear the silent buzz of Infinity enveloping Gojo Satoru—a thing to keep everyone at a distance, a sound inaudible to everyone else in the world but you. 

[rinstars]

soo keen for your new series!

thank uuu bae :( ill try to post tonight lmao its a shot in the dark and if no one wants go read, its whatever i just felt like writing fr BUT IM SO HAPPY SOME OF YALL R ALR EXCITED????

[rinstars]

you and violet making a comeback my 2020-2021 hq phase is giggling and crying!! just need sukirichi to comeback as well T.T

i knowwww omg im just as excited as u are im literally violet's #1 fan 😂 hi @animatedrapture 🫶🏻

[rinstars]

i missed u <3 it's good to see you back hehehe

chloeeee bae my love 😭🫶🏻 i missed u too!!! how have u been?

[rinstars]

accidentally posted the masterlist of the new gojo series ehjeshjshsjehej

[rinstars]

finished a whole prologue to a whole series yall...... it was never that serious

in so much gojo geto sukuna brainrot rn i might just write something gutwrenchingly painful for either one of them 😂

[rinstars]

MISSED U BAE SO MUCH PLEASE

MISSED UUUU ALL TOO SO MUCH 😭🤍 ty for always sticking around omg ily

[rinstars]

ONG HELloo?? WELCOME BACK

hiiii darling 🫶🏻🫶🏻 its almost vacation (sooo im kinda back) 😁

[rinstars]

opening the docs rn IS IT THAT SERIOUSJEUOEHWKSH

in so much gojo geto sukuna brainrot rn i might just write something gutwrenchingly painful for either one of them 😂

[rinstars]

in so much gojo geto sukuna brainrot rn i might just write something gutwrenchingly painful for either one of them 😂

[rinstars]

i just wanted to tell u that i found ur blog a few years ago when life was genuinely so much better for me

everytime i read your work i think back to hpw happy and content i was. your blog is a serious safe space for me <3

omg :(( that makes me so happy. i wish i can keep writing more cause i really have so many ideas and i miss it so so much but i just cant find the time anymore.

i am so glad we all still have this blog to look back on happy times <3

[rinstars]

hi 🖤

[rinstars]

HOLY SHIT IVE BEEN DREAMING OF THIS DAY I MISSED UUUU

HSKWHKWHQIEUE HIIII I MISSED U ALL TOO I HAVE SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO WRITE

[rinstars]

「 ARTIFICE 」 ♡ TRACK 1 : IF WALLS COULD TALK

PAIRING : Suna Rintarō x Reader.

GENRE : Angst. Band!AU

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Arranged Marriage. Enemies to Lovers. Intoxication. Drinking, drugs, cigarettes, sex. Basically typical band members in their 20s. A whole lot of other things I can't really say for the plot.

SYNOPSIS : When the career you've dreamt of your entire life is suddenly failing, your only way of salvation left is to team up with the most popular member and guitarist of Japan's top band and agree with an arranged marriage that shouldn't take more than 3 years. But when one thing leads to another, getting out of your relationship without a broken heart suddenly seems impossible with the intricate web of deceit your beloved husband has woven for both of you.

PS NOTE : ARTIFICE follows a then-now timeline. It means the timeline switches almost every chapter so the next one will take place at the present timeline. Welcome to the world of ARTIFICE!!! Hope you all enjoy it <3 Here's 5.7k words for TRACK 1.

photo credits to the lovely alice who let me use the picture with permission <3 DO NOT use the art somewhere else & DO NOT mention this fic outside tumblr.

TAGLIST : OPEN

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST | NEXT

THEN

Slender fingers encircle your wrist before you are pulled back from crossing the distance to your house and slapped by cold, ring-clad fingers.

You knew they were crazy.

What you didn’t expect was that they would be insane.

Your head slowly rears back from its angled position on the left to face your assaulter upright in the face. Immediately, you could tell it isn't some mother you managed to piss off by blasting music aloud at 2 in the morning complaining about not being able to send her kids to sleep thanks to your “atrocities", no. She is young. Probably around your age. She looks as though you are the worst discovery of her life as much as she is the worst occurrence of your morning. Long wavy hair dyed something trendy and ombré paired with beautiful—albeit fake—tanned skin and swollen blush lips. She looks every bit the dread you didn’t want to encounter, every bit the girl who comes stumbling out of his house every day.

This neighbourhood is a chore.

Someone’s boyfriend is always stumbling down the front yard of his girlfriend’s house with a barely functional mind, high from sex. A married couple of ten years bickering on who should take the trash out today because both of them swear they did it the day before. A mother confronts a young girl in her teens telling her to never play her "demonic" music again.

Then, in front of you, a woman reeking of sex and alcohol, decides slapping the hangover out of a stranger as she starts making assumptions in her head is the perfect addition to the list.

You look at her incredulously, appalled by her display of violence this early in the morning. You’d probably retaliate and give her a piece of your mind if you weren’t so preoccupied with doing something about the problem you’ve been itching to solve since you woke up—with a pounding headache and a stench of alcohol on your breath, by the way.

So, instead of trying to make sense of things, you pull your arm away from her, shaking your head lightly, “I don’t really have time for this.”

“No, you make time for this,” she tugs you back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in frustration. “You have the time to sneak so early in the morning to fuck my boyfriend but you can’t make time for the consequences? You're a fucking whore, YN."

“I’m pretty sure he’s not even your boyfriend,” you close your eyes in an attempt to regain composure, ignoring the fact that she knows your name and that you would even consider sleeping with the man. You must have a reputation after all—doesn’t mean it’s the type of reputation you would like to have.

She ignores you, "Leave him alone."

"Oh, I'd love to! I gladly would!" You throw your hands in the air, laughing mockingly as if you've both finally found an equal ground to agree on. "I just wish he'd leave me alone too!"

She flinches back like she can't believe what you just said, "What does that even mean?"

"He's—"

Almost as if on cue, before you could even respond that he's a jerk who truly never leaves you alone, your eyes fly over to the spot past her shoulders, meeting the gaze of a drunk-faced guitarist who's already slipping a cigarette past his swollen lips. Bloodshot eyes meet yours through his dishevelled hair, leaning himself against the wall of his home as he looks between you and his girl of the night as you face each other off. Slowly, a smirk crawls on his lips, brows raising at you like he knows exactly what's going on.

"Well, if it isn't the devil himself," you sing-song, pulling your wrist away from the girl to pluck something from the back pocket of your dirty jeans.

"Great fucking morning to you too," he greets gravelly, voice scratchy from the nightlong partying, drinking, and smoking. The sound makes you flinch. He truly doesn't know any better—treating his voice like that. "Enjoyed the night?"

Glaring at him, you take a step away from the girl and closer to him, thrusting the piece of paper to his chest. He knows what the night has been like for you. You're pretty sure he's just pushing your buttons and Hell be damned if you let him get away with the things he does.

"Woah," he chuckles, eyes following your hand on his chest as you press him down. "Bit too early in the morning, yeah?"

"You leave my fucking songs alone," you ignore his obvious attempt at riling the other girl up by suggesting you're trying to hit on him and instead getting straight to the point. After all, what you came barging into his house for is the stack of papers he stole from you. Your songs. Because he thinks he could do so much better and he has to rub it in your face, all the damn time, how all your lyrics are wasted on the melodies you can't ever complete.

Waving the papers on his face, now tainted with his handwriting of chords that hovers above your words, you meet his eyes which now look even more mischievous than the last.

"Can't help it when I see a shitty song," he shrugs, eyes not leaving your face as he looks for a reaction. A reaction he knows you're about to give. "Talent fair's not much longer. Thought you could use the help, yeah?"

This man is impossible.

Pushing yourself off of him, you walk backwards to your house, knowing conversation with him is simply not gonna work. You see the girl attempt a step towards you in the corner of your eye—probably because she still thinks whatever tension was going off between you and him was anything but hatred—and send her a look. He follows your retreat with his eyes, cigarette turning a bright orange as it stays between his middle and forefinger.

"I don't need your damn help," you whisper hoarsely when he pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards you, voice disappointingly scratchy from the night before. "Take your shitty voice with your shitty melodies up your ass and continue being this party, underground, pop-rock band nobody cares about."

Cocking his head to the side, he narrows his eyes at you, running a hand from the top of your head to the back of your neck before levelling his gaze, "Well you seem to care so much since you know exactly what type of music we play, then? Nice to know you pay so much attention to my voice, you'd have an opinion over it. Never thought you'd be such a fan."

"Go to hell, Suna," you hiss, holding his wrist and attempting to pull it away from your hair.

"That could be a new song, yeah?" He tightens his hold on you, smirks so taunting you could punch his pretty little face that looks so frustratingly sexy even in his messy, dirty woke-up-like-this look. Mockingly, he bites back, "With Mira's boring, childish melodies, though, 'm not sure how it'd work."

"Do not call me that," you scoff unbelievingly, pushing at his chest.

"Why not?" He raises his brows, voice smooth in a quiet whisper. "Isn't that what you sign on those songs?" He gestures at the papers in your hands, all signed with 実来. Characters meaning truth and become. The exact opposite of his band—ARTIFICE.

You give him a hard look, "That is none of your business."

Finally letting go of you with a chuckle, he turns his back with a dismissive movement of his hand, slinging his arm around the girl who has been watching the entire exchange with a stunned expression. Kissing her hair, he angles his head so his eyes could meet yours, "Good luck, YN. Don't lose this year.. again."

Releasing a harsh breath, you stomp your way to your house, wind blowing the hair around your greasy hair as you cross the short distance. Once inside, you hear one of your best friends call out from the living room but right now you really couldn't care less. If Suna Rintarō is gonna wage a war on you then he'd get it.

Throwing your papers on the bed, you take a quick shower—rinsing off the smoke and alcohol from last night along with the grease caused by the moist bodies in the air and whatever it was mixed in the air of Atsumu's party. The blonde twin takes too much pride in throwing the best parties that he always goes overboard. You don't even know why you attended. Oikawa was so hell-bent on attending, it practically left you no choice. No matter if you hated the band and its members—Oikawa didn't really care. At the very least, you're thankful you still had Hana—your other best friend who's empathetic enough to your hatred and emotions against the band, though you've lost her as well to some jock halfway through the night.

Biggest mistake of your life so far, to say the least. Because it turns out, you'd have to endure hours of their music playing on the speakers, watching Sakusa Kiyoomi drown himself in the booze, Osamu Miya smoke every kind of joint passed to him, Atsumu Miya go skinny dipping and Suna Rintarō stuff his face with every girl around. Typical scenarios in the parties thrown by the band, you suppose. But still, it didn't mean you liked seeing it.

What's worse, Suna Rintarō thought it'd be a nice idea to stumble over to your peaceful side, pulling his Gibson out to play a song you didn’t recognize until he was singing the lyrics to the song you're pretty sure you wrote. Suddenly, the disappearance of your notes made a whole lot of sense. Surely, if anyone in the world had the least bit of interest and responsibility for your music, it would be Suna. And if anyone is a big of a jerk enough to create a whole melody for it then play it for you in a party where he'd just finished probably finishing someone off, then it'd be him as well.

You truly believe you have never met someone more infuriating than the guy. With his stupid guitar case always hanging on his shoulders, notebook full of his chords and lyrics hanging on one of the pockets, slightly tattooed arms, and dark disheveled hair. The strong woody cool scent that follows him wherever he goes mixed with the strong remnants of his cigarettes commands the whole campus. The whole female population adores him. You'd think that was the only reason his band still kept getting the gigs—because an audience follows them wherever they go. Doesn't matter if there was music or not.

Guys liked you too, alright. It wasn't that they didn't. The problem is, your music wasn't for them and there definitely were more girls available around who didn't spend time with them trying to figure out which lyric would rhyme the best for a verse. Guys are a lot harder to string along especially when you need to be with multiple of them to get at least half an audience the band has.

Your problems all started when you entered university, excited to sign your name for the music club and create music with people who liked making it, when you'd find out the only people who had as much love for music as you did are the very ones you wouldn't get along with. After all, how would you ever get along when neither you nor the members of the band ever agreed on one thing. Not in the arrangements of the songs, not in the order of performances, not in revision or recording or lyrics—anything. Your music was too different from theirs. The other members of the band would probably be a lot more open to your suggestions if their frontman and leader didn't have so much disagreements to say.

He prides himself as a musical genius, which is probably true considering his father is a successful owner of a recording company and his mother who passed away a few years ago used to be a traditional singer in Japan. He's got every single bit a good musician should have. He writes their own lyrics—although you heard he almost always produces the best ones only when he's high. He's a frontman but he plays the electric guitar in their performances too. He's very involved in the arrangement of their songs but is overall very lax with how his members decide to play their parts.

They've definitely made a name in the underground and pubs and bars that allowed them to play—regardless if the audience weren't actually those who enjoyed their music. After all, how could they not? The frontman is a sexy, tattooed rich boy whose living parent is so unsupportive of the career he wants to take so he's stuck making a name for himself on his own. Nobody can resist such backstory and a physical appearance that screams the next top frontman of the next top band in the world. He's got it all. Money, girls, solid members, physique. His members are no different. They're the perfect recipe for success.

Too bad, his lyrics are almost always detached from feelings. Too bad the music club adviser always asks for your help in composing his songs that always seem to lack emotions. Too bad he's too prideful to just accept your help just as you are too prideful to accept his every time you get criticized for your melodies.

Too bad you needed each other in your music and neither of you would ever admit it.

That's how it started and that's how it's always been for the past two years. Being a junior in college, you'd think you and Suna would grow past being silly little rivals who disagreed on everything—despite how good and formidable each other's opinions could be—just for the purpose of disagreeing. You certainly could look past everything if you tried but if Suna Rintarō is not backing down, neither would you. So, here you are, stuck in this endless loop of arguments and the victim of each other's annoying antics and pranks.

Now, the talent fair is just around the corner. Being a junior and all, it is even more important for both of you to do well. Your university's prestigious enough that important people come to watch every year and as a junior, the pressure is on for you to do well and have some offers waiting. It would greatly ease your graduation anxiety if you knew something was waiting for you. Suna doesn't need it. His father is a CEO of a recording company and whether his father supports him or not, he's still the only one set to inherit it someday. Though, you're not sure Suna's pride will ever allow him to take something from his father.

It doesn't matter what he thinks, though. You are winning this year and you refuse to keep letting a certain golden-green-eyed man pretend like winning last year meant anything about who's winning this time around. You both have one win each on your bags and you'll be damned to let him have two consecutive wins. He's not even gonna see what's coming to him.

A knock on your door snaps you out of it, not realizing that you've been gripping your pen so hard it was turning your knuckles white. Without waiting for an invitation to come in, your best friend comes in, an eyebrow raised like she knows exactly what's gotten you into a sour mood so early in the morning.

"Boy problems?" she asks, plopping down on the bed beside you with a bounce.

"Arguing with Suna Rintarō because he took my lyrics and tried to do something about it does not fit into any kind of boy problems," you groan, falling down on the bed and covering your eyes with your arms.

"Why are you even always fighting each other?" She questions as if she doesn't already know the answer. She's a year older than you and Suna and you got to know her because you shared a table with her in the library in your freshman year. Since then, she's just always been around. You wouldn't say she's at Oikawa's level of best friend but she is definitely the only girl friend you've ever had. She relates with things Oikawa never would.

"Hana, you know he's a dick."

"A sexy one at that."

Pushing yourself from lying down, you gape at your friend who returns your shock with an amused expression. "What?" She innocently plays it off. "Don't tell me you don't find him sexy."

Grimacing, you gather the papers that have fallen all around you to put them all together in one pile. "That's not the point."

"That wasn't my question," she pressed.

With a defeated sigh, you frown, "He is, that's the problem. But he's such an asshole it overpowers the sexy."

"You should just try getting along with him," she moves closer to you, propping herself up on her elbows while she lays on her side.

"Are you on his side or mine?" you narrow your eyes at her, meeting the hazel glaze of her eyes.

"Yours, of course. I was just saying, he's sexy! Imagine the make-up sex," her eyes brighten, lips tugging into a grin as she watches your expression turn wary.

"No make-up sex happening, Hana. None," you dismiss her, ignoring the heat that shouldn't have been spreading across your stomach at the mention of Suna Rintarō and sex together in one sentence.

Now you sound like a hormonal teenager.

Suna Rintarō makes you crazy. In every way possible.

Suna thinks it's ridiculous how you think you have a chance against them at this year's fair. You don't. Not when you already lost last year. If you think he'd back down because his father owns a recording company, then you're out of luck because he's not signing shit to his father and giving him rights to his songs. No way in hell.

That leaves him with only one option: to do so fucking well in the talent fair that they win and all eyes will be on them. Nobody will even remember your silly slow-beat acoustics because they are what they are—boring. Boring despite how damn good the lyrics are. He thinks it's wasted on you. He believes if he owned the songs instead of you and was able to put some sick guitar riff or drum kick in there somewhere, your songs would be far more successful.

Too bad nobody pays that much attention to the lyrics anymore and no matter how good the lyrics or the voice are, no one will buy a record that puts them to sleep. Sure, your voice is a wonder to listen to. Absolutely, infuriatingly amazing. Without a doubt. And still, it is too easy to be forgotten.

Suna turns his engine off, the roar of his brand new BMW fading out. Beside him, he notices the twins arrive in a Range Rover, bringing one car instead of the usual separate ones. Unlocking the doors, he meets the twins in the middle, the grey-haired twin clapping his back when he walks alongside them.

Almost immediately, a girl latches herself into Atsumu's arms, making the twin roll his eyes in ridicule. Suna doesn't blame her. The drummer has always had girls fawning over him but since his hair got a bit longer and he started getting a few tattoos here and there, he is nothing but a walking candy to the ladies' eyes. Osamu is not much different. The girls are all over him as much as his twin. The only thing that sets them apart is the fact that the grey-haired twin doesn't engage every single one of them.

"Morning, Miya," the girl giggles, snuggling close to Atsumu's arms.

The blonde hums, "Mornin', baby."

"You game for tonight? Got a small party to throw," she runs a finger on his chest. "Not as good as yours, I'd guess but you know."

On a Monday night? These people have got to be deranged, Suna thinks. The people attending and his bandmate who he's guessing would be there too.

"Later, princess," Atsumu grins down at her, confirming Suna's silent musings. "Who else is coming?"

"Oh, a lot of them," She shrugs, a knowing glint in her eyes almost as if that's some kind of secret message for a lot of girls to keep you company. Suna would know. It usually works for him. Averting her eyes, she eyes the two other men beside Atsumu—lingering longer on the twin when Suna refuses to meet her eyes. "You could come too, Osamu. Gon' be lots of fun with you there."

Osamu usually wouldn't be baited into things like this. Not when he knows firsthand the many things he has left to do with Suna in arrangements. They're already struggling with the lyrics. Can't handle fucking up the melodies as well.

A certain dark-haired man with his usual scowl and mask in place falls into a silent step with them, earphones hanging down the front of his chest as he effectively blocks out any invitation. Could be unintentional or on purpose. He could never tell with this guy.

Kiyoomi is more or less the same as Osamu except his brooding and cold personality makes it a lot harder for girls to approach. Not that Suna is in any position to talk shit about his bassist. Nobody ever tries very hard to get with him. It's either they try once and never try again after facing his rejection or he sends a clear message about the only time when they should ever try.

Suna likes girls. A whole lot of them. He enjoys fucking them, playing with them, hanging with them. If he tried, he couldn't count how many girls he's kissed and touched at Atsumu's party alone. This lifestyle has almost been a part of him for a long time. Don't get him wrong on that.

However, he can keep his dick in his pants. To him, there's the right time for things and if it interferes with whatever more important things he's doing, he wouldn't be happy to entertain them. They're basically all the same. Weed, alcohol, cigarettes, sex. It's good to have them. Great for the high and the pleasure. Yet, he sure as hell wouldn't be sky-high drunk if he had a show to sing and play on.

Atsumu couldn't care less. According to him, being high on sex and weed just makes him play the drums better. Suna doesn't exactly believe it but as long as it's not being a hindrance to the band, he normally doesn't mind. Atsumu doesn't sing. He never has his voice to worry about. On the other hand, Suna cringes at the thought of the cigarettes damaging his voice—ending everything he's tried to build. At the same time, he couldn't stop. Especially not when he's so high on stress every single time he enters the music room and sees you, causing him to take a hit almost immediately.

Diverging from the guys, he spends the day in class jotting down notes to songs he imagines playing in his head, writing down words that don't make sense to anyone but him. Annoyingly enough, he couldn't stop remembering the verses to the song you wrote—making him unconsciously make up and continue the chords he remembers making when he was spending the whole night eyeing the paper he plucked from sticking out of your bag.

He shares one class with you today. As he always has for the past 3 years. And since the professors never changed for this class, he's stuck with the same shitty seating arrangement that requires him to sit with you for an hour almost every other day. As if this class wasn't boring enough, he'd have to endure an hour with your snide remarks against him, eyes narrowing every time his elbows would so much as brush yours.

"Slept well, Mira?" He slides next to you, tone monotonous and without actual care for what you have to tell him but saying it anyway just for the purpose of using the name on purpose knowing damn well how much it infuriated you.

"Don't talk to me," you grumble, elbows accidentally brushing his and knocking his arm off the desk when you reach out for your bag, making you still.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, you raise your eyebrows at him questioningly, "You can bother me all the time with your stupidly long arms for 3 years and I can't even do it once accidentally?"

"I don't knock your damn arm off the table."

"What's got you in such a shit mood?" you narrow your eyes. You never got along but he'd always opt for the silence route whenever you sat together. What's got him so riled up now and over something so trivial too?

"You," he whispers lowly beneath his breath. "You always do."

"You dislike me that much?" you question thickly in disbelief. Was it ever that serious? Though, you do admit he annoys you in the smallest things too.

"You have no idea," he slouches in his seat and leaves it at that.

After all, Suna's never gonna admit it's because he's seriously troubled that you will solve all his problems with songwriting if only he wasn't too stubborn to accept help. Majority of the reason is because accepting your help means listening to your opinions and possibly making adjustments to the music. Most importantly, working with you.

He doesn't understand why the idea ticks him off so much but what matters is it does. The mere thought of you in his head makes him go crazy. Whatever the hell is he supposed to do when you work together and have to spend hours making music?

He might as well be insane.

The bell rings finally for him at 3 o'clock, a few hours after your class together, snapping him out of his head and immediately making him gather his things to head to the music room to play a few songs and nap. He's free for the next hour and he had better things in mind than screwing someone in the dirty tiles of the bathroom—though he's done it before.

Setting his things down, he takes one of the electric guitars perched on the stand at the corner of the room, tuning it before laying down his messy scribbles of notes. He tries playing the melody with his instrument, humming along to the chords like he imagines the song to go. He's missing a few kicks and snares here and there, along with some bass and percussion but he has the main melody down—at the very least.

Despite his antagonism towards you, he couldn't help but wish this song was his. He's not too proud to admit to himself that it's written well. He absolutely despises that your strength is the one thing he's lacking in—lyrics. If your lyrics were his, he's pretty sure he'd be a lot closer to his dream than he is now.

Feeling the built-up exhaustion hit him all the way from the night before, Suna decides to go over to the back room—a small recording booth and lay there. No one's supposed to come in until 5 o'clock so he should be good for a while. He knows everyone's schedule at this point. He'll just take a small nap, go back to his class at 4, then come back here for rehearsals.

That was until he was awakened by something—rather, someone—playing a tune on a guitar he knows is his. With a melody he knows he made. He must have left his notes in the main room but who could be there at this time? Checking his phone, he sees he's definitely past his original 4 o'clock plan and late to class when bold numbers reading 4:15 stare back at him. Still, no one is supposed to be out until 5. At least no one from the club.

Looking up from his position on the floor, he takes a peek at the huge glass window that overlooks the main room. He doesn't know what surprised him more; the fact that this person is playing his chords exactly how he would like them to be played or the fact that it's a girl—someone he doesn't know at that.

He doesn't know anyone in the club who is a girl and plays the acoustic guitar. After all, the only other girls in the club are usually vocalists or, at most, violinists. He doesn't think anyone would be out here so early skipping their classes either. Especially not you, who is the only other girl he knows who plays instruments. Either way, you play the piano, not his preferred string instrument so there's no way it'd be you.

He listens to the sound. Mesmerized by how she plays it. Suddenly, Suna is overwhelmed by the surging interest in him. Determined to find out just exactly who she is and get to know her.

The sound of his guitar flows smoothly against her fingers. The melody is emotional but powerful enough to keep listeners on the edge of their seats. He doesn't think he's ever heard anyone play the way she does. Just at the right speed, the right tension in her strums. It seems like he could hear the song play on stage and the damn song wasn't even his. It was your song.

She's angled in a way he couldn't see her face so straining his neck doesn't make much of a difference. Still, he didn't want to be caught looking at her like this like a fucking creep. Pushing himself up from the floor, he's interrupted by the buzz of his phone at the back of his jeans—a message from Osamu.

Samu

I'll be a few mins late start without me

Not bothering with a response, Suna looks up disappointed to find the room empty. Not a trace of the mysterious woman who once occupied the room with her presence and music save for the scattered papers now on the floor—as if she was in a hurry to leave.

Suna clenches his jaw in frustration, quietly cursing his best friend in his head for texting him at the worst time possible. Still, he should stop being so pissed about it. One way or another, he'll find out who she is and it won't be long. For now, he'll attend practice, scrutinize the ladies in his club despite knowing none of them plays the guitar, and focus his energy on finding her some other time.

The next day, you feel like you dread the idea of your 1:00 class more than anything today than any other day. It feels like you'll get an indigestion at the mere thought of having to sit so close to Suna Rintarō again for an hour. So close that his cologne fills your senses and it lasts there for so long, you could smell him in places he's not even around in. So close you could probably count the amount of eyelashes he has in his unfairly beautifully shaped eyes. Every time his skin would so much as graze yours, it leaves a sting that you can feel for hours to come.

God forbid Mr. Mendez starts listening to your requests to change seats. You tried once during freshman and received a full 20-minute lecture on why his rules should always be followed in class. You haven't really attempted again since then.

Finishing your lunch together, Hana walks beside you on the way to class—hers being in the same direction.

"Good luck with Mr. Sexy Vocal Guitarist," she winks, pulling you in for a hug you returned bitterly as a result of her statement. The guitar on her shoulders wobble lightly, making you reach out in alarm to steady it.

"Thanks," you say once she pulled away. "I'll need it."

"Laters, Mira," she laughs while she says it, knowing the story behind Suna using the name over and over to tease you. Now, you're seriously debating just abandoning the stage name and going with something else. Yet, you refuse for Suna to cause a major shift in your life decisions. No way in hell.

The moment you enter the room and start taking your bag off of your shoulders, cold and familiar slender fingers hurriedly finds their way to your wrist—turning you around to meet golden-green eyes.

"Hey," he says breathlessly like he was eager to catch you as soon as possible. What the hell is up with him?

"What do you need?" you ask warily, knowing Suna Rintarō is not acting nice to you for the first time in your life without needing something.

His eyes glint in interest despite the blank look on his face, sliding to the seat next to yours before dropping his voice. "That girl with you. The one playing the guitar over lunch time. Name."

The lilt to his voice makes you gape in shock. Hana is causing this? Turning your head to him, so close you could smell the mint and smoke on his breath, you raise your brows in accusation, "Hana?"

"Who is she?"

"Mitsuhara Hana," you slowly respond wondering what this is about. "She's my best friend—hey, what the hell is going on with you?"

Suna ignores you and just nods at you wordlessly, averting his eyes to the front of the room and avoiding you again the moment you've given him the answer. He's acting so weird with you, you're so incredibly lost on what's happening.

As if sensing the question hanging in the air, Suna looks back at you over his shoulders. And immediately, from the look on his face and the uncomfortable feeling spreading through your body, you could already tell.

You've lost the interest Suna Rintarō once had when you first met in the four walls of the music room you share.

Because you could see the exact look in his eyes mirroring that time three years ago directed to another woman—your best friend.

consider supporting me here if u liked this ch!

🏷 : @cookieempress2 @horny-inarizaki-stan @lovemegood @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @rumireads @ashxsr @sunakys @cloudsz04 @ilcrona @grouchybear @highhjime @van-chii @sagejin @sakusuna @steponmedazai @im-ako @cosmotoic @lazykunimi @gh0ulbab3 @rntrsuna @kyriaan @wolffmaiden @myhomeworksnotdone @portfolio-of-dreams (change ur settings if i cant tag u please!)