soliyawnn

[soliyawnn]

can something good and pleasant happen to me now please

[soliyawnn]

when the fic has an aesthetically pleasing layout but the writing is… questionable

[soliyawnn]

okay now im actually stuck cs idk what to write and my last fic got 700+?? did i perchance sprinkle something in there that im supposed to sprinkle in every fic

[soliyawnn]

also i would not mind an angsty fic! ty sm im being spoiled fr - 👓

˖ ֹ੭୧ INTA 3OMRI, W INTA DOUMOU3I ⊹ ࣪ 

ˋ°•*⁀➷ PAIRING: jason todd x arab!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ TROPES: social commentary, misunderstood vigilante, found family, slow-burn trust

NOTES: lowkey realized its not as angsty as i thought it way buttttt.... hope you enjoy this one ml! <3

There’s a part of Gotham the Bat never patrols.

Not because it's quiet—God, no—but because it’s off the map. Tucked between shipping yards and abandoned metro tunnels, Little Levant doesn’t show up on tourist guides. It’s all Arabic street signs, smoky shawarma carts, and late-night calls to prayer echoing down cracked concrete.

And it’s yours.

Your home. Your fight. Your people.

You weren’t born here. But neither were most of the aunties selling baklava from folding tables or the uncles smoking argileh on milk crates at 2AM, listening to Fairouz. Syrians. Egyptians. Palestinians. Moroccans. Lebanese. Iraqis. Yemenis. Gulfies. Armenians. Refugees, immigrants, families trying to stitch themselves into a city that never wanted them.

You were the only one who picked up a blade and said: "Not here. Not again."

And now they call you ruthless.

They don’t see you help old ladies cross the street before disappearing into the shadows. They don’t see the bruises on your ribs from protecting a shopkeeper who couldn’t pay protection money. They only see the masked figure who put ten men in the ER last week—and one in a coma.

And they talk.

Even he talks. Nightwing.

“She’s dangerous,” Dick says one night, perched on a rooftop like he owns the skyline. “She doesn’t follow our rules. I don’t like it.”

Jason leans against the ledge beside him, arms crossed. “Maybe your rules don’t apply here.”

Tim chimes in through comms. “She nearly crushed that guy’s windpipe.”

Jason’s voice sharpens. “That guy was trafficking Arab teens through the port. Kids. Don’t act like she didn’t have a reason.”

“She doesn’t play nice with others,” Bruce adds. “That makes her unpredictable.”

Jason turns.

And the tone in his voice changes.

“No,” he says, low and firm. “She just doesn’t trust you. Because you’ve never protected her the way she’s protected everyone else.”

The silence hangs like smoke.

You feel it the moment Jason walks into the bakery at 4th and Jadid Street, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. He smells like sweat, smoke, and salt—but the second your eyes meet, your shoulders drop.

“You smell like garbage,” you mutter.

He grins. “You say the sweetest things.”

You don’t need to say it—he knows you heard everything.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says softly. “They don’t get it.”

“They don’t want to get it,” you reply. “We’re not Gotham enough for them. Too brown. Too loud. Too… foreign.”

Jason steps closer. “You don’t owe them a damn thing.”

“I don’t care what they think,” you lie.

Jason gently takes your wrist. His thumb traces the scar across your knuckles—the one you got saving a Palestinian kid from being abducted near the train station. He remembers. He always remembers.

“You care too much,” he says.

Your laugh is tired. “Someone has to.”

Jason cups your face, calloused fingers gentle against your skin. “You’ve saved more lives in this neighborhood than that stupid Bat ever has. And if they can’t see that, I’ll remind them every damn day.”

You look at him, eyes burning.

“You really believe in me?”

He smiles, something soft and real behind the Red Hood mask.

“I don’t believe in Gotham,” he says. “I believe in you.”

Later that night, after the moon rises over minarets and cracked fire escapes, you both sit on the rooftop of an old community center—half-painted, barely funded, but safe.

You watch your city breathe. You watch your people dance at weddings and mourn in the streets and survive despite everything.

And Jason sits beside you like a soldier at your side.

Not saving you.

Just standing with you.

Because they don’t know you like he does. And maybe they never will.

But that’s okay. Because he’ll never stop fighting for you— Just like you never stopped fighting for them.

[soliyawnn]

OH NY DAYS 200+ NOTES AND I GAINED FOLLOWERS??

THANK YOU SO MUUCH TO EVERYONE WHO READ AND INTERACTED MWAAAAAAAHRRGHHHHH

[soliyawnn]

֗ ✩彡 . | 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

. . 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: you accidentally stay the night with them — and wake up somewhere between comfort and something more.

. . 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kuroo tetsurou x reader, kageyama tobio x reader, oikawa tooru x reader, tsukishima kei x reader, atsumu miya x reader

. . 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, comfort, slow burn, soft moments, friends to lovers (ish?)

. . 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none— just sleepy intimacy, light teasing, and lingering feelings

. . 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 874

. . 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this and that other todoroki fic has been marinating in my drafts for so long 😓✊

𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮

you’re curled up in his hoodie, watching steam rise from the mug he placed in your hands. the apartment is still dim, light barely creeping in through the curtains, and kuroo’s leaning against the counter with that sleepy smirk of his, hair a disaster, arms crossed like he’s trying not to say something dumb.

“you snore,” he says eventually. you raise a brow, sipping carefully. “do not.”

“you absolutely do,” he says, a little too quickly. “it’s kind of adorable. like a tiny engine.”

you glare at him over the rim of your mug. “you’re lucky you make decent coffee.” he shrugs. “you’re lucky i let you steal my blanket. again.”

he walks over, plucks the mug from your hands, sets it on the table. he doesn’t step back. instead, he leans in close, voice lower now. “seriously, though. you can stay as many nights as you want.”

your breath catches, heart stuttering in your chest. his eyes are soft, not teasing. you nod. “…okay,” you say quietly.

he smiles, this time, is real. warm. grounding.

𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐨

you wake up to the soft hum of the city outside and the faint sound of a volleyball bouncing. kageyama is sitting at the edge of the bed, stretching out his hands, eyes focused but calm.

he glances over when you shift awake. “you’re up.”

“yeah,” you say, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “didn’t expect you to be awake this early.” he shrugs, expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “you stayed last night. i wanted to make sure you were okay.”

you blink. “okay?”

“yeah. you seemed tired. and i… liked that you were here. you smile, warmth spreading through your chest. he’s never great with words, but the honesty is unmistakable.

he stands and offers a hand. “breakfast?”

𝐨𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮

last night was chaos — card games, snacks everywhere, an old rom-com you both made fun of until you accidentally fell asleep on his chest. now you’re waking up tangled together on his couch, your face buried against his shoulder, his heartbeat calm under your ear.

he shifts a little, blinking down at you, and for once, he’s not performing. not grinning. not posing.

��hi,” he whispers, like anything louder might ruin it.

you lift your head slowly. “…hi.”

he lets out a breath. “was i… comfortable?”

you blink, still half-asleep. “you’re shaped like a space heater.”

he laughs, light and real, pressing a hand over his heart like you’ve wounded him. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

you sit up slowly, brushing hair from your face. he watches you, expression unreadable now.

“you could’ve moved me,” you murmur.

“i didn’t want to.”

you glance at him.

he shrugs. “you looked peaceful. and i—”

he pauses. swallows.

“i liked it.”

your heart does something funny in your chest. “me too.”

he grins again, this time a little softer. “then maybe we should make it a habit.”

𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐢

it’s quiet. soft golden light filters into the living room, hitting the shelves where he keeps his records. you’re wrapped in a blanket, tucked into one end of the couch. tsukishima is at the other, a book in his lap, glasses slightly crooked. his hair’s a mess. he looks like he didn’t sleep well, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

you stretch. “sorry for crashing.”

he flips a page. “no one asked you to apologize.”

you glance at him. “you didn’t have to let me stay.”

he finally looks up, brow raised. “you think i let just anyone sleep on my couch?”

you blink. “…no?”

he sets the book down, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. he reaches over without a word and pulls the blanket over your toes, like you’re not watching his every move.

“you were tired,” he says simply. “and i didn’t want you going home alone. it made sense.”

you nod slowly. “right. logical.”

but then, he hesitates. and when he speaks again, it’s almost too quiet.

“…i sleep better when you’re here.” your breath catches.

he doesn’t meet your eyes — just picks up the book again.

𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚

you wake up to the sound of humming. atsumu’s in the kitchen, hair somehow even wilder than usual, wearing one of your hoodies — he must’ve grabbed it by mistake, but he’s absolutely owning it.

“morning sunshine” he beams when he sees you peek around the corner. “i made pancakes”

“you can cook?” you mused.

“okay. made is a strong word. but they’re pancake-shaped. mostly.”

you laugh, walking into the kitchen, and he practically bounces over to pull out a chair for you.

last night, you were supposed to leave around midnight. he convinced you to stay for one more episode, and somehow that turned into staying over. now it’s morning, and the apartment smells like maple syrup and comfort.

he plops down across from you, propping his chin in his hands. “this was nice,” he says, softer now. “i like waking up with you here.”

your cheeks heat up. “yeah?” he pauses. “yeah. it felt… happy.”

you look at him — golden in the morning light, eyes bright even without his usual volume. and you realize: he means it.“i’d stay again,” you say.

he grins like you just told him he won the lottery.

[soliyawnn]

should i drop a mha fic or another bllk fic.. decisions decisions sigh

[soliyawnn]

THREE SECONDS

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.8k synopsis: You call Damian after you catch your boyfriend cheating on you. a/n: I love writing younger Damian since he's more funny but grown up Damian is equally fun to write in his own way. The pair are platonic but if you squint there's the implication of more.

The hallway spun. Not literally—but in that dizzy, gut-punched way that comes after betrayal. You couldn’t even remember how you got out of that apartment. You just remember slamming the door  behind you harder than you intended, the sound echoing in the quiet of the hall. You were still shaking—whether from rage, disbelief, or heartbreak, you couldn’t say.

You’d seen it. Heard it. That sickening moment when you opened his door without knocking, expecting to surprise him, only to become the one caught off guard. Clothes half-on. Some girl giggling. His stammered excuse still rang in your ears.

You didn’t even remember the Uber ride. Just rushing out of the car, the ache in your chest threatening to split you open, and the rush of cold air as you sprinted up your building’s stairwell.

By the time you reached your apartment, your fingers were clumsy at the lock. Your breath came in harsh gasps. The tears you’d held back during the ride now fell freely—hot, burning tracks down your cheeks. The moment replayed over and over again—his voice, that laugh, her shirt on the floor, the look on his face—Not for what he’d done but because he’d been caught.

You made it inside.

Locked the door.

Collapsed to the floor.

You didn’t know what else to do but call the one person who wouldn’t feed you lies. Wouldn’t try to make this better. Who wasn’t friends with your now ex. 

You hadn’t even thought about it. Your fingers dialled his number before your brain caught up. And when he answered, you didn’t even speak. You didn’t need to. The second he heard your broken sobs, he just said, “Stay where you are.”

You don’t remember getting up, but somehow, you’d pulled yourself from the hardwood and changed. You were now curled up on the couch in a sweatshirt far too big for you—his sweatshirt, actually, left from a night he crashed here after patrol. 

You peeled yourself off the couch, every movement heavy, limbs weighted with exhaustion and emotion. You shuffled barefoot to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock. 

He didn’t say a word at first. Just took one look at you—red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin, your frame swallowed in his old hoodie—and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice too calm.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “It wasn’t me he was touching.”

Damian’s jaw ticked.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly, voice cold.

You shook your head. “It was at his place. I left.”

He stepped closer, green eyes scanning you head to toe like he was checking for wounds.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I—I’m fine,” you lied, trying to straighten your spine.

His gaze locked on yours, unflinching. “Don’t lie to me.”

And just like that, your composure cracked.

Your lip quivered. Tears welled again, the pressure of them spilling over with barely a blink. He exhaled—quietly, slowly—some of the sharpness in his expression softening.

“Come here,” he murmured, stepping forward. “Sit down.”

His hand found yours, grounding, warm despite the chill still clinging to your skin. He led you gently back to the couch, as if you might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you were seated again, curled up into the corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into the fabric. Only then did he crouch in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes level with yours.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

You hesitated. Your voice was paper-thin. “I thought I’d surprise him… he always said I didn’t do that enough. So I went over, hoping we’d spend some time together. He’d given me a key so I just walked in.”

Damian said nothing, just waited. Not rushing you. Not reacting. But you could see the effort it took—how tightly he held himself, how his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for something and break it.

You blinked through the blur of tears. “I heard her laughing first. Then I saw them. She was in her underwear. His shirt was off. They were kissing. He tried to make excuses and say it wasn’t what it looked like.”

Damian scoffed under his breath—sharp and dry.

“I-I just left,” you finished, barely audible.

Silence settled between you like dust.

And then Damian stood.

You looked up quickly. “Don’t—don’t go to him. Please.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice tight. “At least yet.”

Instead, he went to your kitchen and poured you a glass of water that he came back and handed over. You let the coolness settle you as you took small sips watching as he paced back and forth in your small living room. You could practically feel the war going on behind his eyes. Not between right and wrong—he already knew which side he stood on—but between restraint and wrath. 

You wiped at your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you whispered again.

“You keep saying that,” Damian muttered, coming to a halt. He turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “But you’re not.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He moved again—this time toward you. He sat beside you slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of pushing too hard too fast.

Then, gently, Damian lifted your legs and guided them into his lap. His arm settled around your shoulders, the other curling across your knees like a protective cage. His posture was slightly stiff from discomfort but for you he was trying.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the warmth of him.

“I feel so stupid,” You admitted quietly.

Damian didn’t respond at first. Just the sound of his breath—steady, quiet—filled the space between you. His arm tightened around you a little, as though he could shield you from the words before they even left your mouth.

“You’re not,” he said finally, his voice low and certain. “Don’t mistake betrayal for foolishness.”

“I should’ve seen it coming.” The shame bled through your voice, thick and unshakable. “The late replies. The cancelled plans. I thought I was just overthinking—being insecure.”

“You trusted him.” His tone didn’t waver. “That’s not a flaw. That’s decency.”

You gave a shaky exhale, your cheek pressing against the fabric of his hoodie. “Maybe I don’t know how to choose decent people.”

“You don’t have to carry the blame for someone else’s cowardice. He failed you. Not the other way around.”

Your chest hitched, breath catching somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Since when did you get so good at saying the right thing?”

He huffed, just a little, and you could feel the shift of his chest under your cheek. “Because I usually am.”

There it was: the faint thread of arrogance laced through his voice, familiar and absurdly comforting. You felt the corner of your mouth twitch, the smallest stir of something close to amusement.

But the moment barely had time to settle.

but just as you were finally calming down and relaxing, frantic knocking broke the peaceful silence the two of you fell into and you could hear the muffled voice of your ex pleading for you to let him in so he could explain.

You froze.

Without a word, Damian easily lifted you off of his lap and set you back down on the couch before striding to the door, opened it—and stood in the doorway like a shadow from a nightmare. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You have exactly three seconds to walk away.”

Your ex blinked, caught off guard. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice rising with a scoff. “Has she been cheating on me with you?!”

Damian didn’t even blink.

His gaze remained fixed—unflinching, unreadable, but unmistakably cold. The kind of look that didn���t entertain foolishness. 

“One.”

Your ex’s eyes flicked past him, trying to look into the apartment. “This is insane. I just want to talk to her. I didn’t come here to fight—”

“Two.”

A muscle in Damian’s jaw ticked. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable. Still calm. Still collected. But coiled. Like a wolf deciding whether the threat was worth the bite.

“Look, I messed up, alright?” your ex said quickly, hands rising like he was trying to fend off a blow that hadn’t come yet. “I just want her to hear me out—”

“You won’t get the chance to say her name again if you don’t turn around right now,” Damian said.

Seemed your ex was stupider than you’d ever given him credit for. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest like that would somehow make a difference as he tried to square up—but Damian was still taller.

Yes, your ex was broader—more muscle, more bulk—but you knew the difference. Damian’s strength wasn’t for show. It was built for combat.

“Oh yeah?” he sneered. “And what are you going to do?”

He didn’t even see the moment shift.

One second, Damian was still. The next—your ex was slammed against the hallway wall, his feet barely scraping the floor, Damian’s hand locked around his throat.

The sound of the impact echoed through the empty hall.

Damian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The venom in his tone was enough.

“You’re fortunate I’ve retired from killing.” he said, eyes burning into the man’s paling face. “Others have died for far less.”

Your ex struggled, gagged softly against the grip, but Damian held him there—hovering on the edge of real violence.

“Tt. Pathetic. You don’t get a second chance, coward.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a razor’s edge. “Go near her again, and you’ll wish death was the worst of your options.”

Then—just as suddenly—Damian let go.

Your ex crumpled against the wall, coughing and gasping, arms trembling. His gaze darted toward you, but he didn’t speak. Whatever cowardice had kept him dangerous before had finally caught up with him. He turned and bolted down the hall, stumbling over his own feet like the pathetic excuse for a man he was.

Damian stood there for another breath, watching the retreat before he turned, stepped back inside, and shut the door calmly.

The second he was within reach, you crossed the space between you and threw your arms around him. Damian stiffened, only for a moment. Then his hands found your back, steady and warm.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his chest.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, dry as ever, “If he shows his face again, I’ll introduce him to my katana.”

You huffed a small, unexpected laugh, the sound muffled in his shirt. “Violent solutions. Very on-brand.”

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to glance down at you. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t.

Not when it was him.

[soliyawnn]

i just finished reading an ongoing fic series and the author hasn’t posted in 7 months 💔

[soliyawnn]

[soliyawnn]

wake up

deny yourself

4. phone in bed

[soliyawnn]

𝐟𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭’s masterlist ༉‧₊˚

you’ve wandered into sol’s den—home to half-lucid writing, faraway longing, and far too many unfinished works.

requests are open! responses bloom slowly, especially on weekends. i usually post once a month unless i get reqs ! 💌

𝑠𝑜𝓁 𓈒 𖥔 she/her/hers. damian wayne's beloved. shonen & shoujo lover. ramen addict. pearl jewelry > minho's slinthead. makes wishes on 11:11 like its a part-time job. daughter of apollo. slytherclaw 🫧

. . . 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. . .

so you don’t lose your way in the thicket.

· 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 + 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 · 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬 ·

. . . 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐝 . . .

what i write for…

𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 :: blue lock · ouran high school host club · haikyuu · jujutsu kaisen · my hero academia · windbreaker · saiki k · sakamoto days · black butler · demon slayer · attack on titan · windbreaker !

𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 :: harry potter · riordanverse · the maze runner · the hunger games !

𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 :: wuthering waves · genshin impact · love and deepspace !

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬 :: fluff · angst · crack !

. . . 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 . . .

#ꕀ . rambles

# ✎⸝⸝ ! ˖ works

#❝⛧⌇— requests

#«⊹ : . asks

#𖤐✧— milestones

[soliyawnn]

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 + 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 . . . 🐾

please read before interacting or requesting !

✧ i write for select anime & game fandoms — you can find them in my masterlist.

✧ all works are reader-insert and written in second person, unless otherwise stated.

✧ this blog is sfw. i do not write explicit nsfw content. light suggestiveness may appear in fluff pieces, but it will be soft and properly tagged.

✧ i mainly write fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and emotional conflict. all posts will include appropriate content warnings when necessary.

✧ requests are currently open unless stated otherwise.

✧ you are always welcome to send soft thoughts, headcanons, or ramblings to my inbox !

✧ do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my work.

✧ this is a space for softness and storytelling. please be kind — to me, to others, and to yourself ! ^u^

[soliyawnn]

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬 . . . 🗞️

all of my recent works !

not part of the plan :: rin itoshi x gn!reader :: (blue lock, angst)

in which he ruins the only good thing he didn’t plan for.

morning afters :: multiple x gn!reader :: (haikyuu, fluff)

in which you accidentally stay the night with them — and wake up somewhere between comfort and something more.

[soliyawnn]

֗ ✩彡 . | 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧

. . 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡.. he ruins the only good thing he didn’t plan for.

. . 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rin itoshi x gn!reader

. . 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, hurt/no comfort, post-game confrontation, mutual pining

. . 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: arguments, emotional outbursts, hurtful dialogue, miscommunication, mentions of loneliness and emotional repression

. . 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 685

. . 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first fic i ever published how do we feel ahaha, reader is kinda delusional but who isnt 🙁

the thing about rin itoshi is that he doesn’t do anything that isn’t planned. his life is a series of carefully calculated steps: goal after goal, victory after victory. his focus was always set on one thing—himself.

but you? you were never part of the plan.

and yet, every time you walked into the room, you threw him off track. you cracked the barrier he’d fought so hard to build between himself and the rest of the world.

rin tried—again and again—to shrug you off, ignore you, shut you down. all his usual tactics. but you didn’t give up. you showed up at his games and cheered for him. and even when he didn’t ask you to, you sat with him at lunch. you tried to be his friend, despite everything. despite him.

but none of that matters now, because rin screwed it all up.

he pushed you away—too hard, too cold—and now, there’s no going back.

he didn’t mean to, or maybe he did. but it didn’t matter.

you’re gone.

rin always knew this would happen if he kept doing what he did best: keeping people at arm’s length, never letting anyone in. and today, for the first time, you finally walked away.

the match was over, and rin itoshi was pissed.

the loss stung more than he wanted to admit, but it wasn’t just the game. it was you.

you’d arrived late, again.

he spotted you by the bleachers, just now approaching him, acting like everything was fine.

“of course,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening. “this is just perfect.”

you always had a way of showing up at the worst possible moments. of knocking him off balance just by being there. and right now? he didn’t need you here. not when his head was already a mess.

“are you serious?” rin snapped, storming toward you. “you couldn’t even show up on time? i needed to focus—but you—you couldn’t even bother to be here when it mattered.”

you didn’t say anything. just looked at him, calm and unreadable. and somehow, that made it worse.

“you always do this,” he growled, fists clenched. “you show up late, mess with my head, and act like it’s nothing. i told you—I don’t need this. i don’t need you distracting me when i’m trying to win.”

he was pacing now, the frustration boiling over into fury. “you think you’re helping? you’re not. you’re just making everything worse.”

still, silence.

rin’s voice cracked, but the anger pushed him forward. “you think this is funny, don’t you? that you can walk in, be all sweet, act like you’re saving me—”

he didn’t finish the sentence. because you cut through it all with one line:

“i thought you looked lonely that day, rin. so i wanted to be your friend.”

the words hit him harder than anything on the field.

friend.

his chest tightened. but the only thing he could say was—

“yeah? well, i don’t need your pity. not now, not ever.”

and just like that, it was over.

your eyes didn’t widen. you didn’t yell. you didn’t cry. you just looked at him like you were finally done. cold. distant. like a door had shut and you wouldn’t be opening it again.

and then you walked away.

he doesn’t know how long he stands there, rain soaking through his clothes, jaw aching from clenching, hands trembling.

the rain hides what’s on his face. or maybe he just tells himself that.

he knows he crossed a line.

knows he hurt you.

and worst of all—he meant it. at least in that moment.

because you weren’t supposed to matter.

but you do, you always have.

now the field is empty. the game is over. and for once, rin itoshi has no plan.

just the bitter taste of regret, and the sinking feeling that maybe—this time—he destroyed the only thing he didn’t want to lose.

and yet, as he watches the path you left through the rain, he thinks:

if you’d just look back—just once—maybe he’d still have a chance to say the things he should’ve said before.

[soliyawnn]

i hate when people are cooler than me stop doing that

[soliyawnn]

◦˚~ BUNCH OF LIGHT GREY/WHITE DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦

white dividers:

Requested by: anonymous Info: these were all made & edited by me. please reblog/like if using!