#justice for rin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katasstrophy · 2 years ago

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“GOD, I’M SO FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

3k words -> the bracelet you make isagi ends up becoming his most prized possession, and his lucky charm. afab! reader

miss @yaakultt my dearly beloved several snack runs have been run since i promised to type this up for you many a moons ago but now i’m goddamn here to deliver 😤😤 hope you enjoyed your boba!! now come get your soft (and occasional still feral! 👀) isagi <33

cw: mostly fluff, but sassy isagi does make an appearance. slight suggestive themes. cursing. this is barely proofread we die like men. also the way this was supposed to be short and sweet nah clearly i’m incapable of doing that 💀💀

“you made this? for me?”

there’s a hitch to his voice, as if he needs to push the words through a mesh strainer in his throat - but he prevails, gaze bouncing between your face and the colourful bracelet in your outstretched palms. the cobalt of his eyes glisten with so many stars you’re convinced they sucked in the night sky whole.

under his unrelenting focus, the corners of your lip quirk up into a nervous grin on their own accord. the memories of your amateur craftsmanship are still crisp in your mind like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. you’ve spent embarrassingly long hours on this - gingerly deliberating which colour strings would suit him, then trying your best to make the knots look even and stick to the pattern.

it feels more intimate than you’d thought it would, strangely, gifting him something you dedicated an overflowing amount of time, effort - and so so much genuine, loving care to.

“yeah! wanted you to have it as a reminder that i’m always cheering you on no matter what, since, ya know, i probably won’t be able to make it to all of your games. i am but one girl, after all.”

isagi goes incredibly still, stunned all the way into next week, mouth agape like a fish suddenly sprung out of water. with your nerves already feeling like they’ve been diced thin in a blender, you immediately jump to the wrong conclusion.

“no pressure for you to wear it, obviously,” you chuckle, but there’s little humour in it when, through this new, panic-induced light, the fumbles and imperfections of your handiwork that you deemed barely noticeable (or at least passable) before now seem to poke your eyes out like a vicious flock of crows.

“it is uh, very very wonky-lookin’ so--”

“no.”

while your relationship with isagi is still in its early stages, you’ve known him long enough by now to learn that wherever soccer’s not concerned, he turns into an absolute sweetheart - a man with an ultimately sincere and kind soul.

he borderline acts like one of those lame, rom-com cliche boyfriends, but you never had the heart to tell him, nor had any real desire for his behaviour to change. not when all of his stupid, cheesy antics make you want to kiss him into a lovesick puddle - a response he’s eager to receive each and every time.

there’s no trace of that endearingness now, however, as his muscled chest falls and crests in waves underneath his sweat-soaked practice shirt, a slight heave to his breathing. his stubborn gaze clings to you still, not having wondered once, so you don’t miss the tendril of assertiveness blazing in his eyes - a little leftover ego from the field he brought home with him today.

“no,” he repeats, and your toes curl, because his voice sounds just as raspy as when he rouses in the morning. “you’re not just a girl, baby. you’re the girl, yeah? my girl.”

isagi offers you his hand, wrist up, finally breaking from his immobile trance.

“let me wear it, please. i want to wear it.”

“okay,” you say, but it’s barely a breath with how parched your throat is from his words.

you gently loop the bracelet around his wrist, double knotting it at his request, “so it doesn’t fall off, babe.” when the excess string is cut off, you watch him, all soft and fond, as he swings his arm around to admire the bracelet from different angles like a giddy kid at christmas testing out a new toy.

you’re about to open your mouth to ask if he likes it when he turns to you in a whirlwind with the biggest grin splitting his cheeks in two.

“i love it. i really, really fucking love it.”

with the wind still knocked out of you from his brilliant smile, you can’t manage more than a mushy “yeah?”

“yeah, baby. you have no idea. thank you.” then you’re swept into his strong arms lined with lean muscle, his forehead salty with sweat buried into your chest, but you welcome it, a laugh bubbling to the surface as he twirls around with you.

in a manner of seconds, isagi has you squished into the couch underneath him, claiming your mouth with a newfound, insatiable fervour, his whispers of “god, i’m so fucking in love with you” between the divine licks of his tongue turning your stomach into something molten - and you wonder if you’re also just a lame girlfriend, wanting to be kissed lovesick by this man - your man.

isagi doesn’t stop being enamoured by the bracelet for weeks to come, constantly stealing glances at it or playing with a loose thread here and there absentmindedly.

one early morning, when you already miss him without him even having gone to practice, he indulges you for a few more minutes - as he always does when you crave his presence - cupping your pouty cheeks in his large, calloused palms and murmuring sweet nothings into your tussled hair.

you bask in his lingering attention for a while longer before you sigh and resolve yourself to let him go for the day, dipping your chin to press a tender kiss to the inside of his wrist, right where the bracelet lay.

“good luck out there, yoichi. you better score some goals for me.”

you haven’t put much thought into the gesture, but when you wriggle out of his hold, you’re rewarded with the sight of your very lame, very flustered boyfriend trying to garble out some semblance of a response and hide the flush of his ears.

so you keep doing it, watching his bashful blushes transform into delighted hums over time, until it becomes a habit. now whenever you don’t kiss the inside of his wrist in the morning, especially before a game, isagi’s sure to throw a fit, behaving like a moody grouch or an attention-starved child until you give in and smother him in affection.

as the months trickle by, the bracelet starts to lose its initial vibrancy, succumbing to the elements of the outside world and the continuous physical nature of isagi’s career. you remind him multiple times, gently, that you won’t be upset if he decides to cut it off, seeing that it hasn’t only become threadbare, but also a little gross and soggy and smelling just a tinge of his sweat - but he’s adamant.

“y/n, honey, i’m being a 100% serious when i say the only way this bracelet is coming offa me is if it actually physically rots off. not considering any other way, babe.”

and it’s absolutely infuriating, because you know he’s being a cheeky little shit about it, but he’s also so incredibly thoughtful that you’re past the point of kissing him all over into a puddle. you want to devour your stupid perfect boyfriend - and who’s to stop you?

when the soccer off-season finally ends, isagi’s first tournament game takes him overseas, but swamped as you are with your own job requirements, you can’t afford to fly and cheer him on in person.

you make sure to rush home for the live broadcast, however, flinging your bag and shoes into random corners of your apartment before diving onto the couch and flicking on the TV, just in time for the kickoff. but instead of hearing the shrill blow of the starting whistle, you see one of the refs approach isagi to engage in a heated discussion that he looks less and less happy to be a part of with every passing minute.

there’s no audio provided, so with your eyebrows scrunched together, you try to read their lips in an attempt to discern what the issue could possibly be before the game has even started. then, to your horror, you catch the ref subtly pointing at your boyfriend’s hand, at the bracelet you made him, and realise oh shit. they want him to take it off.

while you haphazardly scramble to find your phone, on an artificially green field several oceans and miles away, isagi spies rin facepalming from the corner of his eyes as the referee moves closer - but he’s prepared, shoulders squared and hellbent on not backing down.

he’s been proudly showing off your bracelet to his teammates - and whoever else was willing to let him nag their ears off about it - from day one. with how utterly obsessed he was with your lucky charm, he could only smile at the merciless teasing he was subjected to - even if others were less than enthusiastic about the idea of him wearing it.

“waaahh, your girlfriend made this, isagi? that’s so cool! she must really loooooovvee yoouuu,” bachira fake cooed with a shit-eating grin dancing on his lips, fingers too quick for isagi to bat away as he kept incessantly poking his sides during one of their water breaks. while he was still a little sheepish to reveal the origins of his new accessory, isagi was also way too smug not to brag about it to his best friend.

“she does love me, thank you very much. what, you jealous, bachira? hey! you get those freakishly long fingers away from me now or i stop passing to you.”

“boooo, you’re still an awful liar, man. as if you don’t only think about yourself and your own goals, e-go-ist.”

“the only thing that bracelet is is an inconvenience.”

the banter immediately dies down at the harsh words, bachira halting his pinching to begrudgingly climb out of isagi’s personal space and frown at rin.

“come on, rin-chan. i thought my ‘how to be nice’ lessons were starting to pay off.”

“this has nothing to do with ‘being nice’. i’m being realistic.”

over the years, isagi learned how to navigate the vicious waves of rin’s notorious temper, and while he had to admit that the emotionally constipated eyelash emo has gotten considerably better at communication, rin still couldn’t care less about crossing the fucking line.

isagi has never let much slide when it came to rin’s bullshit, anyway, but insulting something precious to him? insulting you? it made the blood in his veins roar.

“you want to repeat that, itoshi?”

he knew he hit a nerve when rin’s mouth twisted into an ugly scowl.

“i spoke clearly enough, isagi. you know no forms of jewellery are allowed during official games. if not me, then somebody’s gonna make you take off your useless bracelet eventually.”

in the crushing silence stretched thin between them, bachira’s mantra of “say no to violence! say no to violence!” and nagi’s “man, what a pain” went completely ignored. despite the few inches isagi had gained, rin still towered above him, but that didn’t stop him from having the audacity to push himself up against rin’s chest.

“i’d like to see them try,” isagi clapped back. “i’m not the slightest bit interested in the advice of someone too pissy to get into a relationship.”

“why you fucking lukewarm little–”

“i trust you both remember that i don’t tolerate any fighting on my field that isn’t in the form of soccer.”

at ego’s interruption, isagi shoved himself away from rin, saving the younger itoshi brother from throwing the first punch.

“now, isagi yoichi,” ego continued, craning his unnaturally long neck at him. “itoshi rin is quite correct. jewellery is strictly forbidden from being worn during the duration of any game. why delay the inevitable? to spare your partner’s feelings?”

no. how could he explain that this had everything and nothing to do with you? of course you’d be a little ruffled if he was forced to remove it, but you would suck it up. get over it. because you’re kind, and most heartwrenchingly, you’d understand. but he’s incapable of it. he rejects the possibility of having to tell you he can’t wear your lucky charm altogether. this is all his doing. he’s the one who wants to keep the bracelet - he’s the one who needs it.

“you want my ego for this team, shitty four eyes?” isagi seethed. “then the bracelet stays the fuck on. i’ll deal with the consequences.”

ego mulled this over, touching his fingertips together like some true cartoon villain. “so be it, isagi yoichi. you better not disappoint me.”

so here isagi was, dealing with the consequences.

“mr. isagi. you must be aware that we don’t allow accessories of any kind to be worn during gameplay to protect players from any possible injury, right?” the referee’s condescension grates on his pride, lecturing him as if he were a kindergartener in need of a reminder, but isagi doesn’t bite.

“yes.”

“i’m afraid you must take that bracelet off, then.”

“no.”

the referee’s shock is evident through his rapid-fire blinks. the reply was instantaneous. no hesitation. no questions asked.

“excuse me?”

“i said no. i won’t be able to put it back on once i take it off. it would need to be permanently cut off.”

“then for your safety, i insist that you do just that.”

“i refuse.”

“surely you don’t want to risk ending up at the hospital, mr. isagi.”

“i don’t. but i’ll go to the hospital if i have to. with my bracelet.”

the referee is at a loss from his sheer bafflement. isagi feels rin’s and ego’s gazes burn a fire right through his skull. somewhere behind him, bachira is doing a very poor job of trying not to laugh his ass off.

the referee heaves a great sigh and puts his hands on his hips like a mother hen. isagi’s having none of it.

“are you quite serious about this?”

“oh, you have no idea, ref.”

“fine. you brought this upon yourself.” then he blows the whistle, not to start the game, but to stick a yellow card to his name.

isagi doesn’t fight it - the ridicule and mockery of the other team as they point fingers at him. he doesn’t care, couldn’t give two shits about these losers, not when he got to keep his lucky charm. so he stays on his best behaviour (mostly) and wins the fucking game.

as a goal scorer, isagi has first dibs on the showers, so he’s amongst one of the firsts to towel himself off in a locker room full of his perspiry, half-naked, celebrating teammates. he fidgets with the ends of his now wet bracelet as he fishes for his phone in his duffle bag, chuckling at the string of panicky messages you left him.

from: loml y/n <3

ohymgod yoichi what. are you doing. [4:37PM]

i know you realistically won’t see this until later but i’m hoping to project the vibe that it is LITERALLY FINE. just TAKE. IT OFF. [4:41PM]

i can always make you a new one ????? [4:43PM]

:000000000000 [4:46PM]

ain’t no WAY you just swallowed a yellow card for that you [4:47PM]

stupid [4:47PM]

dumb [4:47PM]

idiot [4:48PM]

he’s about to text you back when your caller ID flashes on his screen. he picks up on the first ring.

“hi babe. did you see the game? i scored a goal just for you.”

“yeah honey, i did see. congrats, you played so well. but yoichi.”

you sound as exasperated as the poor ref. isagi wonders if you can feel him grinning through the phone. (you can. you absolutely can. you hate and love it at the same time.)

“i thought i went by stupid dumb idiot now.”

“you might as fucking well.” you sigh into the receiver, but it’s more doting than anything. “why would you go through all that trouble, huh, yoichi? it’s really not that big of a deal, ya know. like i said, i’d be happy to make you a new one.”

isagi wishes so badly he was home right now, facing you, so you could read the sincerity in his eyes, how lovesick and infatuated he was with you all the time. but he isn’t, so he settles for pouring everything into his next words.

“i appreciate that baby, but i want you to know that it is a big deal, okay? you made that bracelet just for me. to cheer me on no matter what, you said. i’m not taking it off. never gonna take it off if i can help it. it’s my lucky charm. even if it’s gross and soggy.”

back on the couch, your heart’s a careening mess of joyous summersaults, eyes glassy with unshed, mushy tears.

“it also smells of sweat like, more intensely every day,” you add on all squeaky and lame, trying to keep a cool composure when you’re about to combust from your love for him at any second. isagi takes it in stride, as if he knows. as if he understands.

“of course, baby. can’t forget that.”

“god, i’m so fucking in love with you.”

“hey,” he teases. “you know that’s my line.”

and it is. it’s both of your lines, always.

(for a few weeks, isagi is known as the guy who scored a yellow card before even the kickoff, so when a referee approaches him during the start of the next game, he already has him pinned with a heinous death glare.

“i fucking dare you,” he says, and it’s all the ref can do not to shit his pants at the threat. isagi gets off scot-free for the rest of the tournament.

when the bracelet does, eventually, rot off isagi’s wrist, your ever lame boyfriend actually mourns it with a few tears - but you’re quick to assure him he doesn’t have to go without one for long. you anticipated this for a while, and have already made him a new one, if he’d like to put it on.

and isagi thinks that yes, he’d very much like to put it on, but it’s also about damn time he got you something. maybe not a bracelet, but something a bit smaller. something that would fit snuggly around your ring finger, and sparkle with a diamond.

he just know you’d look exquisite with it.)